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At King's Landing Landing…
The hour had arrived. Bells rang throughout the streets of King's Landing as many of the capital's denizens and others from across the Seven Kingdoms—nobles and commoners alike—flocked to the Great Sept of Baelor, most of them bearing gifts. The official wedding ceremony of King Daveth I Baratheon to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell was underway.
In her chambers, Sansa had been dressed for her wedding. Her long Tully-auburn hair was donned as a southern highborn lady's fashion, wound up in pearls with only two braids going down her shoulders; her sleeveless wedding gown's brocade was of the finest silks and its colors consisted of House Baratheon's black/golden tones with small stag sigil embroidery being woven through. Her mother Catelyn Stark, her handmaiden Shae, and best friend Jeyne Poole were making the final adjustments. While Jeyne trimmed Sansa's nails, Shae dabbed a sharp sweet fragrances with a hint of lemon on Sansa's bare skin—fingers, behind each ear, and lightly under her chin.
"All these years and you still have such beautiful hair, my little one," Catelyn mused as she slowly brushed her daughter's hair.
"I love my hair, mother," Sansa spoke in a sweet voice, soft and precise. She'd been smiling all day, dreaming of this moment. And now it's finally happening. "We'll be walking through the Sept of Baelor soon. All the lords and ladies will be watching."
"That they will," Jeyne added as she put the finishing touches to Sansa's gown, fastening a slender silver chain around it. "Look at you! Queen Sansa of the Seven Kingdoms."
"No matter what comes next, never forget that I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark."
Catelyn shook her head in amusement as she put the brush down. Sansa stood from her seat to momentarily look in the mirror, brushing her delicate hands through her hair before turning around.
"Thank you all for coming, everyone. I am grateful," she told all in attendance. "It means a lot to me that you would come all the way here to attend my wedding. Although saddens me to be so far from Winterfell, away from the friends I've made in the North, I will always treasure the memories we've shared together. The North remembers. We remember."
"The North remembers," they all repeated.
Catelyn walked up to her eldest daughter, placing both her hands on Sansa's cheeks. "My little girl is now a young woman," she spoke gently, her voice filled with a mother's love. "If only your father would see this. You have grown up so much. I… I'm so proud of you, Sansa."
Sansa tried not to weep at her mother's words. She too dreamt that her father was here with her, too, but told herself that Eddard Stark must have been watching over her. All tender moments were briefly halted when a knock on the door was heard. Shae opened and revealed Robb Stark standing before them.
"Sansa," he greeted his sister.
Sansa curtsied. "Brother," she replied.
"It's time."
Sansa took a deep breath, inhaled through her nose and calmly exhaled; though it couldn't stop from feeling a nervous tremble from shaking her hand slightly. 'Calm yourself,' she thought to herself. 'Remember: You are a Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Be brave. You can do this.'
Afterwards, she could not remember leaving the room or descending the steps or crossing the yard towards the Great Sept of Baelor. The bells continued ringing loudly as the smallfolk were examining Sansa closely, many eager to get a look at the new Queen. As per the King's order, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Lucius Blackmyre walked beside her, in cloaks as white as snow. Inside the sept, standing atop the seven-pointed star, each guest was in attendance as Robb took Sansa from the Kingsguard knights and walked her down the aisle.
"I'm to act as your father today," Robb whispered.
"I know, Robb," Sansa whispered as well. "Still… thank you for doing this for me."
The young Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North's face gave a brief warm expression to his younger sibling. "You are my sister. We might be farther apart now, but you are still a daughter of the North. We will always heed your call should you ever need us. Remember that."
Sansa felt a hint of comfort at Robb's words. 'Of course I won't be alone,' she reminded herself of that and exchanged brief glances with those in attendance.
To her left, Sansa noticed a few nobles from the Crownlands, Reach, Stormlands and the Riverlands. She could see her mother, Jeyne Poole and her sister Arya in attendance. Whatever guests who managed to arrive from either the North or Vale were difficult to spot. To her right, Sansa spotted nobles from the Westerlands—those she was able to detect right away were Tyrion Lannister, Ser Jaime Lannister, Prince Tommen Baratheon, Lord Hand Tywin Lannister… and of course, Cersei Lannister herself. Most pretended not to notice, but Sansa and Cersei seemed to exchange what seemed to be long glances—if not glares—at each other.
'So now the stag and direwolf finally crawl into bed together. You must be feeling very proud of yourself right about now, Robert,' thought Cersei bitterly. 'This fight isn't over yet. You'll see. They'll all see. No one takes from a lion.'
Sansa broke contact and saw the man she dreamed of seeing today. King Daveth stood before her on the steps alongside the High Septon, resplendent in black and gold, thigh-high dark leather boots, crimson sleeves and a golden stag crown on his head. He extended his hand forward, to which Robb stopped at the first step of the marriage alter and gave Sansa over. She raised her hand graciously and took Daveth's hand in hers as Sansa now stood side-by-side with the man the Stark maiden is marrying.
"You look very beautiful, Sansa," Daveth whispered into her ear.
Sansa smiled and blushed deeply. "And I must say you look very handsome this morning, my King," she replied.
Daveth shook his head in amusement. "Nervous?" he asked.
"A little, yes."
"Good. I feel the same, I must confess."
In between the statues of the Mother and the Father, stood the High Septon preparing to join the two youth's lives together. This old man, head of the Faith of the Seven religious doctrine, was appointed by King Daveth to the position after his predecessor was torn to pieces during the riot of King's Landing some time ago. White of hair and large white sideburns, the High Septon was chosen by the Most Devout at Daveth's behest was a good man and easy to approach.
The ceremony was like a dream turned reality. Sansa did all that was required of her. There were prayers and vows and singing, and tall candles burning, a hundred dancing lights that the tears in her eyes transformed into a thousand. Sansa felt the clasp of her maiden's cloak being removed from her shoulders, looking over to see Robb taking their father's colors from her as Daveth presented her with the bride's cloak and moved behind her. The bride's cloak he held was huge and heavy, black velvet silk with gold stags and bordered with gold satins and crimson rubies. Sansa blushed. She dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp. Then without warning, Sansa felt Daveth give her a quick peck on the cheek as he wrapped a cloak of Baratheon colors around her shoulders to bring her under his protection and felt as if time itself stood still. She was caught off-guard at Daveth's brief affection, but felt her heart melt nonetheless as that part of her dream was realized as Daveth returned to stand alongside her.
The High Septon cleared his throat and gazed at the couple. "Your Grace, my lady," he began before turning his attention towards Cersei. "Your Grace. Lords and ladies of the court, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife." On que, Daveth and Sansa held their hands and brought them upwards as the High Septon proceeded to tie a ribbon in a knot around their joined hands, symbolizing their union. "Let it be known that Sansa of House Stark," he continued, "and Daveth of the House Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."
Daveth and Sansa exchanged glances as Tommen looked up at his eldest brother. Jaime and Tyrion watched on in silence, but judging by their facial expressions could tell they were both equally proud of their nephew on this historic day. Barristan Selmy and Lucius Blackmyre stood by on guard, but Barristan felt a warm smile creep form on his face. Tywin remained standing tall and proud, saying nothing at all and gave no expression. Catelyn, Robb and Arya watched on as one of their own was about to say her vows; the Tully-turned-Stark matriarch had to wipe away a few strands of tears, her heart swelling with pride and joy for her eldest daughter.
"In the sight of the Seven," the High Septon announced, "I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He took a moment to look at Daveth and Sansa. "Look upon each other and say the words," he told them.
With that, Daveth and Sansa turned to look each other right in the eyes—their hands still tied in the ribbon before reciting their vows simultaneously.
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Daveth vowed, "and take you for my Queen and wife."
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Sansa vowed, "and take you for my King and husband."
Cupping Sansa's cheek with his free hand, Daveth leaned forward and pulled Sansa close to bring his lips to hers, kissing her long and deep. Sansa hummed happily and kissed Daveth back affectionately. Cersei watched on as her first son locked lips with mild irritation, but failed to recognize that Catelyn watched her composure very closely and noticed something was wrong—however she said nothing out of respect for her daughter and her son-in-law.
'She's up to something,' Catelyn thought suspiciously. 'Gods be good, this is supposed to be a joyous occasion, Cersei. What are you up to?'
*APPLAUSE!*
Daveth and Sansa pulled apart and faced the crowd, raising their now-unwrapped hands high in the air before the Seven-Pointed Star.
"My lords and ladies, I now present the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"
*LOUDER APPLAUSE!*
In the Small Hall…
Night falls upon the city, yet the wedding feast was rather festive. Music was playing, the food and drink was delicious, and court jesters kept the attendees laughing. The only person not enjoying themselves was Cersei Lannister, who sipped what appeared to be her third cup of wine. She was watching her son Daveth and Sansa closely, her grip on the cup tightening. Her position as Queen was gone, taken by a younger maiden younger more beautiful than the Golden Lioness. Cersei came close to shaking, watching Sansa laugh as Daveth whispered something into her ear. Any power Cersei had was effectively gone.
"Cersei," Jaime called out to his twin.
Cersei turned to see her brother approaching with a small cup of wine. "Why are you here?" she curtly murmured.
Jaime felt a bit taken aback by his sister's rudeness. "I thought you'd be happy."
"And what reason should I be happy?"
"Cersei, he's your son!" the Kingslayer hushed with fire in his whispers, trying to avoid attracting attention to himself and his sister.
"And for that I'm at risk for being sent back to Casterly Rock, while my son spends his nights bedding his wife," the former Queen Mother ignored him and walked away.
Jaime was surprised by Cersei's outburst and walking away from him, taking a quick glance at his nephew before looking back at his sister. She imposed a formality on their relationship. It is a paltry thing, but this is the authority that remains to her as former Queen Mother, the little power she can claim as Daveth's mother. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. But that maxim does not mention how painful and protracted your life can become before it ends.
'You're such a hateful woman, Cersei,' he thought. 'Why have the Gods condemned me to love such a hateful woman like you?'
Daveth, meanwhile, had been spending his time with his blushing bride sitting next to him.
"Surely you jest," Sansa laughed at one of Daveth's comments. "Who would do a thing like that and not expect such a punishment in return?"
"The Lord of Rook's Rest, apparently," he explained the joke. "But that scandal was nothing compared to the gossip I heard Lord Bar Emmon tell at Sharp Point six years ago."
When the musicians began to play a different song, Daveth offered his hand to Sansa. "Would you care to join the dance with me, my Queen?"
Sansa smiled. "I would love to, my King," she said, as she took his hand.
Every lord and lady assembled looked at the King and their new Queen joining them on the floor. Elinor danced with her young squire, and Margaery Tyrell with Prince Tommen. Petyr Baelish danced with his wife Lady Lysa Arryn, and Robb with Talisa. Oberyn danced with his paramour Ellaria Sand, much to the court's public dismay. Lady Merryweather, the Myrish beauty with the black hair and the big dark eyes, spun so provocatively that every man in the hall was soon watching her. Lord Mace and Lady Alerie Tyrell moved more sedately. Ser Kevan Lannister begged the honor of Lady Janna Fossoway. Merry Crane took the floor with the exile prince Jalabhar Xho, gorgeous in his feathered finery. Cersei Lannister partnered first Lord Paxter Redwyne, then Lord Rowan, and finally her own father Lord Hand Tywin Lannister, who danced with smooth unsmiling grace.
Sansa continued her dance with Daveth, noting his movements and sidestepping. A bit of awkwardness, but the Stark Queen could tell her husband was trying his best. It was so sweet and silly that Sansa tried to ignore it. Daveth noted how graceful and elegant the way Sansa was dancing, captivating those around them. She let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum… such an activity that was the only thing lost on Daveth as he moved to pick up the pace.
"So… how does it feel to be married?" he asked quietly.
"It's like… like a maiden's dream come true. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamt of my knight in shining armor taking me away to his castle," Sansa sighed as she laid her head against Daveth's torso. "And when I wake up, come morning… I see you."
'Still a maiden in love,' thought Daveth as he held his wife close.
The two remained close it was time to change partners. For a while, Sansa danced with Mace Tyrell, an oaf yet amiable man, and then her cousin Robin Arryn, and then Prince Tommen.
"Welcome to the family, Sansa," said the youngest Baratheon warmly. "Or… should I start calling you 'sister' now?"
"You flatter me, Prince Tommen," chuckled Sansa, before the partners changed again.
Ser Kevan Lannister told her she was beautiful, Lord Yohn Royce wished her many children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Petyr Baelish. She stiffened as his hand touched hers and drew her closer.
"I believe congratulations are in order, Your Grace. My, my. You've made quite an impression at court; set tongues in half the men in the room wagging."
Be that as it may, Sansa felt uncomfortable as she danced with her uncle by marriage. His hands were deft and sure and smelt of mint.
"I meant no offense, if that's your concern," he slyly reassured her as they whirled to the music. "Just stating the obvious that you're even more beautiful than your mother Cat was when she was your age."
"I'm sure you had your reasons for saying that, Lord Baelish."
"Petyr."
"Petyr, then. And you are quite certain that my aunt Lysa has no qualm with your choice in dance partners?"
Littlefinger shook his head in mock hurt. "You wound me. She knows I only want what is best for you and your future. You've married a Baratheon—the Oathkeeper—and soon you'll be helping build a powerful dynasty. It's only natural for family to look after one another, so those who claim to be your friend do not use you for their own gain."
Thankfully, it was time to change again. Her legs had turned to wood, though, and Lord Royce, Ser Tallad, and Elinor's squire all must have thought her a very clumsy dancer. And then she was back with Daveth once more, and soon, blessedly, the dance was over. It was at this time that the Hand of the King, Daveth's grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister, approached the two.
"You two appear to be enjoying yourselves," Tywin said. He did not deter from his stance, but he did give his grandson a long look as if to remind him of what's more important.
Sansa blinked for a moment and felt intimidated by the Old Lion's presence, but it was Daveth that picked up on his grandfather's words.
"I assume you mean the bedding ceremony, grandfather?" he pressed.
Tywin nodded. "You do remember your lessons, don't you?"
"A King needs a Queen to further the family line," Daveth nodded in return.
"And to ensure the survival of the family, you're going to have to give your wife one. And to do so, you need to perform."
Tyrion took the moment to intervene on his nephew's behalf. "I'm sure His Grace is more than capable of performing on his own, father. He just needs some… encouragement."
Daveth's eye widened. "Tyrion!" he hissed in embarrassment, his face turning bright red. "You can drink, you can joke, you can engage in revelry to make me rather uncomfortable sometimes, but need I have to remind you to keep such comments like that to yourself."
Tyrion humorously raised his hands up in mock submission and tried to not laugh when he noticed the look on his nephew's face. Sansa, however, felt embarrassed as well at the mere mention of the bedding ceremony being required for the bride and groom to consummate their marriage. For after the feast would come the bedding. The men would carry Sansa up to her wedding bed, undressing her on the way and making rude jokes about the fate that awaited her between the sheets, while the women did Daveth the same honors. Only after they had been bundled naked into bed would they be left alone, and even then the guests would stand outside the bridal chamber, shouting ribald suggestions through the door. The bedding had seemed wonderfully wicked and exciting when Sansa was a girl, but now that the moment was upon her she didn't want to think about any woman than her laying their hands on her husband like that.
It was at this moment that Robb Stark made his way to the group, boldly approaching the Lannisters twice his age and experience. "Lord Tywin," he spoke. "If you think the time is right, then by all means, let us bed them."
Everybody started cheering as the band starts playing celebratory music.
"To bed! To bed! To bed!" the guests chanted.
Daveth said nothing but glared at Robb, as if meaning to say "I'm going to kill you later for making me endure this in front of everyone." Robb, however, had merely found Daveth's discomfort to be rather amusing. To the young Lord of Winterfell, it showed that his best friend still cared about what said in front of him as dozens of men and women alike gathered around the new royal couple and led them to their chambers, making ribald jokes along the way.
Sansa yelped as the men carried her, but noticed the men carrying her were silenced when she caught Daveth casting what seemed to be an angry glare at them—as if warning them not to undress his Queen in front of him and keep their big mouths shut and their hands to themselves. The men dared not incite the Oathkeeper's fury on his wedding day.
At the royal bedchamber…
Both men and women laid Daveth and Sansa down in their room, some whispering good luck to them and silently made their way out to leave them alone. Once they knew for sure they were alone, Sansa felt her heartrate increase.
"Well…" Sansa tried to speak rather flushed.
"Well…" Daveth tried to do the same, but surprisingly found himself unable to. The King breathed as he fetched two goblets before turning to look at his wife. "Sorry for my display earlier," he apologized as he poured a flagon of Arbor gold for each of them.
Sansa looked at Daveth. "What do you mean?"
"I… there was a reason why I instructed them not to do… what they did," he took a moment to explain. "The thought of other men… touching you… I don't know; something in me just… just snapped."
The new Queen slowly began to piece the puzzle pieces together, coming to an understanding Daveth's motivations on the way to the room.
'He's jealous,' she concluded.
"I hope you'll forgive me."
Sansa walked over to Daveth and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing to apologize," she said plainly. "Come sit with me."
Daveth said nothing but did what Sansa requested and sat next to her. He handed her a cup and they drank the Arbor gold, though Sansa drained half her cup in three long swallows while she noticed Daveth drank the whole goblet in one go. No doubt it was very fine wine. It was starting to make her head spin, though Sansa was sober enough to know Daveth's posture had shifted slightly. Gently, she placed her hand on his.
"Talk to me," she beseeched him. "What's bothering you?"
Daveth raised an eyebrow. "It's nothing, Sansa," he answered. "Just not used to such public displays Uncle Tyrion made back there."
"If it bothers you, then we don't… have to do this… if you—"
"I want to," he admitted. "We both do. It's tradition, I know. My grandfather and your brother instructed us to consummate this marriage. But… I want to do it, only if it's with you."
Sansa briefly started shaking her shoulders. "Oh! Oh, I… Then, we'll have to…" her voice trails off and she looks away, feeling her cheeks flush.
Gods preserve her! She was terrible at saying it. The Young Stag must want this too, right? He is a Baratheon after all. So why is it that both young adults were finding themselves having a hard time trying to get started? What was holding them back? Why the hesitation? Before long, Sansa began tugging at her sleeves.
"If… we are going to do this," she stated, "I only have one favor to ask."
"What's that?" he inquired.
"Please be gentle with me. It's my first time."
Daveth looked at Sansa's hand atop of his; he could see her wrist trembling slightly, indicating she was a bit nervous discussing intimacy. He cupped her cheek and turned her head to face him. "If it's what you want, then it'll be done," he nodded as his fingers card through her loose hair.
Feeling a bit relieved, Sansa took the initiative and leaned in to kiss Daveth. The Young Stag kissed her back and kept one hand on her cheek while bringing the other to grip her small waist and pushed her down onto the mattress, unmindful of the fact that they have yet to undress. A scented beeswax candle burned on the bedside table and rose petals had been strewn between the sheets. Sansa heard herself nearly squealed in surprise, gripping Daveth's shoulders.
"Mmmm," she moaned.
The make-out session was affectionate to begin with at first, but quickly turned to passion when Sansa was once again surprised when she felt an unknown intruder pocking at her lips. Daveth had been pressing his tongue against her lips, demanding entrance into her mouth; in the end, Sansa complied and whimpered as their tongues tangled with their own, each battling for dominance. After what seemed to be several minutes, Sansa briefly pulled away to allow both of them catch their breaths. Daveth stood above her, looking down at the red-haired goddess that lay in front of him. Sansa looked up at Daveth, bringing one hand to gently caress her husband's face before she felt something pressing against her thighs.
"Would you have me undress, husband? Or do you want to undress me?" she panted.
Daveth nodded. "I'd rather undress you myself, little dove. If you'd let me."
Sansa smiled at Daveth's request and watched his hands fumbling at her clothes. She had to suppress a giggle when she saw Daveth's face as he worked trying to get the laces and buttons undone. Finally Sansa had to help her husband manage the laces and buttons, and her cloak and gown and girdle and undersilk slide to the floor until she was finally in her smallclothes. Sansa shuddered as she felt goosebumps form on her arms and legs. She was blushing real hard now and momentarily looked away; too shy to look at Daveth, but when she was done she glanced up and found him ogling her. There was a hunger in his blue eyes, it seemed to her.
"So beautiful," he observed Sansa's body closely.
"The act of lovemaking is like practicing for a battle," he remembered Tyrion telling him once. "Once you get going, just go with the flow and let your instincts do the rest."
"Daveth," she whined covering her breasts with her hands, "please don't stare at me like that. It's so embarrassing…"
"Is it now?" Daveth smirked teasingly.
He leaned down and his mouth went to work on Sansa's neck. She gasped and instinctively moved her hands to undo the laces of Daveth's tunic, removing each layer one by one until she was looking at his bare chest. Sansa was in a daze. Was he always this strong? How did he get these muscles? He had rough hands, but they were always gentle just for her. As Daveth continued assaulting Sansa's neck and moved down to her collarbone, the Wolf Queen's gasped as she felt pleasurable chills going throughout her skin.
"Daveth," she called out.
On demand, Daveth looked at Sansa. "Yes, my Queen?"
"You're still clothed," Sansa pointed out. "Don't be mean. That's not fair…"
Daveth chuckled at Sansa's whining and takes off of his boots and steps out of his breeches himself; leather, warm and tight against him that is nearly painful. Both now laid in their smallclothes. After a moment Sansa heard the sound of her husband fully undressed himself completely. Before long, Daveth went back to work as he slips a knee between Sansa's thighs and presses just slightly. The gasping moan that escapes her mouth is deep and surprising, her face blushing as Sansa gazes up at Daveth with wide eyes.
"So my little dove does have a sensitive spot," he murmured against her skin.
When Daveth began acting on instinct and moved his hand to cup her breast, Sansa clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she was making. She lay with her eyes closed, every muscle sent jolts of electricity through her body, wondering what might come next? More touching? Would he kiss her again? Should she open her legs for him now?
"Daveth," Sansa gasps again and heard herself moaning, shaking her head from side-to-side as Daveth suckled one of her nipples and slid his bare hands up her thighs to pull the ties on the last piece of her smallclothes, removing them from her.
Her eyes widened at her husband's boldness and felt the room get cold. They were both completely naked now, and acted more on instinctive impulse as they resumed their first act of lovemaking. The Young Stag can smell the simple, clean scent of the soap she used during her bath, as well as the lemon scented fragrance that was dabbed on her earlier this morning. He took removed his mouth from her nipple and traced a finger across that special spot beneath her thighs.
"Mmpphff!" Sansa tried to muffle the sounds she was making as she felt Daveth slid a finger inside of her, moving in and out of her, but she could hear the sounds she was making and recognized she was failing in her attempts to be quiet.
"Look at me, Sansa," Daveth called to her. "I want to see all of you. Please."
Panting, Sansa slowly opens her eyes, bright and feverish with longing before raising her head to press their foreheads together. She obediently removes both hands from her chest and allows Daveth full view of her breasts. "My love," Sansa pants, pressing her lips wanting a kiss.
Daveth complied with her plea and claimed her mouth. Their tongues wrapped around each other once more as Daveth moved his finger in and out of Sansa's maidenhead faster now, to which the Stark replied by bucking her hips upwards and rolled against his hand, her cries coming in time with her quickening breath. She pulled away, gasping for air as her hands gripped his shoulders, gritting her teeth together as she felt a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Sansa had no idea what this feeling is, but couldn't suppress it much further as her walls clamped down around Daveth's fingers and caused her to exclaim loudly.
"Daveth!" she cries, her hips shook and trembled, her upper lip glistening with sweat.
Daveth withdrew and examined the wet substance on his digits. Sansa's legs gave way but remained held against Daveth's body with his other hand.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked.
Sansa was still panting and breathed heavily, but shook her head. "No," she answered. "That thing… with your fingers…"
"You liked it?"
She nodded and watched him lie down next to her, wiping a few strands of hair away from her face and kiss her gently. Sansa looked down and her eyes widened at what she saw. Where his legs joined, Daveth's man staff poked up stiff and hard from a thicket of coarse black hair. Sansa and Davth looked into each other's eyes and he motions her for to make the next move considering he's been doing most of the work.
Moving her hand, Sansa grips Daveth's manhood and watches his face with something akin to wonder and awe. "You… it's so warm," she breathes, moving her hand up and down stroking his length at an agonizingly slow pace. Her grip becomes tighter and her strokes faster, shifting when she sees Daveth opening his eyes, it is to her blue eyes boring into his.
"Because of you," he groans, hissing through his teeth as he thrusted into her hand. "Sansa… I want…" Her name is like a blessing on his tongue and repeats it again and again. He wants her now.
By this point, Sansa pretty much knows what Daveth wants and bit her lower lip – feeling it trembling slightly. Up until now she'd been enjoying herself so far, but now the main event of the bedding ceremony was to begin at the King's behest. Sansa was to lose her virginity to the man she loves with all her heart. Slowly, she spread her legs apart for him.
"Please be gentle with me," Sansa reminds him. "It's my first time."
Daveth looks at his wife's face and nods understandingly. Gently moving her position, he takes her legs and brings them atop his shoulders and grabs the tip of his manhood, rubbing it up and down Sansa's maidenhead, preparing for penetration. Sansa looked down as winced as soon as she felt Daveth push and grips his arms tightly. Taking a brief moment's pause to get ready, Daveth and Sansa locked eyes. She nods for him to continue, inhaling sharply as Daveth pressed further against her hymen until he felt it weakening. Sansa bit her lip; she knew what was coming. With one final shove, her hymen broke and Daveth slid further into her.
"Daveth!" Sansa shouted and winced from the pain, feeling the trickle of blood through the crease of her buttocks and onto the bedsheets as her walls tightly constricted Daveth's manhood. Her maidenhead was gone. She was no longer a virgin. Their marriage was therefore officially consummated.
Daveth groaned loudly as he felt heat enveloping around his manhood, sending pleasure shooting throughout his body. His adrenaline wore off as soon as he felt Sansa digging her nails deep into his flesh and clawing his back. He looked at Sansa and noticed her eyes were shut tightly and tears were welling up. The Young Stag knew his bride was in pain.
"Sansa…" he groaned.
"It-it hurts," she cried.
The Young Stag raised a hand to brush Sansa's tears aside with his thumbs and held her close, listening to her small, quiet sobs. Placing one kiss on her cheek, he watched as her grip on his shoulders and backside slowly loosen, withdrawing her nails from flesh as a few reddened scratches had slowly begun to be more visible. Sansa's breathing still shuddered and shook as she took a moment to adjust, still in pain.
'He swore he would never hurt me,' she gritted through her teeth. 'He promised no harm would come to me.'
"Sansa?"
Sansa slowly opened her eyes and looked up to see Daveth staring down at her. She brought a hand to his cheek and gently caressed his skin. "I… I'll be fine, my King. Just… give me a moment," she whimpered waiting for the pain to subside. "Go slow. Please."
Daveth complied with her request, and began to move. His thrusts were slow and attentive which allowed a soft groan and grunt to escape from Sansa. Her face scrunched with a small mixture of pain, but with each movement Daveth took, Sansa started to show signs of comfort and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"B-By the Gods..." she whimpered.
Daveth leaned and claimed Sansa's mouth hungrily, his urges consuming him. He grabbed Sansa's hips and increased his pace a bit and pumped into her. As their tongues wrestled in each other's mouths, Sansa's face contorted into pleasure, as the pain faded further and further away. Her husband was making love to her; two hearts, minds, bodies and souls were connected and became one.
"Sansa… I love you, Sansa," Daveth murmured; small beads of sweat beginning to form across his brow as he buried himself deep within her.
"I love you too," Sansa panted. "I love you!"
For a few long minutes, which felt like an eternity, Sansa slightly muffled her gasps, cries, whimpers and moans – guaranteeing that only Daveth heard every sound she was making. Soon enough she began rocking her hips in a rather hypnotic motion, which drove Daveth crazy. Once he was certain that she was comfortable now, Daveth's thrusts became faster and harder. Flesh slapped against flesh as their hips met. Stag and wolf. Baratheon and Stark. The fruition of the late Robert Baratheon had been realized at the hands of his eldest son and Eddard Stark's daughter. Daveth continued pounding into his wife, never breaking eye-contact and their noses just barely touching. He moves just to see Sansa contorted in pleasure, to hear her exquisite cries and to watch her eyes as he takes her make her look all the more ravishing. It is only her beautiful cries, his own grunts, skin slapping against skin and the sinfully delicious wet sounds coming from her that fill the room. He is getting close now and so is she from the way her voice has risen in both volume and pitch.
"When you become King, you will have to marry. Do you understand why?" he heard Tywin's voice in his head again. "To further the family line and create a powerful dynasty. The blood of the lion flows through your veins, and maybe the path you choose to walk will perhaps overtake the Targaryens. Never forget your duties as a Baratheon and a Lannister and always perform when duty demands it."
All his life, Daveth took each lesson to heart to better himself as a person and to cement his House's legacy. His grandfather, Jon Arryn, Ned Stark… all counseled him and he's always done his duty. The one thing left was to expect his Queen to give him an heir or two. Yet this bond Daveth and Sansa built meant a lot more to them since the day they first met at Winterfell years ago. And Daveth put a lot on the line to ensure Sansa would not be manipulated by those he grew up with. Sansa was lost in the moment, a wave of orgasm having washed over her again and again. Exhausted as she was, the Wolf Queen felt Daveth's manhood starting to swell and twitch inside her as he quickened his pace. She knew what was coming; he would spill his seed inside her and she would birth princes and princesses should fate proved kind enough.
"I'm close, Sansa," he hissed when he pounded into her particularly hard. "I-I'm—"
"Come within me, Daveth. I-It's okay. C-claim me."
Whether it is the desperation in her voice, or the way she rises and falls like the swell of the sea, or how Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips, her insides clenching around him as she shook and rode out another orgasm. Finally reaching the peak of his limits, Daveth let out a low groan as he pinned her down and gave one deep thrust before finally spilling his seed directly inside of Sansa's fertile young womb, his movements erratic and fierce. Feeling spent, exhaustion soon enough caused Daveth to slowly collapse on top of Sansa, burying his face into her neck. Sansa's eyes widened, moaning as she felt his seed flowing within her. Her body shook, her toes curled... and her loins ached from the urgency of their first lovemaking, but it was a good one nonetheless. She grunted and began patting Daveth's shoulder to get his attention.
"My love," her voice strained under his weight, "you're crushing me."
Daveth found enough strength in his arms to lift himself up and withdrew from Sansa with a wet "pop" sound. He kept one arm wrapped around her slender, delicate form protectively as Daveth rolled off to the side. Both were completely exhausted and sore, beads of sweat drenched their skin. The Young Stag drew Sansa closer and she rested her head atop his bare torso, wiping the sweat from her brow and taking a moment to fix her messy hair. He brought up blankets around their rapidly cooling bodies and looked at his tired wife, moving small strands of her hair away from her face and rubbing his hand up and down her bare back with a kind of gentleness he had never known before.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked wearily.
Sansa shook her head just as wearily. "No, my King. You were sweet and attentive."
Daveth chuckled lightly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, my Queen."
"You're very much welcome, King Daveth of the House Baratheon, First of His Name," Sansa laughed.
Daveth found the remark rather amusing. "Feels weird hearing you say that. Does 'Queen Sansa' sound strange to you?"
"Not as strange as you might think… Husband."
"Wife."
Both found themselves laughing as they exchanged words, each vying to humorously outwit the other.
"You think I might give you a child after… what we just did?" Sansa asks, soothing like water. There is no worry there, no fear, no hesitation.
"Even if it's not this night, there's still time," Daveth answered, moving his right hand to tickle his wife's bare stomach. "Plenty of time in the world before we have sons and daughters."
Sansa rolled her eyes amusingly and swatted his hand away. "Watch yourself, my King. Do not be such a pervert."
Daveth kissed Sansa's forehead and the Wolf Queen snuggled against him, wanting to enjoy the woman had has loved him this night, whom he had grown to love back. "Thank you," he whispered.
Sansa blinked and looked up at Daveth, looking wonderingly into his blue eyes—knowing that there was something in the way he spoke. Now she was curious. "What for?" she asked sleepily.
Daveth turned his head to face her. "This," he spoke as he wrapped his fingers in hers. "I've never told anyone what happened at Lannisport. How what happened there changed me. From then I've never trusted anyone, never allowed myself to get close to anyone. I resigned myself to the fact that what I want doesn't matter. But…"
"'But'…?"
"Being here now, with you… I think I know what it is I've been looking for. This night, our night, means so much more. I think that after all my wandering, I'm finally home. This is where I belong. With you."
Sansa felt her heart race. She was so touched that Daveth was now finally able to fully open himself up to her like this. He only told her much about his past life before they met, now she felt there was no more secrets to hide. Sansa watched as her husband Daveth slowly drifted to sleep as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders for so many years. As sleep began to wear over her, Sansa blew out the candles and pulled the bedsheets over her and her husband, curling herself up against him.
"I am yours, Daveth," she whispered as she fell asleep. "Now and always…"
Somewhere at the Neck…
Silence dominated Moat Cailin as the Northmen living in the shadow of the decrepit stronghold watched over the Neck. On the shortest of the three towers still standing, two particular sentries could not wait for their shift to end. It had been a long night, the fog making everything look bleaker than it already was. Both men knew, however, that they could not leave their posts or the safety of the North would be in jeopardy.
"How long do you think the Young Wolf's gonna be at the capital?" the older of the two asked.
"I dunno," the second replied, "but we've got our orders. Hold Moat Cailin and make sure no trouble comes our way.
"Sounds kinda fishy if you ask me," the first said. "But still, orders are orders. And I'd prefer not to face the Young Wolf's pet, Grey… Grey, uh… What's his fucking name again?"
"Grey Whirl, I think. No, no, no, no. Grey Whom or something like that—"
*BOOM!*
Both men clung to the walls as flaming boulders bombarded the other towers, shattering the calm of the swamplands. They rose to their feet and looked out on Blazewater Bay, drawing back in horror at the sight before them. Four warships were making their way towards the shore, their black sails emblazed with the image of a golden kraken. The sigil of House Greyjoy of Pyke.
"To arms! All hands to arms! All hands to arms! Gather your weapons! Gather your weap—"
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
The boulders kept coming, flying through the air one after the other, pummeling the fortress, hurling soldiers and volunteers in every direction. On the ground below, skiffs emerged from the fog, each carrying armed ironborn soldiers. They swarmed from the boats, half of them striking down the approaching Northmen and half scouring the towers. Within minutes, the Neck had fallen.
As black smoke billowed into the night sky, Victarion Greyjoy, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, climbed atop a bloody corpse and held up his battle-ax to the cheers of his subordinates.
"Victory for the Iron Islands!" he cried. "Victory for King Balon of House Greyjoy!"
"Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory! Victory!"
They were so immersed in celebrating their triumph they didn't notice the lone scout who was riding towards King's Landing as fast as his horse could carry him.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Well guys, here we go. The deed's been done. A certain steamy bit I didn't think I'd include. House Baratheon and House Stark are bound by blood and the people of Westeros get a new Queen; and a bit of steamy stuff between the newlyweds. However, there is a certain someone who still remains bitter and somewhat hostile. Guess who that might be? Nah, don't answer that. That much is obvious. Normally I'm not good at writing a scene like this so forgive me if I'm a little sloppy at it. The next chapter I'll write will kick-off the second declaration of war in which Daveth Baratheon himself will personally take to the battlefield again. Thoughts at to what'll come next as Baratheon and Greyjoy clash swords again? Let me know.
UNSC Ragnarok: Best stroy I've ever read
―Thanks.
Shoveler: Very good
―Thanks.
ZabuzasGirl: Wonderful! ;)
Update immediately, please.
―Thanks. Will do momentarily. Gotta give my brain a break before diving back into the fray again first.
Hail King Cerion: Great chapter as always, loved the wedding scene as well. It's actually what I would picture if Sansa actually wed a decent man.
The Iron Born has struck, hopefully, the North and Robb can fight back.
―I tried to make a good wedding scene as best as I could. Glad to hear that it's meeting some expectations.
―As for the ironborn, we could definitely expect an immediate retaliation by the North, Robb Stark and Daveth Baratheon.
Felon GT: Ya got catches of wild fire bra. Time to extinct the Greyjoys and any houses that follow the reaping way of life. . Not all houses follow it or at least don't care for it. Balon brotherinlaw doesn't follow it. I think he was a quellon Greyjoy follower. Burn it all down. They got catapults for wild fire. In the game of thrones conquest app game it's a siege weapon variant. Burn the castle down
―Tempting. I'll think about it; things may be subject to a few changes.
BioHazard82: Another good chapter.
―Thanks.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
mpowers045: This is so touching with the wedding and his confession with Sansa after the bedding
―It took a long time for someone other than his family to get Daveth to open up. I believe his marriage to Sansa is bringing out the best in him.
C.E.W: Daveth and Sansa's wedding has happened and the bond between the Baratheons and the Starks is sealed. Now that Victarian Greyjoy has attacked and taken Moat Cailin, its only a matter of time before word gets to Winterfell and King's Landing. There is no mention of Theon, now the question is... which side did he pick, Daveth's or Balon's? He didn't send warning to the Starks, or to the capital, which makes it seem more likely he choose Balon. However, he could realized that it would not be safe to send a raven, due to the possibility of the Maester or whoever oversees the ravens reporting to his father. He could've sneak off Pyke, might've taken him longer to reach the mainland than the Iron fleet. Daveth is still yet to greet his Dornish guests especially Prince Oberyn, Daveth is making him a risky promise. For now, he could offer him a seat on the Small Council to help keep Dorne in the fold for the time being. When the fighting with the Ironborn begins, Daveth could leave to lead the armies yes, however Tywin can stay behind to rule in his stead. Tywin won't allow Cersei to harm Sansa, especially if she turns out pregnant. As the campaign, well the Ironborn have taken Moat Cailin and have blocked out the Neck and Deepwood Motte will fall giving the Ironborn a base of operations. However, while the west coast of the North is crawling of Ironborn ships, the east is not. So, While a considerable amount of troops led by Daveth can march south of the Neck to keep the Ironborn at Moat Cailin occupied, Stannis Baratheon could take a majority of Robb's army to White Harbor to take Moat Cailin from behind. And if the Wildlings are heading North of the Wall, Stannis will be close enough to reinforce them. The Redwyne and the royal fleet can head for the west to counter the Iron fleet, and the campaign against the Ironborn can develop from there. Perhaps if Daveth brings the Mountain, maybe if the Mountain does something terrible again which is likely, Daveth can charge him enough for the Mountain to invoke a trial by combat. The Mountain may champion himself, and Daveth can choose Oberyn Martell as the crown's champion.
―Theon Greyjoy will return in the next chapter as well as the decision of what side he'll choose. Stark or Greyjoy? Even someone desperate for his father's praise knows that the Iron Islands stand no chance against a united Seven Kingdoms with Daveth Baratheon at the helm. Theon might either stay or escape to warn someone-though he'll still see it as a lose-lose situation considering his father Balon just violated the conditions of his surrender: stay loyal or his son will be beheaded if he ever tried anything. But with Moat Cailin seized, southern armies can't march up nor could the North send armies south; the only option for those stuck on either side would be to send a task force to Dragonstone and sail up to White Harbor so the Northmen could make a move to oust Victarion Greyjoy and his men from the stronghold. Robb Stark would most likely head to White Harbor since he's the new Warden of the North and he's responsible for protecting it along with his bannermen that have gone south with him. I'd imagine the Umbers, Glovers, Mormonts, Karstarks, Manderlys and Boltons will want in on the action.
―Daveth hadn't taken the moment to meet with Prince Obeyrn, it's true. It's a rather risky move Daveth made in an attempt to bring Dorne back into the fold and he'll make at least a concession before heading off to war again-though he might send someone on his behalf to inform the Red Viper himself. Daveth would likely ask his grandfather to keep the peace in King's Landing and have Sansa handle court intrigue now that she's his Queen while he's away. The Redwyne Fleet will engage the Iron Fleet while a fraction of the Royal Fleet moves the Northmen to White Harbor before sailing around Westeros to join the battle. I'd expect Stannis Baratheon would make a debuting return as well consider he destroyed the Iron Fleet last time and decimated the Iron Island's largest area so he'll play an important role.
―As for Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane... we'll see what happens next.
kira444: I'm so hype it's insane!
―The epic battle is about to begin!
The Three Stoogies: a great chapter now the soft and lovey dovey stuff is done we can get to the steel and blood portion of the story keep up the great work.
―Thanks. Tried to add some serious romance into the story. Now that it's done, back into the blood and guts!
Guest #1: great story
―Thanks.
Magi Tail Welkin: So, the drama continues.
While Daveth is away sorting out the Second Greyjoy Rebellion no doubt we'll see Cersei and Sansa exchange unpleasentries, and sooner or later, push will come to shove. Let's see who's the strong.
The lemon scene is servicable. At it reads like a properly sturctured piece of literature and not something like (groan) Fifty Shades of Grey.
―I've never written a lemon scene before so I wasn't sure how people would react. I mean, some are better at writing scenes like that. Plus I've never even seen Fifty Shades of Grey.
―No doubt there's going to be back-and-forth tension between Sansa Stark and Cersei Lannister. Lioness and Wolf. We'll see who ends up walking away victorious. I sense a cat fighting coming!
Patty 4577: And the wedding has happened. Without anyone being shot or poisoned. As to the Second Greyjoy Rebellion from what I know of Victorion, he's like Tormund in that nothing short of being filled with crossbow bolts. As to strategy, Daveth should order Stannis and the royal fleet to transport Robb and his bannermen to White Harbour first. While having the Redwyne and the Lannister fleets launch counter raids on the Iron Islands. That should disrupt Balon long enough for Stannis to circumnavigate the continent. As to Robb his main challenge would be Deepwood Motte as Yara is quite a formidable fighter. So best to have Greywind on hand to incapacitate her if the fight goes south. Oh and when the entirety of Westeros comes barreling down on Pyke. I say don't give Balon the dignity of a last stand. Just bombard the castle and Lordsport until there is nothing.
Oh just have one thing. Have Cersei cause some trouble while Daveth and Tywin are out of the capital. Like say bring the Sparrows into play earlier.
―Figured it'd be nice to see at least a royal wedding that some people can admire with characters that are actually likable for once. And yes, I've heard the same thing about Victarion Greyjoy being as ferocious as Tormund Giantsbane. Daveth will definitely have to utilize every ounce of strategy that's available to put down the Second Greyjoy Rebellion. I agree with most of the suggestions so far and I'll see what I can do. Don't worry. Balon Greyjoy's not getting away from this time. Daveth still remembers the attack on Lannisport and his imprisonment at the ironborn's hands all too well. He'll show no mercy.