Thank you for your reviews, I'm having trouble accessing them on the site, but please feel free to write them- I will get them eventually.

I was thinking of uploading this in the book section also, I wonder if you can put stories up twice.

The banquet was a modest one. After all, there was a war on. The head table held the majority of the food, she figured this was to give the newlyweds strength. But it could merely be because there was a King at the table, she was frequently reminded when someone passed by and raised their goblet 'My King and Queen.' Oh yes, she herself was royalty. But for a good 40 minutes they were left to their own devices. Why was this so hard?

Sansa hardly touched a morsel, but she did sip some wine. It was a relief to no longer be the centre of attention, people were mingling- and some were simply dining and chatting with their mouths full. She cast her eye over some of the small folk, there was a red bearded man among them, who ate like a beast, staring at everyone with suspicion. An obvious wildling, they took advantage of the food available. Davos strangely was subdued during proceedings, covering his goblet every time a servant approached, this man was a talker and yet he was sitting there staring silently at his king. She followed his eye and noticed Jon fingering a pool of wax at the foot of a candle, he even dared to stray to the flame, testing its heat. "Do you see something in the flame, your grace?" Sansa inquired, herself fascinated by the flame.

His curls danced as he cocked his head to her. "Your grace?- Aren't we equals?- Sansa you don't have to be so formal, you're my wife."

It was a touching thought. "You are still my King, you rule over us all." She saw his finger pass through the flame. "Does it hurt?"

"It feels hot." He said simply. Doing it again, and again. "My skin reddens, but it doesn't blister. But before- it would, before I knew. It must be all in the mind." He dipped the finger in his wine and put it to his lips, his eyes lingered on her for a moment.

Sansa wondered if his thick callous skin had made a barrier, maybe he would not feel the warmth of human contact. She recalled what Davos had told her after the resurrection. A piece of his soul will have broken off, he might not be the same. She had known this from the moment of their reunion, his energy was off, despite him being pleased to see her again. But a sickening dread had come to his features when they had parted from their tight embrace, one they had never enacted before.

Sansa hadn't known him well enough beforehand, he had been her bastard half-brother, they had spoken every other day during childhood, and then it was only in short bursts, on trivial things. They didn't play, nor did they embrace like siblings do. She would see him train with her brothers, play with her sister, and have heart to hearts with her father. They behaved like they were distant cousins, perhaps they were? That's if the rumours are true, but until then, they were still half siblings.

The match had been a weed like idea, which choked all other match proposals, people didn't seem to care they were siblings. They were treating Jon as if he was an entirely new person. Dead men don't have siblings. But the crowd that had elected him as King saw him as something else...A Targaryen. Winterfell at the moment belonged to her, she was a Stark. But which were their kingdoms? She emptied her lungs on that note. She knew nothing. If she knew him like Arya did, they would have been no problems. She had been too much like her mother Catelyn, faithful to what she knew. But surely if that were the case; wouldn't her relationship with Jon mirror that of Catelyn and Petyr?

She had been staring into the space that occupied the side of her husband, not paying attention to the dark expression on the King's face. "You're bored, love."

"Hm?" She set her eyes on him again. "No, I'm…pensive."

"Isn't he your favourite minstrel?"

Her husband gestured at the man singing on the elevated part next to their table, she smiled sadly. "My favourite minstrel died during the war, perhaps he should have spent more time practising with a sword than….minstrel-ling." She toyed with her armrest to sever the burning eye contact he was giving her. "I not accustomed to music anymore." She didn't know why she had said it, it wasn't true. Music was fine. She just couldn't bare the singing, she found it reminded her of darker times; bad weddings and sieges. It wasn't escapism anymore, it wasn't romantic, and it didn't stir any feelings in her. Perhaps she had died, and had been brought back too. "I'm sure our guests are enjoying him."

"I recall a time you once tried to hold a minstrel against his will."

"I think that's called foreshadowing. I learnt my lesson." She said disinterested, accidently pulling a stud out of the armrest and quickly discarding it.

"I could have you hanged for that act of vandalism." She gave herself a crick in the neck turning her head rapidly to her King. Jon must have read her alarmed expression. "Sorry, that was a bad jest. I won't do that again- at least not until you have gotten to know me." One of those hands of his moved to her, it danced over the embroidery on her sleeve, and everything seemed to stop, as if he had called a terrible verdict. The sound muted, it wrung in her ears- she could almost hear the crackling of a pyre, or an axe whistling through the air, or a hangman's trapdoor. Sansa stared at her sleeve as if waiting for it to catch fire.

"Do you hang people often?- When will be the next time I hear it. Though I hear beheading people does the trick." Still not quite over the tasteless joke, though after her own comment, she was a hypocrite.

"I was trying to engage you." He soothed. "You have to admit- it did wake you up." The hand dropped right onto her sleeve this time, and it gave her very little comfort, it was heavy and hard- and it clamped onto her like a manacle "Smile." He said with a dominant edge.

She frowned at this, before obliging. It was a toothless smile, full of uncertainty. Well, it was a king's command. "How do you like your new powers?" She drawled, trying to be polite.

"I wouldn't call them powers- I still haven't learned to control the pain." Jon not understanding her actual question, he was about to fixate on the candle again, until his fair queen touched his hand, something she half expected to be cold.

"I meant your Kingship."

"Oh..." He withdrew from the candle. "I was chosen by my people, for my people. It's easier to rule over people who elected you." It rolled out of his mouth as if he had said it for the hundredth time. "An obligation." His hand turned over under hers, his fingers curled up and around the maiden's hand.

"Do you like it, though?"

"-Do you like being Queen?" He retorted shrewdly.

She could see the storm clouds again. It felt like a test. Was he asking if she liked the idea of being his wife, or having a new responsibility? "I was born to be a lady, in training to become a Queen." She shrugged. "I must do what I must."

Sansa saw his mouth move but no sound came out, it could have been a cuss or a simple yes. He withdrew subtly from her, and tucked into some meat at the table. She felt dissatisfied with the response he had given her own, he was either disappointed, or in agreement to her being subservient. She always did what she must. Smart women do as they're told.

She downed her dregs as she spied him tear into an ox. Oh Lord. He was behaving like an alpha wolf with a very healthy appetite. Sansa just hoped it wasn't an appetite to mount something.

"My queen." That was Davos behind her, she inclined her head, then bobbed it in acknowledgement. She didn't expect him to converse with her at that moment- since many folks that night had been addressing the royals, and then scooting off. They seemed scared of their new King too. "Don't dwell on the future, just think of now, and right now you need nourishment."

Her chair squeaked as she twisted to him in her seat. "It's not for a queen to stuff her face, I have eaten." She put gently, so as not to draw any attention. "Don't worry I'm not going to collapse, this is down to growing accustomed to long trips, I can ride a horse through the night without stops, and not as much as wobble as I dismount." She had become accustomed to lying, she just hoped Davos wasn't a mind reader. Though it was afterwards she realised she had just used a bizarre metaphor that could easily be construed as sexual stamina. "Won't you drin-?" She tapped her goblet, her voice nearly conked out. "A drink?"

"Not while I'm on duty, your grace." His head was low and his hands clasped in front of him, like a proper servant, very courteous. She trusted them like this, the ones that stared she couldn't ever feel comfortable around.

"There's really no need to be, you are an advisor, a trusted one- but what advice could you possibly give us tonight?" Davos fidgeted. Was he hoping she would guess? "I don't think its advice our King and I would appreciate." Sansa couldn't have her husband being reminded, and if the guests heard, it might spur them into conducting the bedding ceremony.

"I understand pet, but I think he'll need a firm talking to."

He breezed past her and clapped a hand on his king's chair, she couldn't believe how brazen it was, he was King. Joffrey wouldn't have allowed such a rapid approach by a common man. Sansa opened and closed her mouth, she wasn't about to shush him.

Davos leant over the alpha. "Your grace, might I have a word in private?"

"Have several, but is it worth me leaving the table?" Jon tossed down a gnawed bone.

"Yes, in fact you will say- thank the gods I was not at the table when we discussed this."

Jon didn't have to be told twice, he stood from his 'throne', and it groaned in protest.

"Sansa." He uttered gruffly, before he made a swift exit.

She felt the draft from his cape, it left her cold. She hated being alone at a banquet table, this was the first time. Though she had felt the same loneliness at her first wedding in King's landing, to the imp, who turned out to be a kind man. May he rest in peace. Little did she know...

A red bearded man was gazing at her, it wasn't hostile from when she had last seen him, but still a bit intense. He was talking into the food he was tearing into. Only the Gods knew what he was saying about her. She felt like a peasant that had been left to clean away the scraps, she stared in the direction her husband and Davos had went intently, but wary that they could return with something ghastly. The next few minutes she filled the void with ripping pieces of bread and pecking at them. The more tearing she did, the more crumbs she made- she could make pictures on the table with the bits. A crescent moon, that became a howling wolf.

Would it be wise if she left too, in another direction, so as not to disturb them? Sansa debated, then arose from her seat, the music suddenly died down and she was left spectating over a crowd of people, watching her. Right, if King and Queen are no longer present- their party will cease.

Speech. "My lords and ladies, and others faithful to our claim." They were staring. She needed the gods. "Let us drain our goblets and….empty the castle stores, I think we have earned it." There were murmurs of agreement. Be crude. "While our enemies squat over their chamber pots and deal with trivial court gossip, we dine with the gods favour, for we are to defend the realms of men..." Her mouth was incredibly dry, but she could not drink once she had started, but she did prepare by lifting her goblet from the table, but it was only because she saw Podrick do the elaborate gesture, to guide her. "Let us toast and thank the gods for allowing our castle to remain standing during our ruckus celebrations." Sansa had expected them to wait on baited breath for something more worthy to be added- but instead they howled and cheered like wolves and emptied their goblets simultaneously. Then the minstrel began to sing about a legendary queen- not her of course, but surely a verse someday will be written about her. They were probably too drunk to realise that hadn't been the end of her speech, she had intended to improvise more, but she used the descent into madness as her cue to leave. She did not rush, she simply trod the boards as if she was about leap into the festivities. While everybody hugged and sang, she disappeared down a passage.

A door beckoned, which led her out into a courtyard. It was wet and dark outside, as she ambled through churned up mud to get to the centre of the yard. She just wanted to make out the sky. She had heard of a star that burned red, she hadn't seen it- but she heard it brought hope. Did it have any spare for her? There was a bright star just over the castle's chambers, it wasn't red, but it dominated her section of sky. Gods, give me strength- why do you insist on me being afraid all the time, is this penance for being so foolish before my father's death, so ignorant of possible traitors, being so determined to become a princess? "Well you're queen now, sort yourself out." She sighed, it had begun to snow heavily, and she lingered out in the open so she could savour it, in case they headed south- where winter would never come. Little did she know. The snow was settling nicely, disguising the mud.

There was suddenly the sound of crunching snow behind her, Sansa merely glanced over at the dark form that had emerged from the doorway of the passage. He was a mass of black and brown leather, with an occasional clang of cased valyrian steel bumping up against his leg. Jon levelled with her, not saying a word, she detected he was either looking at her or the sky. Neither mattered to her, being outside was a world away from being in, and that moment was the best yet, and allowed her only peaceful thoughts.

After a minute of silence, Sansa manoeuvred her skirts and faced him. Jon actually looked like 'Jon' for the first time in ages. Well duh, Sansa. Perhaps it was the snowflakes clinging to his curls, or the fact he was standing how he would when waiting to train, all weight on one leg, the other slightly bowed- making his shoulders uneven, Jon always used to stand like this.

The new king was eyeing her with the same amount of pensiveness. "You made a speech."

She blinked, his face was unreadable. "That I did, and..?" Throwing all protocol to the wind.

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk. "It was a rousing speech, am I told, and yet you waited until I'd buggered off to deliver it." He didn't look too upset about it.

"It was a spur of the moment thing." She left out the part where she had just wanted to leave. "I doubt any of them will remember it by morning, I'm sure you could repeat it- and make it your own." She jested, though she was sure he would be miffed. "Sorry…your grac-"

"-Enough." Jon started. "It feels like your taking the piss…" After a moment- he winced. "Mockery, sorry, I meant to say mockery. I should never 'piss' in front of you." He said crudely, and she didn't think he had noticed.

"I'm not going to force you to pay penance every time you 'piss in front of me'." That's right, she was going to say it too. "Any reason for wording it like that?"

He was still reeling with surprise, when Sansa's face split with a smile, Jon followed her, and they were soon chuckling. Which rarely happened in the history of their relationship. A Shame really.

Jon was the first to calm, leaving only a small smile. That storm once again resided in his eyes, and Sansa got lost in it. "Jon." It came out slightly dazed- like she had posed a question. The king's smile faded. Don't do that. The gap between them shrunk when Jon inched forward- Sansa tensed up - looking very lamb-like. He caught it immediately, he blinked and tensed up too. For two seconds they were almost wide eyed, until Jon somewhat flummoxed, chose to go back from where he came down the passage.

I could have done something more worthwhile, damn it. Sansa could have carried on the conversation, maybe go as far as to make a few quips. But she wasn't a quipper, especially not throwing them out left right and centre, one after the other- she wasn't Tyrion. Damn, he was funny. She unfortunately was Sansa. Sansa didn't make quips, she didn't engage a man with her words, she wasn't fiesty- she couldn't argue like her sister, or banter like Tyrion, she couldn't fight like any of her brothers.

Her feet had sunken completely in the snow.

Sansa could sew, Sansa could sing, Sansa could dance. Sansa could...smile. So she smiled at nothing, before she cracked and burst into tears. Ladylike, and demure as always, even when she cried. She had nothing to offer as a Queen, nothing but prettiness and compliments. A growl burst from her mouth mid cry. "I hate you, you have wasted your life planning to become somebody's wife." She hushed up at the sound of footfalls on stone coming steadily towards her. Davos ambled out of the passage.

"I don't intend to be anybody's wife, your grace."

"Another funny man." She oozed, trying to recover, but the croak remained in her voice, she dried her eyes with the side of her cloak. "Every court needs one joker."

Their advisor pursed his lips, clearly he didn't agree. "I think we have more than enough." He noticed her puffy face, and everything became clear. "You should never argue at a wedding."

That was a random thought. "Tell that to Walder Frey." She tried to go back into the castle, but Davos gently lay a hand on her. She stared at it like it was a blade. "I wasn't fighting, I haven't said anything, he just stormed off-" She protested, wafting her skirts- to shake off the clinging snow.

"I've already counselled him on how he should conduct himself."

"What, just then?"

"No, before your little speech... which I heard was great, your grace. I wish I had heard it." Davos tried. "Now I'm counselling you. Just behave like you did when you were children."

That was some pretty odd advice. "Is that all you said..?" They were to lark about like children. "You are a funny man, Davos." Further wafting ensued. "Kings and Queens can't behave like children." She snorted. "I suppose that's why he stormed off? - I bet he's going to stuff my mattress with sheep dung next." She tried to walk away again.

But Davos stood firm in the passage. "He'd be soiling his own mattress if he did something like that." He looked at her ludicrously. "I didn't mean act like children. Conduct yourself as you would when you knew him growing up, be civil and courteous, I'm not asking you to play husband and wife just yet, give it time."

Sansa nervously squirmed at the words. "Thank you for reminding me." She tried to act as Queenly as her body would allow. "I'm surprised, Davos, you are asking me to give it time- everybody else would be encouraging us to go straight to the bedding. They want this alliance legitimized, why are you suggesting otherwise?" She kept her voice strong.

The knight dipped his head. "Well my Queen, I want what's best for the realm. I want your marriage to be a successful marriage- lay the foundations first before you build a castle. You don't want a 'Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister' situation developing."

She was genuinely surprised. "Thank you." It had come out gently, as if she was about to burst into tears with the sweetness of it all.

"I haven't done anything to warrant that yet, pet."

"But you have, you have told my husband and I to dispense with the tradition in order to build trust in each other." Sansa sandwiched her hands over Davos's mutilated hand. "You have swept away my anxiety, if only you had said this to me earlier."

"Well I did."

"You didn't."

"Well, I wasn't going to." Davos had such a trusting smile, he used his spare hand to pat hers. "It would have been a miracle if you did happily consummate this reunion on the first night, but I doubt you would be as lucky as your mother and father."

Sansa blinked, her eyes wandering to the side. "How much do you know on that?- You weren't exactly...there." She spoke, slightly embarrassed.

Davos looked furtive. "Well...my previous King told me, Stannis and Robert spoke about Ned and Catelyn's first. It is believed their first time conceived Robb."

Sansa didn't need to know this.