Davos burst into the King and Queen's chamber, it was against protocol, and rude to boot. He surveyed the room, the King was just looking across at him with surprise, his wife was draped across the bed, still clothed, with Jon laying on top of her legs, leaning over her, hands about her ribs. He believed if Sansa had been alert she would be in pain. Though he considered he might have just walked in as Jon had put her down, and had lost his balance. That seems more accurate.

"Your majesty...I...forgive me- I forgot to wish you goodnight." He felt bloody stupid. "So Goodnight."

Jon looked as if he didn't believe a word, he straightened, and tugged at his tunic. "Right, and now you have, what's wrong?" He stood firm, and Davos did as well. "Why are you...?- If you think I'm going to let you stand there and watch, then you have completely misjudged my character." He jested, and it did anything but break the tension.

Watch what?- Gods be damned! His advisor weighed up his options on what to say."-With all due respect, your grace, I think you should call for your wife's handmaiden."

"I'm sure if I manage to arouse her, she can get herself ready, if not... I can be of some assistance, putting on a nightie looks simple enough." It was a low rumble, which held some jollity. "...Why are you still here?"

"I really think you need a maid right now."

"I'm not getting a maid involved!" He grumbled, then there was a sudden change in his demeanour as sort of annoyed thoughtfulness. "Wait- you weren't suggesting...?" He cocked a brow. "As a mistress?!"

Holy shit. The older gent was surprised he didn't yell that for the whole castle to hear. "Your grace, I meant for the handmaiden to help ready your wife for sleep." He was hoping some reasoning would sink into his charge, surely Jon could hear himself, rethink, and look at Sansa as a woman he grew up with. "Please, I beg of you, a marriage needs to be based on trust, you would be violating that trust, and you would be violating her." He suddenly had an image of Shireen screaming for her father. "You can't undo such a mistake."

"You do realise I was going to wake her up first! Gods! I'm her husband, I'm sure she would want to be in bed with the right attire. Gods, Davos!" Jon messed with his hair, turning his back on the thing that infuriated him. "She would have woken up at some point, either before, during or...afterwards!"

Oh gods, he should have stopped there, afterwards?- After what the dressing or the bedding? The adviser felt the room had become too hot, it must be because of the pent up frustration. Jon finally relented, he grimaced, and cussed. "Send for the fucking handmaiden." He snared his night shirt and stormed off into the other room, and Davos felt everything slacken. He had most likely saved her, he wasn't sure what from, perhaps he was simply dressing her, but the act could lead to temptation. Sansa still lay comatose on the bed, looking radiant and peaceful, she murmured and rolled slightly. Why would Jon do such a callous act? As he got closer he saw her skirt had been slightly hitched up at the front, it was only the external layer, nothing was on show, buts its manner made him feel very nervous. That could have been an accident.

He threw open the chamber door and called down the hall. "Agnes?.. Someone call for Agnes, the queen needs attending to!" Perhaps he could remain here afterwards to make sure nothing- You can't guard Sansa forever. "Where is that blasted gir-" A woman emerged from the darkness of the hall. "Aa...Agnes, dress your queen for bed."

"Might I ask what are you doing in here at this hour?" The girl was impudent.

He did a double take. "I'm here... for the interests of the King, and that is ser to you, mi'lady." Though he highly doubted she was a lady.

She waltzed past him and patted down her grace's skirt. "Where is our King, Ser?" She pulled Sansa into a sitting position, a little fast and rough.

The Queen murmured prettily. "Mmh." It was odd how something so lazy was made graceful by the queen.

Davos stared at Agnes for an unprecedented length of time before tipping his head towards the other chamber. "He's in there."

She started by unpicking the tie on the Queen's outer robe."And will you be supervising me, while I undress her, ser?" Just as he studied the woman again, Sansa stirred.

"Is... it ...morning?" She moaned as her maid pulled the dress off her shoulders.

"No your grace, it's bedtime, I must help you get ready." Agnes smiled at her Queen, she had doe-like eyes as she looked from the handmaiden to the advisor. She weakly pushed at her aid, as if feebly protesting. "No..." It came out as slow as a snail. "What's going on?" She said with such childlike delirium, and Davos felt himself melt bearing witness to it. "Why are you... both here?"

The advisor glanced to the other chamber. Jon was not present. "The dinner has ended, I was just talking to his majesty- I'll be off now, your grace. Goodnight." He made to leave, and until he heard further delirium.

"No...not you...get away from me!"

Davos turned, Sansa was fighting off her handmaiden. "Your grace, she is only trying to help." He tried, and it became apparent the maid wasn't backing down despite being swotted. "Perhaps, since she is alert you should-" Jon suddenly entered his line of vision, he was standing intrusively behind the maid. "Oh dear me."

"I think that's enough." He clapsed at his wife's swotting hand, and pulled the maid up by the shoulder- Davos could see he was trying to be courteous. "She obviously doesn't want you undressing her tonight, you may go..." He waved his hand, not knowing how to address the woman. "Sorry-"

"- Agnes, your grace."

Davos was certain he heard her purr, she would have to go- "Off you go then, mi'lady." And he was happy to see her scuttle off without a protest. He made sure she was well out of the way before commenting. "Her attitude is very unusual, if I-"He heard a scuffle to his left-

"Woaw." Jon was crawling over the bed trying to apprehend his wife, she had rolled herself to the other side of the bed in an attempt to get away. From him, she was in a good mood earlier? Jon had seized her after it was too late, she had rolled off the bed and was on the floor. "Bloody hell, she's going to be covered in bruises." Her outer dress hanging off at the waist, she crawled away, and Jon crudely stood on an empty sleeve of her dress to halt her, and she fell on her side, stuck in her own dress.

"Your graces." Davos uttered on deaf ears. Sansa was eating up all the sound, her dress rustling as she writhed about on the floor.

"Sweetheart, you're tangling yourself, stop fighting." His King said with the genteelness of a septa, walking over her so she was between his two feet. Sansa ceased all struggles, and just rolled onto her back, she stared at the ceiling as if recovering from a nightmare. Breathing heavily, sweet shimmering on her face and collar. "Hey." He squatted, nearly sitting on her. "Hey now." Davos noticed Jon was only trying to get her attention. "Sansa."

The movement in her eye indicated she had indeed been looking elsewhere, but was now looking at her husband. "I want to go home." Her voice was no longer slurring. "I want to be at home."

Davos watched as Jon shifted onto his knees, he was practically straddling her now. "You are home." His hand moved to her cheek.

"Maybe I should go, I feel like a third wheel over here." The advisor shuffled away from the intimacy of the situation. Jon called over, causing him to ease up before the door.

"I forgot you were still here."

"Well, I'm not here." The advisor bowed his head. "I bid you goodnight." And he left very stiffly, he couldn't bring himself to close the door behind him, he was moody, and unsettled by everything. The maid, the King, and Sansa- she wanted to go home. Agnes, there was something strange about her, well she was rude for a handmaiden for a queen. He didn't normally let such trivial things bother him, he normally grew to like the people that were stubborn. But this Agnes, had not yet been polite to him and all the time she had worked there, even when not interacting with him, she would stare- no not stare; smoulder. After dithering outside, the door suddenly clicked shut.

In her confusion after waking up, she assumed this was some delayed bedding ceremony, two people were present in her chambers, undressing her. Well Davos was standing there looking a little gormless. But Agnes, had intent etched on her face, and she knew the maid was the witch. To say she was anxious was an understatement, so she struggled, and it paid off, but the commotion had drew her husband into the fray.

Soon as the witch left her side, she noted groggily her husband in his nightshirt. It was indeed bedtime. Sansa felt cold, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her shoulders were bare, she was down to her shift, her dress bunched up at the waist. Sansa could see the tops of her breasts above her shift. Seven heavens, I'm naked. Since her husband was directly in front of her watching the witch leave, she couldn't barge past- after all she was naked.

The queen was compelled to get to the other chamber or at least the modesty screen, she heaved her legs up and rolled, the roll reminded her she was in no fit state for such a manoeuvre. She felt something fawning over her as she travelled across the bed. Tentacles...no talons of a dragon! Do dragons have talons? Sansa then dropped off the end of the earth. Ugh-the bed is too small. She was on the floor, and Jon was about to step down from the bed, she thought he was going to crush her, so she hurriedly crawled away across the flag stones. There was a rapid sensation of a rug being pulled from under her and she flopped onto the stone. When she tried to regain her crawl stance she couldn't move further than a couple of inches, upon her investigation she found his foot was on her sleeve. There was no chance. She was stuck in her dress, she could have got out of the dress with a little effort but she would just have a shift between her skin and the air. So she rolled onto the sleeve staring up at the heavens- tired and full of defeat. He was over her now, but she couldn't focus on that- she didn't know if he had anything on under his long shirt.

"Hey." He squatted, which was a risky manoeuvre. "Hey now." What did he want? He was close, he smelt of leather and musk. A smell she knew from home."Sansa."

Sansa looked into those stormy eyes, she wanted to know what he was seeing. Did he actually see a literal storm?- Or was it fire, did his death replay in his head? He always looked angry, she figured he saw his murderers more than his dying moments.

The queen got a fleeting image of how Winterfell used to be before she left for King's landing. Then an image of Jon standing in the courtyard discussing pranks with Arya. "I want to go home." She heard herself, she was imploring. "I want to be at home."

His hard face dissolved into a vexed one, but whatever face he had- it was still Jon. He clambered down onto his knees, hovering over her pelvis, poised to sit on her. If anybody else had done this, it would have been a threat. But this was her husband straddling her.

"You are home." He crooned with a husk, his hand went to her cheek, his callous thumb moved over her skin to her upper lip.

That's when Davos spoke. Oh crap, how embarrassing, forgot you were still there. She didn't acknowledge him, but she did watch Jon vent her own thoughts. She spent this time studying his face. He had a feminine face, but the brow, if it weren't for the brow, and the beard- he would make a handsome woman, but a sad woman. When Jon wasn't scolding, she would catch him when he was sad. That sadness would haunt his persona when he was young, when his eyes weren't crinkling with laughter, he would brood. But still, it was a face you could grow to love...that's probably the possyt talking.

At some point she heard their benevolent advisor leave.

Her hand strayed, she stroked her husband knee next to her waist. "Tell me what you're thinking." Sansa asked. He hadn't taken his eyes off her, not even when talking to Davos.

"I could ask you the same thing, at least someone will get an answer."

Was he saying she was a talker, a typical woman who nattered away her jaw, or was he admitting to being stubborn when it came to sharing his sombre feelings?

He was agile as he leapt up off her without falter. Her King crossed the room to the shut the door, and she slowly sat up from her heap of tangled fabric, he returned to get her to her feet. His hand came out and she reached for it with little hesitation. Jon yanked her up with a bit of force, all so he could pull her into him, close as anybody could get; nose to nose. Sansa was inundated with his scent and eyes, and she feared she would swoon, but she knew she would regret doing that, since a swoon could lead to anything. And she was scared of...everything.

She was still groggy, so she couldn't fight the force, she slumped forward. Sansa probably reeked of possyt and chicken, but it didn't matter; he was sucking in her air like it was perfume, and he traced it back to her mouth. His lips became a part of hers, caressing the upper and lower, his tongue flitted into the gap- skimming her teeth. They were slow ministrations, slow enough that they weren't intrusive or overwhelming. Her eyes had closed, feeling the wet heat of his desire, the taste of wine, and there were noises too. Murmurs of interest, that was until he suddenly pressed her close and plundered her mouth. That woke her up for sure, that's when the panic set in, and she opened her eyes, he was holding her head in place as he began to devour. Her attempt at speaking terminated the frenzy. "-Myour gwace!-"

He reared back, chucking his hair from his face, and still clutching his wife's head. "Oh bloody hell." He looked at her bruised mouth waiting for an explanation to come out of it. "You can call me Jon, what is it, sweetheart?"

"I'm tired." That's probably not what he wanted to hear, but she had said it, and she had most likely crushed his hopes of a consummation. "Sorry, Jon." She stroked one of the hands that were on her droopy face, embarrassed by her meek retort.

It was a middling of a smile he gave her, it was assuring- at least he wasn't mad. But the guttural sound that escaped him would make any woman's bosom heave with fear. His forehead fell to hers, and she allowed it to sit there, mixing their sweat. "Not as sorry as I." He said with defeat. But she questioned why in her mind.

She felt her dress hanging from her, tugging on her shift. She withdrew cagily. "I'd better finish off-" Indicating to her state of dress. The divider beckoned her, and with her possyt addled brain she staggered to it, nearly knocking it over. She finally reached the shadow of the divider to hide and de-robe.

"I wish someone would finish me off." She heard him rumble. But he already had his nightshirt on?

She rustled out of her things and slipped into her nightgown. Her fingers went to her mouth as if feeling for the traces of Jon that remained, she could taste the wine and smell the musk. Sansa emerged quicker than the last time, ignoring him standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, ruffling his own hair. She clambered into bed, tugging the sheet to her chin. The Queen watched Jon meander to their bed. He came at the bedside with a bit of a plod in his step, and he slipped under the sheet, close to her, their sides touching.

"Can I take off my shirt?"

She blinked unevenly."Did you sleep well without it last night?" It came out at an odd pitch since her body was attempting to yawn. "You might be cold."

Jon gurned as if he wasn't sure. "I sleep the same every night; badly, doesn't make a difference, shirt or nothing. I doubt I'll get cold."

Sansa didn't know how to reply to that comment, she had nothing to suggest. "Erm." He was waiting earnestly, a finger seemingly wagging his collar. He was hot. "Without." She said not making eye contact with him.

"Really?" Scrutinising this decision, somewhat bemused and surprised.

Sansa didn't like his glee. Well Jon wasn't the type to be gleeful, so it was mirth. "That doesn't mean I'm no longer tired, I intend to sleep in this bed tonight, and nothing more."

She heard him wrestling off the shirt, and then throw it to the floor. "You should try this sometime, love, it's liberating." Was he talking about being shirtless?

"It doesn't seem practical."

"It's very practical."

She just caught the end of his smile. "When women walk around coverless, it's anything but liberating." She put eloquently.

"Have you ever asked other women?- And I mean women below your station?" Jon inquired, he was still, while staring at the canopy.

"I don't think any women want to walk around naked, not even...those women." She faltered at the implication of prostitutes. "I suppose if there weren't any men about...then maybe." The queen continued cautiously. "Well, some women don't like being naked in front of women either. Nudity is only comfortable around oneself." Sansa had intentions to cease the conversation there and blow out her candle, she was tired after all.

"That would be a very lonesome world to live in, Sansa."

How could he possibly know she was talking about her? "It already is." Maybe he didn't, maybe he was just speaking in general. Sansa twisted her head to him. "How many people have you encountered in your lifetime you would approach unguarded and naked?"

Jon was very still, as she was, listening intently. "Naked and unarmed?- Well a few of my friends in the night's watch, then of course; Lord Stark, Robb, but I think their guard would be up if I approached them naked." He found that funny, she could hear him stifling a snigger, he gradually sobered- clearing his throat. "Probably you."

It hung in the air like a noose. When she sensed he was about to look at her, she made sure she was staring at the window by the time he did look. Sansa couldn't blow out the candle, it felt rude to end the conversation there. But what to say after that? "But you'd be exposed, you'd have nothing to hide."

"It's only you here." He laughed. "You're my wife, you're going to see it a lot." He cleared his throat immediately afterwards, and for the first time he sounded like he was embarrassed. This was how she remembered old Jon. "Occasionally." It was a correction, but it was a little too late.

She could feel the heat of his body through her nightgown, but at least it wasn't ice cold. This would be a bad time to shuffle away from it. "How many other women have seen it?" The queen didn't know where that came from, she swallowed when she heard herself. The void that followed made her mouth dry.

"Why do you ask this?"

The queen detected he was staring at her again. Sansa didn't believe it was jealousy that got her to pose this question."Have you ever been to a brothel?" Where was this coming from? She shuffled at that moment, just about an inch away, but she disguised it well. Her King rapidly turned on his side, his whole body directed at her. Thank goodness for the sheets. But the swift movement had been intimidating. "I'm not going to judge you if you did, I'm just curious, your grace, in fact you don't have to tell me, that's a stupid question... a stupid curiosity...Just ignore me." It was a ramble, surely that would annoy him? But she glimpsed teeth from the corner of her eye, it took her out of her festering thoughts of self-loathing. That was a smile, or silent laughter, maybe he was snarling?

"I've been to a brothel, well...tavern."

Sansa tried not to look surprised, though perhaps maybe she should out of respect? "O...Was it nice?" Stupid girl, why did you think he went there? But there was a tinge of disappointment, that he behaved like other men, men that she would flee from, men that weren't like her brother; Robb, and her father. Though for a time she had to accept her father had lay with another woman that wasn't her mother.

Jon finally rolled onto his back. "I was petrified."

She heard it, and listened out for his breathing. He was embarrassed. "By the brothel, or by the...act?" Her disappointment had ebbed away. She shouldn't ever doubt him as an honourable man.

"The brothel held so many women, and there was a time when they scared me."

"-I remember, you were so shy." She recalled a lesson she gave him on talking to girls.

He nudged her with his elbow. "Lesson 1; ask their name, lesson 2; compliment their name."

"-That's pretty." She echoed what she had suggested that day, and she heard him say it back. His voice had been different then."It was just before your voice broke." Her chortling matched Jon's own. "That voice wouldn't suit you now." The chortling continued, Sansa could feel it vibrating the bed. She sobered when she realised he hadn't finished the story. "So what did you do in the brothel?" Stupid girl.

He continued in a jovial manner as if he was still discussing her lessons."I went in with Theon, and he said we could choose." Sansa stared at the canopy, why did she ask? "I just stood there, as the women waited. Not all waited patiently, some came to me with their breasts..." He made a gesture to indicate they were on display. The queen stared at the space his hands occupied. "They sort of...fondled me." He had trouble letting that out, she wasn't surprised. "I remember hearing Theon laughing, it rang in my ears." Sansa could see it now, and hear the laughter. Poor Jon. Her husband continued. "They said, 'Can't yer speak, who do you want, boy?' and that's when I just pointed at one of the women..."

Sansa felt a blush come to her cheeks, she fixated on the canopy. She pictured a faceless woman with enormous breasts. "And did they give you a room?" How was she to know they didn't just drop to the tavern floor? "Somewhere private?"

"Yes, she guided me up stairs, and she brought me into one of the rooms of the tavern. And she just stripped off, everything. I had already seen her breasts, but now I could see belly...um...thighs, the auburn hair on her..."

Her face must have become a tomato, the blush had become a hot flush. She couldn't fan herself, she couldn't let her husband see her getting flustered with this conversation. "And did you?"

"No, I left."

Silence consumed them. She tore her eyes from the canopy to look at him. "Is that sarcasm?"

"No, I actually left." He said with slight disbelief. "She was right there, waiting, and I left."

A slow smile split her face. "I hope you still paid her."

Her king turned to her again. "That's a strange thing to say."

What? "She removed her clothes, let her guard down for you, revealed all- you looked, then you left, you should still pay her for the trouble."

Jon looked gormless. She remembered this from her past too. He laughed at the response. "I left her something, it wasn't much." He fell quiet again, probably letting the story sink in. She could see the cogs in his brain turning, she wasn't sure if it was guilt or embarrassment. "I'm not sure what I was going to afford anyway." He flipped onto his back again, expelling a sigh.

"If you couldn't afford it, why would you try, you weren't going to trick them, were you?" Her groggy state of mind gave her an edge, she felt herself yawn again, but the subject was anything but boring. "Have your wicked way with her and climb out of the window?" Bran used to be good at climbing. It was a random thought, which brought her sadness. The Queen found her King smirking at her. "What?"

"They have a list of things they can do, each a different price." He injected cagily, his head shifted on his pillow as if finally settling down to sleep, his head faced her and she had no urge to hide, she turned onto her side, facing him.

"What is the going rate for a girl?"

He frowned. "You really want to know of such things?"

"Yes." She tucked her clasped hands under her chin, staring at him inquisitively.

After some deliberation, he sighed."A groat."

"That's two loaves of bread." Sansa said with surprise. "You would have had her for two loaves of bread!"

"I knew I shouldn't have told you." She felt he was getting restless. "I only had half, but she didn't seem to mind, it felt like she was going to be generous." He said, again with a tinge of embarrassment. "I think for half she would have..." He raised his hand to do a gesture- but he faltered and dropped it to his chest. "I assumed."

"Never assume, Jon Snow." She said with mock severity. He returned a pensive look, it occurred to her that was anything but his name. "I'll miss your old name." She said carefully, hoping she hadn't offended him.

"A bastard name, one I never thought I would miss. I doubt you would have married me with such a name." There was curiosity there, he was testing her.

It wasn't as if she was given a choice, she had to correct him, but in a way that meant she was fine with the arrangement. "It was a popular opinion that we should marry, your name didn't matter...though probably that was because it was a false name." She tried a reassuring smile. "But what's in a name?- We should be judged on a fetes and choices rather than a title. If you were a bastard, I still would have named you 'king'."

The bed was very warm, and more so with his heated look. It wasn't anger, but she had no way of responding to it, or tame it.

"You've always been a Queen." He perpetuated his heated look, even when expressing this softly.

Sansa didn't think he was being sincere, she gave him a wary look. "I've always had a title, I didn't earn it, nor have I proven myself a Queen." She felt like her eyes were about to prickle with tears, she didn't let her emotions run awry. "I'm no real Queen, I'm the king's wife."

His hand snaked under the covers towards her, she felt his hand on her forearm. "Do you hate being a wife?...That is a very busy and rewarding profession, what more do you expect to do, you've done a marvellous job so far..."

"You're mocking me."

"Woaw- No." He stared her down. "I certainly wasn't, you coaxed me into assembling an army to take back Winterfell, you run the household like an army yourself, you've kept our private life, private-"

"We've only been married 2 days, and Davos seems to know more about us than we do." She calmed herself so they weren't heard. "Pretty soon the whole castle will know everything, I'm a fraud. Why do they expect something wonderful to happen in the first couple of days of being on a throne?" She felt his hand stroking her arm. "I envy how easy you find this."

"Find what...?"

Sansa stared incredulously at him, and gestured at him and the air around them. He clearly didn't see. "Everything!"

"That's very vague, love." Why did it always feel like he was secretly laughing at her? "What am I finding so easy?"

"A week ago I was married to a monster, you were supposedly dead." She heard Jon huff. "Next moment you were alive thanks to some magic, which has never existed until that moment, you weren't just resurrected- but you found out you are most likely not my bastard half brother, then I was widowed and then we married. And now the majority of the north expects our union to work just like magic, they don't seem at all bothered about our history, and they have high expectations that you are going to save the realms of men from ice monsters. It's too much." She stared hard at the man next to her, he was looking a little gormless.

He pushed himself up from his side. "You're right, I'm coping quite well... I think it's because we're sharing the burden." It was her turn to huff at this anti-climax. "The majority of what you said feels like you're concerned our marriage won't thrive under those conditions."

Sansa squinted at him. "Huh?"

Jon stroked the lump that was her hip, over the blanket. "Let me worry about this dark magic at work, I'll focus on future, you focus on present, take it a day at a time." His hand seemed to wander to her waist. "Wife." He crooned, extracting his hand from her person, he then twisted to his side table to blow out his candle. "We aren't proper siblings, so our consummation would hardly be scandalous, sweetheart." He heard her then puff out her own candle, and the room plunged into darkness. "Are you game?"

"Slip me a groat and I'll think about it."