Davos and Sam were firm friends already, a rapport that would probably last many years. They couldn't sit to eat until Jon had come in. Davos used the opportunity to size up the rest of the Tarlys. "It's ridiculous how this man puts his back to us." He was cussing into his goblet, gesturing at Randyll. "You think he'd favour the King's advisor, and the King's friend- he doesn't know of the grand position he'll be put in."
"Well, that's me' father for ya. When he holds a grudge, it's for a lifetime. Not even a lifetime of gifts will ever break him down." Sam drank, a little too quickly. "Uh...eck, oops, sorry." Some had dribbled down his chin, he coughed, after he had recovered, he felt compelled to ask- "I wonder if I'll get a knighthood."
Though Davos liked this man, he wouldn't approve of such things being handed out willy-nilly. "Who knows, you need to be able to perform a great feat in his presence, try a good resurrection." He jested, feeling slightly awkward afterward, because it would open a whole can of worms.
"I bet it was some kind of blood magic..." Sam was as unsettled as the older gent. "I wouldn't be inclined to..." He shivered, forcing down another drink.
"It was some kind of magic, but it weren't blood magic. I've seen some devil magic; baby made of black smoke, men with eyes of white and sapphire. It's not an anecdote I care to share."
"No need." The portly chap was always spooked.
The main doors opened, and the King walked in with the Queen, looking as radiant as ever on his arm, but subdued.
"Well, fuck me." Davos uttered, clearly Sam didn't know why he was so surprised. But he hoped it wasn't fear that had brought Sansa down.
"Is that her?" Sam said a little too loud, and Davos shushed him.
"My King and Queen." He felt obligated to be overly courteous, the room needed to know how important this union was, and how their guests courtesy was also required.
"Finally, a good sit down and a meal." Jon announced, gesturing for the other men dithering to seat themselves. "Sorry to have kept you waiting." He released his wife from his leather clad arm.
"Nonsense your grace, we understand the honeymoon period can be...distracting." Randyll was full of mirth, and he approached Sansa, looking from her shoes to her hair. "By eck, I can imagine the wedding ceremony was a quick one, one shouldn't waste time with formalities." Sansa smiled, understanding what he meant, all the men found it funny, she unfortunately didn't. "Your grace." He finally spoke to her officially, and she put her hand in his.
There were lemon cakes, she wanted to devour every single one of them. And so did Jon by the looks of it, he stared at every morsel that approached her mouth. So the King was fond of lemon cakes, who knew? But it was unseemly for a woman to have a ferocious appetite, an appetite for food suggested an appetite for sex. Though shouldn't she let their guests believe they had consummated, and would continue to do so? There was also the fear of weight gain, she remembered what Lysa had told her. Though Lysa was a bitter woman, it could have just been a slight.
She ate another lemon cake, first breaking it into pieces to make it look less colossus and more dainty. She wasn't sure it would be right to lick her thumb and finger afterward. Though it wasn't like she would stick her whole finger into her mouth and slop, like the men did. Sam was being nudged on the elbow every time he refilled his plate. Poor fellow.
The chit chatter drowned out sounds of chewing, this she can be grateful for. Davos was eating, while talking to her husband, about ships and isles of sapphire. She had already spoken to each of Tarlys, they were charming- but so were the Tyrells. Samwell looked as if he was going to say something to her, so she smiled to acknowledge him. Yes?
The advisor on the other side of the table rubbed crumbs from his fingers with the table runner. "How did you get her down?" He uttered to his King while everybody was involved in a different conversation.
"I told her I was King, and I expected her here." Jon was looking anywhere but the person in question. "That's all it took." He cleared his throat and drank some wine, the older gent merely nodded- he couldn't argue with that.
"Was she in good spirits?"
Jon put down the goblet. "Why?" It sounded like the King was trying to incriminate him. "Are you asking if she put up a fight, did I drag her down, did I threaten her? No, as a matter of fact, I didn't." He pulled on his tunic, glancing across at his wife who was engrossed in a conversation. "She let me touch her today." He said it as an afterthought, reaching for more food.
Try not to laugh. The older gent bit into a bread cob. "That's wonderful, your grace." He was deadpan and mumbly. "But, doesn't she do that anyway..." He had his jesting eyes on, he was all eyebrow and no mouth.
"Don't play dumb, Davos." He was gruff even if the conversation was anecdotal. "And if you think I meant holding hands and frolicking, that's a step in the wrong direction." Jon was having quite a lot of wine.
You'd think if his king was on the verge of making a wife out of this woman, he would want to be sober. "If you have ever seen any oil paintings titled frolicking- they are normally of naked women, and that sounds quite saucy to me." Jon was chortling into his goblet. Davos needed to make one thing clear. "Do you think it wise to be drunk, tonight, your grace?"
Jon scrutinised him, while refilling his goblet in retaliation. "I'm not drunk, I'd have to drink thrice as much to get pissed."
"Your wife...might not...like it."
The goblet came down. "Oh she'll like it." Jon said with not a trace of mirth, Davos thought he could have at least turned it into a joke, it very nearly was a threat. "She'll have to put up with it, I can perform with or without wine."
This man needs a sedative, or his head rung like a bell. Davos cleared his throat. "I could give you something better, I can have some Possyt made."
Sam's voice rung out at the table. "We've brought possyt!" Everyone stopped to stare at him. Davos must have forgot to lower his voice, but Jon appeared concerned because, if Sam had managed to hear that, what else could he have been heard, and what of Sansa? Davos knew talking about each other behind their backs wouldn't be a sweet marriage.
Sansa looked from one to the other. "I've heard of possyt, is it some seeded cake?"
Randyll stared across at her. "No, sweet Queen, it's a hot soothing creamy drink with vanilla and nutmeg, which I'm very surprised you haven't heard of, don't they make such things in the north?"
Jon looked very peed off, he had a reckless slump into one side of the chair. "No, we have ale, and mead, and wine. We don't need anything fancy." Davos got the impression Jon was about to hurl some abuse, luckily Sansa was keen to try some possyt.
"You said you have some, do you carry it all the way from Horn hill?- I hope it's still fresh."
Davos wondered if this was Sansa's attempt to smooth things over, or to undermine the King. "I'm sure we have those ingredients to make some of our own, and not diminish the Tarlys supply, because it's very moreish." The adviser said gently, but Jon was deathly silent.
Sam was quite gleeful he had started a discussion that involved the whole table. "We wouldn't mind, it's needs to be used."
Sansa frowned. "If it is as lovely as you say, why do you have any to spare?"
"Wedding gift." Sam said, and his father seemed to do an odd jerk, Sansa believed it was a kick Sam under the table- because Samwell jumped a foot into the air. "Ah wait, gift, sorry, just a gift. We, of course didn't know about any such wedding. So I could say from this point...it's a wedding gift."
Sansa glanced over at her King, a conversation went undetected through them, 'that was odd'- 'Yeah, it was' – 'Are we accepting this or not?' Jon sat up. "That's very kind of you, I think I have been convinced into sampling some possyt, my wife's keen." She couldn't tell if that heated look was anger, or admiration. How can you get those mixed up?
Randyll clapped his hands. "Excellent, we shall unload the barrel, we'll have it sent to the kitchens once we're done."
"Or perhaps you could do it now?" Jon said, resting his chin on his hand, his finger strayed up to stroke his beard. Making it obvious, he wasn't in the mood to wait.
The Queen noticed Davos give her a quick thumbs up. It was so fluid she nearly missed it. What on earth..? Randyll had already left the table to speak to one of his men, she could see some urgency, it was only a drink.
The drink was good. It held up to its description; it was smooth, creamy, spiced, and she was sure there were traces of lemon, she drank deeply, humming as she did, and she politely asked for a second, which was granted, and that too was down her throat faster than a lemon cake. It was after her 6th in the evening, she realised it had given her an alcoholic aftertaste. When she commented, Davos explained the drink was mixed with a spoon of sweet wine. "And- be careful." He added, before Jon retorted harshly-
"-Belt up, Davos, let her drink her fill."
"You are sweet to me." The queen smiled, stroking the top of her husband's knuckles. "I have a new favourite thing." Her head slowly leant on the side of his chair, until Jon adjusted her against his shoulder. "Never let me go a day without this."
Jon couldn't stop smirking. Oh heck. Davos was hoping the recipe of the possyt, would have the original desired effect; drowsiness, and uninterrupted sleep. But at this moment, he was seeing elevated levels of happiness, but a calm happiness. "I was just saying, it's very rich, perhaps you should save some for the morning?"
"Morning?- What for...hey." Jon sounded like he was about to call Davos for a fight, he seemed to grip his shoulder hard enough to incite that kind of reaction. "Is that what good advice sounds like, take possyt in the morning?!" His voice was booming, Sansa who was starting to slump, but the noise woke her up.
"It's morning already?"
"No, sweet wife, this man and I were talking about morning." He said at her as if she were across the room, not merely a chair away, as she was."But that reminds me, we have to go to bed at some point!" His voice was still at a ridiculous volume. Thank heavens, their guests had bid them goodnight at the first goblet. Sansa's head drooped towards the table once more, until it settled on the crumbed surface. Yep, she was gone."In fact, we'd better go right now, while I'm still-" Davos averted his eyes when Jon grabbed his crotch.
The older gent placed a steady hand on his king's arm. "Your grace, I doubt you will be able to-"
"-Shut the fuck up." He jolted the hand off him. "You and your possyt." He rumbled. The advisor tried not the flinch, but he did blink- that was the loudest yet, and yet it had not disturbed Sansa. Jon was over her again, he swept her hair to one side so could look upon her face. "Bloody great, why the hell did anyone think possyt would make a good gift to newlyweds, you give a girl warm milk she's bound to turn into a sleeping babe."
"I suppose it was its purpose, to be a sedative for nervous brides and bridegrooms, it was once used for insomnia."
"You knew what you were doing, why didn't you just spike our drinks with bloody essence of nightshade?"
"I hate the risk." He said honestly, but realised he had incriminated himself by admitting he wanted to put them to sleep. "You both need a good rest." He added, trying to be soothing as possible."You can't expect anything from her tonight."
Jon toyed with his bride's auburn hair and said gently."Beggars can't be choosers." He stooped, tucked an arm under her legs and put the other around her back and lifted her out of the chair.
Davos was dumbfounded. Had he accepted what he had said? This was Jon Snow, he was honourable so; yes he would. Sansa's head had lolled off away from her body, until it was correctly supported on the shoulder of the King. It looked sweet. The guards opened the doors as he walked out and down the hall. Seeing the mass of leather and black hair, with red locks draped over one arm looked like something out of a book. The advisor remained in the hall as the servants came to clear the tables. He smiled at the empty cake plates, and pitchers of possyt. Beggars can't be choosers? He looked to the now closed door. You can't expect anything from her tonight- followed by – Beggars can't be choosers. He suddenly felt nauseous, that sounded very... Davos then walked in haste towards the doors.