Disclaimer. As usual anything you recognise isn't mine.
Winterfell, 297 AC, Jon.
As soon as the King and the other guests had been settled into the great hall Jon followed his…father? Into his solar for the explanation he'd been promised. Taking a seat in front of his father's desk he waited impatiently for his father to start his explanation.
Lord Eddard Stark seemed conflicted, Jon noted as he took his time to formulate his words, eventually growling slightly as he placed a goblet in front of Jon and himself, before filling both with a healthy dose of aquavit from a dusty bottle. "Drink," he said to Jon before taking a healthy sip, closing his eyes as he savoured the potent alcohol.
Far from a stranger to alcohol, including some gnarly stuff the wildlings who raided Bear Island brought with them, Jon threw back the drink, taking a deep breath of satisfaction as he felt warmth spread through him.
"You are not my son Jon, you are my nephew," well that was certainly a far more blunt approach than Jon had expected.
"And my mother?" Jon asked. He'd had suspicions for a while now, especially with the continued whispers of 'Brandons boy' and similar comments the last years. So while he certainly wasn't pleased that his father, no uncle had lied to him and was in fact not his father, he wasn't too shocked either.
His uncle shook his head. "There were…complications surrounding your birth and my own actions. Your mother is dead," his uncle seemed to be awash with pain, shame and guilt in equal measure.
Seeing Jon about to retort his uncle held up a hand to forestall him. "Your mother loved you from the day she felt you quickening in her womb, even as your birth doomed her she loved you till her last breath, never think otherwise."
Wiping his suddenly blurry eyes Jon was surprised to discover that tears had filled his eyes. To tell the truth he had always held out hope that perhaps someplace out there his mother was alive, and mayhaps even waiting for him to show up at her door someday but at the same time he had always known that it was nothing more than a hollow dream. A fervent hope from a young boy who wanted a mother, his own 'father's' wife spurning him with a passion. "I just want to know who she was," Jon said with a hollow voice.
"I know," his uncle said as he stood up and walked around his desk to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But, with how the Rebellion ended, and due to the side I fought for…exploring the other side of your family will bring you nothing but pain and trouble."
"What was she like?" Jon asked in desperation.
"Much like yourself. She was a free spirit too the last, not at all shamed to make her opinion known, and she was a great beauty, Knights, Lords and Princes alike sought her favour."
Jon closed his eyes, trying for perhaps the thousandth time to conjure up some image of her, but from his own looks, and the looks of his two uncles and description of his father he could find nothing to associate her with, except perhaps that she had been a talented singer, his own voice having brought more than one fair maiden to tears (and into his bed). "Do you…would she be proud of me?"
His uncle laughed. "She would be proud yes, but I fear she would also be quite exasperated, and let me not begin on your choice…or number of bedfellows."
Jon grinned ruefully. "I suppose I am my father's son in that aspect from what I've heard."
His uncle remained silent. "One day, perhaps. I will tell you more about your mother, for now we are missing a party."
Walking to the great hall together, they arrived just in time to see the Greatjon slam an angry fist onto the table while staring balefully at the King. "Lord Umber what is the meaning of this?" Ned asked, breaking the King, the Greatjon and half a dozen other northern Lords out of their argument.
"Ned," the Greatjon said as he stood up, and with the other Lords stormed over to where Jon and his uncle stood. "We were discussing the bedding ceremony."
"Fuck that Greatjon," the King boomed, laughing slightly as he too joined them. "The Greatjon and his fellow Lords are thinking that the bedding ceremony tomorrow should be dispensed."
Jon grinned slightly, he had a good feeling as to why the Greatjon and the other Lords with him wanted the bedding dispensed with, and from the look of his uncle who was running a tired hand across his face he seemed to be of the same mind. All those Lords had daughters with them after all.
"Jon…" his uncle started only for the Greatjon to cut him off, a slightly frantic look in his eyes.
"Ned, if you think I will let my daughters anywhere near the wolfboy here with only fellow maidens for company while undressing him you can think again. I have love for the boy, the entire North has, but we're not stupid either."
Try as he might Jon was unable to stop himself from breaking out in cackles, of all the Lords of the North, the Greatjon was one of the least suitable ones to play the role of worried father, especially considering his own exploits when he was Jon's age.
"You find this amusing Jon?" his uncle asked after giving him a probably well-deserved slap over the back of his head.
"N-no," Jon said with a trembling voice as he tried to keep his face serious.
"Good, because if you did, I'd probably be forced to remind you that your future wife has three older brothers, half a dozen cousins, and a very sharp temper."
Well that certainly brought Jon back to earth. He had been able to deal with Alys' brothers easily enough, but the thought of facing a good eight or nine Karstark boys at the same time, all of them out for his blood was a bit more daunting. Not to mention the fact that he couldn't exactly beat his wife either, especially not if the situation was of his doing in the first place.
"Perhaps the wolf has something between his ears after all," the Greatjon said with a smirk, that was shared by his fellow Lords.
The King who had done nothing but looked on with amusement broke into hysterical laughter. "Hah, just like your father you are," he sniggered as he slapped Jon on the back, nearly sending Jon to the floor. "Come, come, there's someone I want you to meet," and then he threw one of his large arms across Jon's shoulders, leading him to one of the lower tables in the hall, eventually stopping before a tall and heavily muscled black haired lad perhaps a year or two younger than Jon.
"This is Gendry," the King said with a tone of…affection or pride in his voice. "He's a blacksmith from King's Landing. He's young, but probably one of the best you'll find in all of Westeros, he'll be coming with you to Moat Cailin and serve as your blacksmith there."
"M'lord," Gendry said as he stood up and bowed deeply.
"None of that," Jon said as he gestured for Gendry to sit down again, before taking a seat opposite the young man. "So you're a blacksmith."
"Yes M'lord," Jon almost growled in annoyance at the boy's attitude. If there was one thing he didn't like about becoming a Lord was the goddamn courtesies and subservience people started to show him all of a sudden. As a bastard he'd always been 'one of the people', speaking his mind, drinking with them and the like, he just wasn't used to being treated like the sun shone out from his arse.
"Call me Jon," he said, hoping probably against all hope that the boy would take the hint.
"It wouldn't be proper M'lord."
Jon almost spat out the ale he had in his mouth. "FUCK that," he said as he swallowed. "All my life I've been a bastard. Just because the King said some words and signed a piece of paper doesn't mean that the sun has started to shine out of my arse. My name is Jon, be sure to use it."
Gendry's eyes widened slightly and as Jon turned his head he saw why. His uncle stood there with his face in his hands, shaking his head in resignation, while the King just laughed.
"I like you lad, just like your father you are," the King said before turning and walking away, and even across the din of all the noise in the hall Jon could hear the King say, 'Fuck propriety' before breaking out into renewed laughter.
"You say you were a bastard M'lo…Jon?" Gendry said, finally catching himself in time to not call Jon 'M'lord'.
"Aye, been known as the Bastard of Winterfell all my life, along with various other titles that have been added over the years, which is why I don't give a fuck about propriety. No one ever called me M'lord before, and I certainly won't hang a man for calling me by my name now just because I've been legitimized."
Gendry got a wistful look across his face, no doubt about the thought of being legitimized, as a fellow bastard Jon had no problems picking up on that expression.
"How did you come to be a blacksmith if I may ask?"
Gendry shrugged slightly. "I barely remember, it was when I was about five namedays old or so. My mother had succumbed to an illness, when a fat man in a hood and cloak took me to Tobho Mott and paid him to take me on as an apprentice, been with master Mott ever since."
"Hmm," Jon said, most curious that was. "Well at least you know that your father cares about you, even if he hasn't revealed himself to you."
"You think so?" Gendry asked sceptically.
"Must be, I don't think hooded and cloaked men make a habit of picking up young boys and then pay a hefty sum to make sure that said boy will get an education and learn a trade."
Gendry nodded thoughtfully, Jon did make a point after all.
"But tell me, what can you craft?"
"Just about anything. Weapons, armour, plate and chain alike. Tools, nails, horseshoes, I even know how to make warmachines," he finished with a grin.
"That's good," Jon said.
"…"
"Are you intending to go to war?" Gendry asked after a moment of silence, causing Jon to laugh.
"How much do you know about the North Gendry?" Jon asked.
"Not much," Gendry admitted.
"Well, Moat Cailin, the fortress we will move to when the wedding is over has historically been the North's greatest defense. It broke dozens if not hundreds of armies from the south who tried to conquer the North. It is the sole reason why the Andals never took the North. For thousands of years now it has been in disrepair, with only three of the original twenty towers and a rotten wooden fort standing, and it was still seen as virtually unassailable from the south."
Jon took a deep drink, vaguely noticing that Alys, Arya and a few other young girls and boys from other houses had gathered around him.
"But now, work has started to restore it. There are currently eight towers standing, another two are being worked on. The rotten keep has been torn down and another one from stone has been made, we have one set of walls already, and soon enough we will have another wall. If as you say you can make warmachines, we can add that to the already impressive defences."
"A good plan," a strangely calm and silent voice said from behind Jon, causing him to turn around.
Standing there was a somewhat pale man, perhaps a few years older than Jon, with neck length brown hair, a thin face and pale eyes. "Domeric Bolton," he said as he extended a hand towards Jon. "My congratulations upon your coming wedding."
Jon nodded his head slightly as he shook the hand of Roose Bolton's son. "My thanks Lord Domeric, and I thank you for coming to my wedding," gesturing to an empty seat, watched as Domeric took it.
"The first Stark wedding in the North since Lord Rickard, it would be improper not to come," Domeric said.
Jon nodded slightly as he refilled his glass. "I hear you've just returned from the Vale," Sansa gushed, no doubt eager for tales of southron chivalry.
"Yes, I served as a squire to Lord Redfort for three years before I returned home. I was intending to visit my bastard brother when we got the invitation."
Jon and a few of the others around the table shuffled slightly, causing Domeric to raise a questioning eyebrow.
"I've only heard rumours," Jon started. "While no evidence has been given, your brother does not have a good reputation in the North."
DOmeric narrowed his eyes slightly. "He is my brother," he said, "I always wanted a brother," he said it so softly that Jon thought that he had perhaps not even meant to say the words.
"I'm not saying he isn't, all I am saying is that if there is any truth to the rumours about your brother you should exercise some…caution. Visit him and see for yourself, but keep a weather eye when you do it."
Domeric nodded slightly, as if deep thought. "Perhaps I shall, I shall have to ask my father about the veracity of these rumours," and just like that, the Bolton heir suddenly stood and walked off.
"Boltons," Edd spat after he was sure that Domeric was outside of hearing range. "Gives me the chills the whole lot of them."
Jon nodded in agreement with Edd. The Boltons had ever had a bad reputation in the North, and most likely they would always have a bad reputation, then again, when you used a flayed man as your sigil you probably asked for it.
"Is there a problem with the Boltons?" Gendry asked.
"The Boltons were the last house in the North to swear allegiance to the Starks, nasty dried up cunts," Edd explained. "They used to flay their victims alive, and even today their sigil is that of a flayed man."
Gendry's eyes widened, "They flayed people alive?"
Jon grimaced slightly, there were rumours abound even now, thousands of years after that the Bolton's still had the skins of several Stark's that they had made into cloaks, but he doubted that Gendry was looking to hear about that.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Another voice said suddenly. "The Starks outlawed flaying over a thousand years ago."
Turning, Jon spotted the tall form of Dacey Mormont, who, despite her tall frame seemed to fit just as well into the dark green dress she wore, as she did in mail. "Lady Dacey," Jon exclaimed. "It has been too long since last I visited Bear Island."
Dacey smirked slightly. "My sisters send their love," she said before extending her hand to Alys. "Dacey Mormont, Lady Alys."
Alys shook her hand, "I assume you know each other," she said.
"Yes, though not as well as some would think," she grinned, causing a few of the others at their table to laugh, while Jon grimaced.
"I may not have been the most…well behaved young lad," he said as he ignored the accompanying snorts, "But I was hardly so bad that I fucked every woman who looked comely."
Dacey raised a sceptical eyebrow, one that was shared by Robb and Alys before a sly grin crossed her face. "My sisters send their congratulations."
"Send them my thanks," Jon said. "Why are they not here if I may ask?"
"With me and mother here, Alysane is running Bear Island. Lyanna is still somewhat young, so mother preferred for her to remain."
"And Lyra and Jorelle?" Jon asked.
Dacey's smirk grew wider. "They decided to stay on Bear Island with their daughters, both babes are still young, barely off the teat."
Jon felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach.
"I didn't know they had wed," Robb, stupid lovable Robb, said suddenly.
"Oh they're not," Dacey said.
"But…" Robb started before he suddenly grinned just as widely as Dacey as he shifted his gaze over to Jon who suddenly felt very hot underneath his collar.
"They were fathered by a bear in the woods," Dacey said as an explanation. The same excuse her mother had given to anyone who questioned the paternity of Dacey or her sisters.
"You sure it wasn't a wolf?" Robb asked with a trembling voice as his whole frame shook.
"Fuck you Robb," Jon snarled while the rest laughed, even Alys was snickering at him.
"Well, at least I know that my husband will be able to provide me with strong children," she japed.
"I thought you knew that already," Dacey laughed.
"That's it," Jon said as he stood up. "Gendry, you know how to fight?"
Gendry stuttered slightly as he denied having any experience with fighting.
"That won't do," Jon said. "No blacksmith of mine can be ignorant in the ways of combat. Seeing as it is so hot in here we shall go outside and I'll give you your first lesson."
Robb smirked at Gendry's suddenly worried look, at least until he spotted Jon giving him a nasty grin. "Robb, I'll need your help for a demonstration."
Robb paled, especially as Edd and Dacey caught on and each grabbed one of his arms. "Fuck!"
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"What did you do now," was Lord Stark's first words when he spotted Robb, Jon Gendry, Edd and Harrion the next morning.
"Not so loud," a weak voice whispered from the other side of a stack of barrels in the practice yards.
"Robert," Another, older and more weary voice joined the voice of Jon's uncle.
Groaning slightly, Jon rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he took stock of the situation. His cousin, new blacksmith and two of his goodbrothers (and probably himself as well) all looked like hell and as he searched through his alcohol soaked mind he realized why.
He, Robb, Edd and Harrion and Gendry had gone outside for, ostensibly to teach Gendry a thing or two about fighting, but as alcohol was consumed and insults started to fly back and forth any pretence of 'sparring flew out of the window as they started a free for all brawl. They had stopped briefly as the King found them, and after laughing at them cajoled them into further drinking as he started to ramble on about warstories or this and that wench he had bedded at some time. Eventually the King had become so drunk that he had shocked the seven hells out of all of them by revealing that he was Gendry's father.
Gendry proved at that very moment that he was his father's son in more than just looks by actually jumping the King in his alcohol soaked rage, and things just turned into complete anarchy from there. The King, far from being angry had just laughed, no doubt eager for his first good scrap since his own rebellion most like, and had eagerly clubbed everyone over the head with his fists. Not that the northerners were content to stand by and watch Everyone had given their best, punching, kicking, scratching, pinching and even biting. No holds barred, eventually they had all just sat down bruised and bloody and laughed at the absurdity of it all as they passed a bottle of some strong spirits from the summer isles back and forth and eventually fallen asleep.
That is until his uncle, and the Hand of the King Jon Arryn had woken them up.
"Well!" his uncle asked sharply, causing jon and his friends to wince in pain.
"FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS NED NOT SO LOUD," the King yelled before gripping his head in sudden pain, caused by his own shouting.
"We went outside for some drinks, and one thing led to another," Jon tried his best to explain while gingerly touching his nose that hurt like hell. At least it wasn't broken.
"Fuck Jon," Harrion groaned, "You got my eyes again," and true enough. The black eyes he had gotten from Jon at their first meeting, had almost receded by last eve, but he was now sporting fresh ones, and Jon got a faint recollecting of his fist hitting the Karstark heir twice in the face in rapid succession due to some insult.
"I expected this from you Jon," his uncle said. "But you Robb? What do you think your mother will say when she sees you?"
Robb paled, and with good reason, his nose was crooked, the result of his nose challenging and losing to Gendry's forehead, his chin sported an impressive blue and yellow mark, and his fine clothes were ripped and torn in several places.
"Bah, harmless fun Ned, a little scrap keeps the spirits up," King Robert said as he staggered over. Despite being twice the size of anyone else that Jon had seen, with the exception of Lord Wyman Manderly, the King was definitely the one who looked least worn out of them, clearly his large amounts of blubber was little to no hindrance to his fighting skills, and Jon felt a sudden moment of pity for Prince Rhaegar who had kidnapped and raped his aunt Lyanna, he would not like to be the one who had to face Robert Baratheon when the man was in his prime.
Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, was a tall man with pale blue eyes and greying hair, but despite his age Jon could see the intelligence hidden in those blue orbs, though at the moment he looked less like a wise old man who held the kingdoms together and more like an old resigned man who was ready to give up. "I leave you alone for one night," Arryn muttered, causing Robert and his uncle Ned to share guilty grins with each other. "I swear Robert, you are still that obnoxious hotblooded young man who fostered with me in the Vale ten and seven years ago."
"Enough of this," his uncle said. "All of you get inside and get cleaned up," and then his uncle and Jon Arryn both walked back into the keep, both of them muttering some very unlordlike things under their breaths.
One by one they picked themselves up to get back into the keep, Jon helping the King get Gendry back on his feet. "Jon, I would like a word alone with my…son. I have words that needs to be said."
Seeing the King serious for the first time, and the myriad of emotions that flashed across Gendry's face, Jon decided that making himself scarce was probably the best thing. "Of course Your Grace."
A few moments later he was relaxing in a bath, washing away the grime and blood from last night and letting his muscles soothe their ache. "Though night?"
Jon whirled his head around, only to spot Alys in the doorway, holding a bundle of clean clothes in her hands. "You could say that," he grinned.
"You look like shit," she said bluntly, causing Jon to laugh. He had spotted himself in a mirror before going to the bath and it wasn't a pretty sight.
"You should see the others," he sniggered as Alys sat down on a stool beside him.
Alys sighed slightly. "Why must you menfolk always fight over the meanest detail?" she asked as she started to rummage through a small satchel at her side.
"Male bonding, the King called it," Jon said with a shrug as he leant his head back, only to jerk slightly as he felt Alys' hands on his forehead. Opening his eyes he could see that she held a hooked needle and accompanying thread in her hand.
"I must sew this cut above your eye," she explained and Jon closed his eyes again as he tried to relax. While nothing had been broken during last night's brawl, he had received rather nasty cut above his brow.
Having stitches sown into his flesh was never a pleasant experience, but he'd had worse before so he grit his teeth and let Alys finish. "There, all done," she said as she laid a soft kiss on his lips, causing Jon's hands to instinctively reach for her body for more, only to be slapped away by Alys who tutted disapprovingly. "None of that my dear, you must wait for tonight."
Jon sulked slightly as Alys stepped out of his reach. "You are a cruel woman My Lady," he said with mock pain, "leaving me like this."
Alys glanced into the water before smirking at him. "You have a pair of hands My Lord, surely you could take the problem…in hand?" and then she ran off giggling, leaving Jon alone.
"Woman is going to be the death of me," he mumbled before letting his hand grip his cock.
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It was a relieved and at the same time frustrated Jon who finally stepped out of his rooms clad in his new clothes. His uncle, and cousin Sansa had both tried to impress upon him the need for 'dressing up' and to an extent he had acquiesced. He wore a new and tight fitting pear of black leather trousers, his worn boots had been replaced by a new pair that had been treated so they almost shone in the light. A white shirt of fine cotton with a high collar with a grey direwolf embroidered on both sides of his neck. Above his shirt he wore a dark brown leather brigandine that went down to just above his knees, split along the sides and up the middle to the waist for better movement. Hung on his shoulders was the pelt of a snow white bear that he had killed in a hunt on Bear island. The head of the large bear still ung in the hall of the Mormont's while the rest of the bearpelt had been made into a sort of cloak for him.
One arm went over his shoulder and across his chest, while the other arm came up from his left and connected to the arm across his chest with the aid of a pair of hooks and rings that had been added, it was large enough that the lower end of the pelt almost touched the ground, ending just above his ankle.
Finally his sword Red Rain was slung across his back, while his belt held a shorter sword in a leather scabbard. "Look at you, all grown up," said his uncle Benjen who had been permitted to attend Jon's wedding.
"Uncle Benjen," Jon laughed as he grabbed his uncle in a hug, noticing that he was suddenly taller than his uncle, "thank you for coming."
Benjen grinned as he ruffled Jon's hair before holding him at arms length. "You didn't think I'd miss my favourite nephew's birthday did you?"
Jon quirked an eyebrow. "Favourite, uncle? You should pay heed that Lady Stark does not hear you."
Benjen laughed. "Thanks to you and others hounding the ironborn as you've done we have a lot more brothers on the wall now."
Jon grinned. "I couldn't kill the cowards who threw down their arms, wouldn't be sporting would it?"
"I am glad for it Jon, a good man does not take a life when he doesn't have to," Benjen said as they walked through the halls of the old castle.
"I'll miss this place," Jon said as they passed an old painting of a Stark King whose name had been forgotten in time.
Benjen gripped his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "I know the feeling, I am happy where I am. But Wintefell will always be my home."
"How did you deal with it?"
Benjen shrugged slightly. "You move on. The Wall became my new home and I did the best I could. As for you, Moat Cailin will be yours, it will belong to you and your sons. Besides, it is not as if you are forbidden from ever coming back to visit," Benjen finished with a smile.
"Thanks uncle," Jon said.
Benjen nodded as they continued their walk. "I forget how it can be to be young and leaving home for good."
Jon grinned slightly. "Must be terrible to be old," and then he sped up.
"Exac-wait! COME BACK HERE!"
Jon let out a bark of laughter before he ran off, Benjen chasing him while trying to avoid laughing too. Before Benjen could catch up with him Jon entered the great hall where people had already started eating, though it was still fairly early, perhaps an hour or two after midday.
"I see you…solved your problem," Alys grinned when he sat down at the high table at his uncle's right hand for the first time in his life.
"What problem?" his uncle asked with a sharp voice as he narrowed his eyes.
"Oh nothing he couldn't take in hand," Alys said with a sweet smile and a sly grin.
Ned Stark squinted his eyes in thought a moment before closing them in frustration. "Jon, I do not want to hear about your sordid affairs at the table around my young and more importantly innocent children."
"What kind of problem is it one need to take in hand?" Arya asked curiously.
'SLAM!' the sound of his uncle's head smashing down onto the table caused Jon to grin, even as Robb leant over and said "I'll tell you when you're older," and he shared a look with Jon, to which Jon responded to with a nod. If they had their way, Arya would at least be twenty before such a discussion became viable.
Shortly after people started to bring forth the gifts for the wedding. Lord Wyman was the first, gifting Jon and Alys two full carts of exotic food and fruits for their larder. Lady Barbrey of House Dustin gifted them with a pair of horses from her personal stables. Lord Bolton did like Lord Wyman and gifted them with food. House Umber promised them a shipment of battleaxes. Houses Glover and Cerwyn granted a large shipment of lumber, and House Forrester promised them a delivery of Ironwood.
The Ryswell's gave them a gift of dozens of cups, goblets, plates and cutlery of steel and silver, while the Mountain Clans supplied them with a great bounty of furs and leather.
His own family provided them with a dozen oxen and twice that number of cows and enough steel and armour to outfit a thousand men, while Alys' father Rickard supplied them with a near fifty sheep.
Other gifts included bolts of cloth, various tools, banners or other forms of decoration. Near every house with some exceptions like House Bolton and House Dustin had supplied a number of men (and their accompanying families) so that Jon and Alys would be able to muster twelve-hundred men in total, before counting those who already lived in the lands surrounding the Moat.
Then came King Robert. "As you know," he started with his booming voice. "I've given you my bastard Gendry to serve as your blacksmith, but I also bring you another gift, your father ordered it but never had time to collect it before his passing. I now give it to you," and with that a pair of Baratheon soldiers unveiled the finest piece of armour he had ever seen. Full plate, and the metal itself had been coloured naturally instead of painted in hues of grey, white and brown."
"Your Grace," Jon said with a thick voice. "Thank you."
The King laughed. "I'm not done yet, there will be a price to pay for my favour."
Jon blinked, "What is your command Your Grace?"
"I have another boy…" the King said, most likely not hearing one of his guardsmen muttering 'that you know of,' "Edric the poor lad is rotting away all alone in Storm's End, as Renly is away for most of the time in the capital or Highgarden, Stannis refuses to see the boy and I can't keep him with me either, so you'll take the boy in as a squire and make sure he gets to know his older brother."
Countless whispers erupted at once as Lords, Ladies and guardsmen alike were eager to discuss that development, as for Jon he certainly had no problems with it, and from the somewhat longing and hopeful look on Gendry's face he couldn't well refuse either. "I would be honoured Your Grace," he said with a bow.
Then Jon Arryn stood up. "I too have a small gift, after all it would be rude of me to not gift the boy my fosterson named after me," he said as many of the northmen grinned. "House Arryn, as well as House Royce, Belmore, Waynwood, Redfort and Templeton in recognition of their friendship to Lord Eddard and House Stark have agreed to supply you with men, steel and horses and share hopes that you will continue to share bonds of friendship."
Jon bowed deeply to the man who was Hand of the King. "I thank you for your gift My Lord Hand, and I can assure you, that should you and yours, or any of your bannermen from those Houses show up at my door they shall always have home and hearth at Moat Cailin and food and mead from my table,"
Jon Arryn nodded approvingly. "It pleases me to see that Ned did a good job at raising you, even if you have some…flaws," he said as he nodded towards Alys, no doubt remarking the fact that Jon had sired a bastard or three.
His uncle then stood up. "We have now exchanged gifts, food has been eaten and drink consumed, let us now head for the godswood to wed them."
Jon and the rest of the guests stood up and moved out to the godswood, with the exception of Alys and a fair few of the other Ladies who disappeared for a moment to dress her up a bit.
Jon shuffled slightly on his feet as he awaited for Alys to return. The Ladies who disappeared with her had already returned, and only her and her father were now missing.
"Nervous?" his uncle Ned asked him.
"Somewhat," he replied.
Ned laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a rare smile. "She will make a good wife Jon, be certain to always treat her with kindness and respect and the two of you will have a good marriage."
Jon gulped slightly, even now, so close to when they would actually say the words, the concept of marriage seemed so…strange, a foreign idea for the young man who had lived most of his life resigned to the fact that he would remain unwed. "Do you think they would approve? My parents?"
"Knowing what I did about both your mother and your father I am sure that they would both be proud, and happy for you today."
Jon let out a sigh of relief before he finally spotted Alys who was being led towards him by her father. She was a vision of beauty. Her dark hair, normally worn in a long thick braid had been combed and hung straight down her back in soft dark waves. Her eyes shone and a lovely smile was on her face. She was clad in an elegant white dress, with fine embroidery in gold and silver thread. A soft white fur was draped across her shoulder as well as her black maiden cloak with the white star in the centre, Jon was almost lost for words as her father placed her hand in his own and laid a soft kiss upon her brow before stepping aside.
"Who comes before the Gods?" The King himself had decided to officiate, a fact that Jon felt quite honoured by.
"Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered comes seeking the favour of the Gods," Rickard Karstark said.
"And who claims her?"
"I Jon of House Stark claims her." Jon said with a loud clear voice.
"Lady Alys," the King said. "Do you take this man?"
"Yes," Alys said as she smiled. "I take this man."
"And you Jon of House Stark, will you take this woman, and honour her and provide for her as long as you both shall live?"
"I will," Jon said.
The King nodded. "Then you may cloak the bride under your protection."
Giving Alys a smile Jon unclasped her cloak and handed it to her father before accepting a new cloak, this one decorated with the grey direwolf of House Stark that he hung gently across her shoulders, clasping it at her neck with a silver brooch in the shape of a direwolf that he'd had gotten made for this purpose. Laying his hand on her cheek Jon gazed into her eyes. "With this kiss I pledge my love," he said before he pressed his lips to hers.
At least Alys wasn't shy as she flung her arms around his neck to drag him closer, and as she opened her mouth to let her tongue caress his own, Jon was more than willing to accommodate as he let her tongue gain entry, while his left hand fisted in her hair his right hand took hold of her behind. He was only dimly aware of clapping, laughing or hooting as he wrestled Alys' tongue with his own until at last they parted, both of them flushed with arousal.
Looking around Jon grinned as he saw Lady Stark's horrified face, and more importantly how she was holding a hand in front of Arya and Bran's faces to try and make sure they didn't see, though her outrage at the…feisty kiss he had shared with Alys had overcome her so much that she didn't realize that Arya and Bran had lower her hand so that they could see, tough from the faces they pulled Jon was certain they were regretting it now.
"Here, in front of the Gods, I declare you husband and wife," King Robert finished, as he gave them both a sudden push towards the keep. "NOW LET'S DRINK AND FEAST!" he yelled, causing hundreds of voices to join him in agreement, and the whole party almost stampeded back to the great hall where dozens of serving maids and boys stood ready with large kegs of ale, mead, aquavit. Flagon upon flagons of wine, and the tables were almost groaning under the weight of all the food.
The party lasted for hours until King Robert suddenly stood up and grabbed both Jon and Alys and slung them over his shoulders. "TO BED WITH THEM!" he roared, and before Jon could even attempt to protest a ring of burly men, the Great and Smalljon included surrounded him, Alys and the King.
"AYE TO BED," the Greatjon roared. "BUT KEEP THE WOLF CHAINED UP YOUR GRACE BEFORE HE GOES WANDERING."
Robert roared with laughter, and Jon spotted several others who thought the Greatjon equally as amusing as the King did. At least Alys seemed to take it in good sport as she laughed at Jon's discomfort, and playfully retorted at the lewd suggestions and bad japes sent her way. At least Jon got to spend some of his frustration as the Smalljon chose to make a rather suggestive comment about his alleged large member just as he stepped into reach of Jon's fist, and flanked by Edd and Torr, the Smalljon probably didn't even understand what was happening before he got Jon's fist right between his brown eyes, while Edd's fist sank into his side and Torr boxed the Smalljon's ears in with a fist on each side of his head.
Rather than to be angry or insulted that his son had been assaulted the Greatjon boomed with laughter and decided to teach his now insensate firstborn a lesson by emptying the rest of his rather large mug of sticky mead right down the front of the Smalljon's trousers. At that point they had reached the doors to Jon's room and King Robert wasted no time in kicking the door open only to howl in shock and drop Jon and Alys as he came nose to nose with Winter.
"WHAT THE SEVEN HELLS IS THAT?" he roared as he backed away from Winterfell who was gritting her teeth at him.
"You didn't hear that I had a direwolf Your Grace?" Jon asked with a grin as he got up and calmed down the great beast by kneading her ears, causing the direwolf to whine appreciatively as he tongue lolled out of her mouth.
"These bastards neglected to mention it when we discussed the bedding earlier," the King said as he glared at the northmen who were all troubling to stay upright as they shook with mirth.
"Yes well, unless you want to keep her company out here I have business to attend to," Jon said as he imitated the King by slinging his new wife over his shoulders and walking into the room while she slapped his back lightly in mock protest. Kicking the door closed Jon gently laid Alys down on the bed. The noises and ribald japes from outside disappeared quickly enough as Winter made her displeasure known through growls and Jon was left alone with Alys.
"It seems we have a duty to perform husband," Alys said as she slowly started to remove her cloak.
"That we do wife," Jon replied as his own bearcloak fell to the ground.
Alys, in Jon's mind took her damn sweet time in undressing. Teasing him by slowly peeling off her clothes until she was left in her smallclothes. Grinning slightly as she saw the burning lust in Jon's eyes she sashayed over to him and started to tug on his belt, softly kissing him or nipping lightly at his neck as she pulled away first his belt, then with some help from Jon she pulled the brigandine over his head.
His new shirt was ruined over his protested 'HEY,' as she simply grabbed hold and tore, causing the silver buttons to make small cringing noises as they scattered to the four winds and hit the floor. Alys gave a pleased grin at the sight of his well-muscled physique, earnt through over a decade of hard exercise and combat. "See something you like," he grinned at her as she rubber her hand over his chest and pectorals.
"Mmm, admiring my husband more like it," she said as her hand travelled south.
Growling slightly Jon seized her lips with his own while his hand tore at the clothes covering her breasts. Alys moaned slightly as she let his tongue slide into her own mouth, even as he teats were released to his gaze, and she gasped slightly as he suddenly bent down to take one of her sensitive nipples into his mouth while his hand raked over her other breast.
Stepping back slightly she kissed his lips again before whispering to him. "Do you remember the last time?"
How could he forget? The last night Alys had stayed at Winterfell before she, her brothers and father returned to the Karhold they had decided to make the most of it, going at each other for hours. "I remember you screaming my name and clawing my back so good I had to visit Maester Luwin the next day," he whispered in her ear as he nipped lightly at her earlobe, producing a wanton moan from her.
"And remember what you did with your tongue? Let me return the favour this time," she said as she sank to her knees and let her hands glide over his abdomen and towards the top of his trousers.
L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R* L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R* L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R* L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R* L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*
LEMON WARNING! TURN AWAY OR SKIP IF THAT IS NOT TO YOUR LIKING.
Her nimble fingers easily loosened the leather strips on his trousers and slowly she started to tug them down his pants. The moment his cock was loosened from its prison Jon almost moaned in relief. He had not enjoyed the tight confine of his trousers and to finally be rid of it was almost heavenly.
"It's gotten bigger," Alys remarked as she took his cock in her hand and started to stroke him torturously slow up and down.
"Things…tend…to grow as one finishes the last stages of manhood," Jon groaned as he closed his eyes at the wonderful sensation of Alys' soft hand stroking his cock.
Feeling hot breath on it he opened his eyes to spot Alys with his cock a mere inch away from her open mouth. Smirking slightly she laid a soft kiss on the bulbous head before parting his lips and taking the whole of the head inside the warm confines of her mouth. Jon immediately moaned at the sensation while his hands stroked through Alys' hair.
Regardless of how much he wanted to simply grab hold and ram his cock as far and fast into her mouth as possible he had experience enough to know that women did not appreciate that. Beside Alys was doing more than well. While somewhat lacking in technique compared to some of the whores he'd bedded, or even Lyra Mormont for that matter who Jon was certain had been born to suck cock, the sight of Alys softly sucking and slurping on his cock while staring unblinkingly straight into his eyes was easily one of the most erotic experiences he'd had.
Something on his face must have pleased her as a glint of triumph appeared in her eyes as she started to bob her head back and forth along his length, simultaneously twirling her tongue around the head of his cock until Jon was trembling, twisting his toes and letting out short ragged gasps.
"Alys," he gasped. "I can't-almost there," he babbled, and then he erupted. His cock jerked as it spat his seed into her awaiting mouth, pulse after pule came as he mewled in pleasure, eventually falling bonelessly onto the bed as Alys wiped the few lingering remains of his seed that hadn't landed in her mouth away.
"Poor husband," she comforted him as she moulded her form onto his, her left hand idly stroking his cock. "It's been a long time for you, hasn't it?" she said as she bit and kissed her way across his neck.
"I meant what I said," Jon said softly, enjoying the hand that was slowly returning his cock to full mast. "I am yours and you are mine, I haven't touched another woman since our betrothal."
"Then I hope you have more left in you, because I have not been fucked for over a year, and I. Want. Your. Cock. In. My. Cunt." She demanded as she straddled him.
Growling slightly Jon suddenly grabbed her and twisted them around until she lay beneath him, her eyes and cheeks flushed with desire. "Then let me accommodate you Wife," he snarled as he grabbed his cock and lined it up with her cunt which was almost weeping with desire.
Grinning slightly he trapped her hands over her head with his left, while he used his right to slowly stroke his cock softly up and down her flower, almost crowing with victory as she moaned with want, her hips locking around his waist and trying in vain to pull him into her warmth.
"Please," she whispered.
Leaning down to ravage her teats with his tongue and kisses Jon smirked slightly. "Please. What?" he asked as he continued his ministrations.
"Please. Fuck ME!" she begged as she tried to get out of his grip.
Ceasing his nibbling he looked her deep in the eyes as he positioned his cock at her entrance. "As My Lady commands," he said before seizing her lips in a hungry kiss while slamming his hips forward, burying his cock in her warmth. They both moaned into each other's mouths as Jon set a punishing rhythm, his cock slamming in and out at a desperate pace, both of them eager to find their peak, and as Alys screamed and raked her nails down his back while he filled her with his seed he thought that perhaps marriage wouldn't be too terrible after all…
LEMON END!
AN:
Hope that was to your liking.
As always read and review, they view count and reviews gives me warm fuzzy feelings in my shrivelled soul.