Once I had a dream, and this is it. This is the chapter I always wanted to write and needed a backstory for.

The Wedding

The day of Sansa and Gwayne's grand wedding had finally arrived, and Winterfell bustled with anticipation and festivity. The castle, adorned with banners bearing the direwolf of House Stark and the sigil of House Massey, seemed to come alive with joy. The Great Hall, where the wedding feast would be held, was a tapestry of colours and fragrant flowers.

Sansa's chambers were a whirlwind of activity. Her ladies-in-waiting fluttered around her like butterflies, ensuring every detail was perfect. Sansa sat at her vanity, her long auburn hair being meticulously braided and woven with delicate winter roses. The scent of lavender perfumed the air as her maids dressed her in an exquisite gown of deep blue, its bodice adorned with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered like starlight.

Gwayne, in his own chambers, was assisted by a loyal squire, who carefully adjusted the fit of his finely tailored doublet. The Massey colours, a combination of bright silver and earthy brown, suited him well, and a silver brooch in the shape of a direwolf was fastened to his chest.

Meera Reed, Sansa's steadfast Queensguard, stood watch nearby, ensuring that all preparations proceeded smoothly and securely. Her ever-watchful eyes were both vigilant and protective.

As the hours passed, the castle filled with guests from across the North and beyond. Lords and ladies arrived in resplendent attire, their cloaks shimmering with the symbols of their houses. Minstrels and bards tuned their instruments, preparing to serenade the couple with songs of love and devotion.

In the godswood, a sacred ceremony was held under the ancient heart tree, where Sansa and Gwayne would exchange their vows. The white bark of the weirwood provided a stark contrast to the rich green leaves of the surrounding trees, and the pool at its base mirrored the clear sky.

Sansa clutched a small bouquet of winter roses and baby's breath, her heart filled with excitement and a touch of nervousness. Gwayne, looking every inch the gallant lord, stood waiting at the foot of the heart tree, his eyes locked on the path where Sansa would soon appear.

As dusk descended upon Winterfell, the godswood took on an ethereal quality. The ancient heart tree, with its white bark and blood-red leaves, stood as a silent witness to the sacred union about to take place. Its carved face seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries, and its red eyes almost appeared to glow in the fading light.

The godswood was adorned with lanterns and candles hanging from the branches of the surrounding weirwood trees, casting a warm and flickering glow over the gathering. Guests, both noble and common, gathered in a semicircle before the heart tree, their breath visible in the crisp evening air.

The air was filled with the soft sounds of nature—the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the distant hooting of an owl. The godswood was alive with the serenity and reverence that only this sacred place could offer.

In the sacred godswood of Winterfell, where the old gods held sway, the wedding ceremony took on the customs and traditions of the North. A wise woman, well-versed in the ancient ways, presided over the union of Sansa and Gwayne.

Before they exchanged their vows, the couple knelt before the heart tree, each holding a sharp knife. With careful hands, they made small cuts on their thumbs, allowing a few drops of their blood to mingle and then brush the heart tree's white bark. The tree seemed to breathe, a faint pulse beneath its surface, as if accepting their offering.

With their blood mingling on the tree, Sansa and Gwayne felt a connection deep in their souls, a binding of their fates that transcended words.

Following this solemn act, a goat, symbolic of fertility, was led forward. With a whispered prayer to the old gods, the wise woman sacrificed the animal, its life given in exchange for the blessing of a fruitful marriage. The blood was collected in a wooden bowl, and Sansa and Gwayne dipped their fingers into it, marking their foreheads and then each other's, sealing their commitment to one another.

"Old gods," she said, her voice carrying through the godswood, "we offer this sacrifice in your name, that Sansa and Gwayne may be blessed with a fertile marriage, their union fruitful and their love enduring."

Sansa, her voice unwavering, began, "I, Sansa of House Stark, in the presence of the old gods and our honoured guests, take you, Gwayne of House Massey, to be my husband. I promise to stand by your side in times of warmth and in the cold of winter, to be your strength in times of darkness, and to share in the joys and sorrows of our days."

Gwayne, his eyes locked onto Sansa's, echoed with equal fervour, "I, Gwayne of House Massey, in the presence of the old gods and our honoured guests, take you, Sansa of House Stark, to be my wife. I vow to protect you, to cherish you, and to love you fiercely through all the seasons of our lives."

Their vows, spoken in the custom of the North, were deeply meaningful, connecting them not only to each other but to the ancient traditions that had shaped their homeland for generations.

As they exchanged rings—simple bands of silver—the strong wind that had been gathering throughout the ceremony began to howl, causing the leaves of the heart tree to rustle with an otherworldly force. The guests felt the presence of the old gods in the tempestuous wind, a powerful testament to the sanctity of the moment.

With a final benediction from the wise woman, Sansa and Gwayne sealed their union with a passionate and heartfelt kiss, their love consecrated before the heart tree and the ancient gods. The godswood echoed with the cheers and applause of the assembled guests, celebrating the union that had been blessed by both nature and tradition.

The guests who had gathered in the godswood followed the newly weds as they made their way back to the great hall. The torchlight flickered, casting a warm and inviting glow over the hall's wooden beams and long wooden tables adorned with wildflowers and candles.

As Sansa and Gwayne entered, they were met with cheers and applause from their family and friends. It was clear that the celebration was in full swing, with the feasting and merriment already underway.

With their vows exchanged and the blessings of the old gods invoked, Sansa and Gwayne turned their attention to the final part of their ceremony. Lady Cerwyn, holding an ornate silver cup filled with sweet mead, stepped forward as the Master of Law, ready to officiate this last ritual.

Lady Cerwyn, standing at the centre of the hall, raised the silver cup high for all to see. She spoke in a clear, melodious voice that carried through the hall, "To Sansa and Gwayne, may your love be as sweet as this mead, as enduring as the great North, and as boundless as the stars in the night sky."

With these words, she offered the cup to Sansa and Gwayne, who both took hold of it, their fingers entwined. Together, they raised the cup to their lips, sipping from it as a symbol of their shared life and future together.

The mead was sweet on their tongues, and as they drank, they exchanged affectionate glances, sharing a moment of quiet intimacy amid the joyful chaos of the feast. It was a gesture that sealed their union once more, not only in the eyes of the gods but in the hearts of those who had gathered to celebrate their love.

As they lowered the cup, the hall erupted in applause once more, and the feast continued with renewed vigour. Sansa and Gwayne, now officially husband and wife, took their seats at the high table, surrounded by their closest family and friends.

The great hall of Winterfell was a sight to behold on the evening of Sansa and Gwayne's grand wedding. Torches flickered along the wooden beams, casting a warm and inviting glow over the assembled guests. Long wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, adorned with rich tapestries, wildflowers, and an array of candles. The air was filled with the scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and the sweet aroma of honeyed wine.

The guests, both noble and common, were seated according to their stations, with the high table at the head of the hall reserved for the newly weds and their honoured guests. Tables stretched like mighty oaks through the hall, their sturdy wooden planks laden with an opulent bounty. At the centre of each table lay platters of roasted boar, their crisp, crackling skin giving way to succulent, tender meat within. The aroma of seasoned venison, cooked to perfection, wafted through the air, mingling with the rich scent of pheasant roasted with fragrant herbs.

Beside these magnificent meats, bowls of steaming, buttered neeps and carrots offered a splash of vibrant colour. The root vegetables had been cooked to a tender al dente, their natural sweetness enhanced by the gentle kiss of butter. Each bite was a burst of earthy delight.

Bread, both white and brown, was passed around the tables in abundance. Loaves of freshly baked goodness, still warm from the ovens, graced the feast. The white bread boasted a delicate crumb, soft and airy, while the brown bread offered a hearty, wholesome texture. Guests tore into the loaves with gusto, slathering them with soft cheese that oozed in creamy decadence.

Along the walls of the hall stood barrels of ale and mead, bearing the emblems of respected Northern breweries. The ale, a deep and hearty brew, carried the weight of tradition in its frothy head. The mead, golden as sunlight, was sweet and heady, its taste as enchanting as the celebration itself.

Goblets, fashioned from fine pewter and glass, were filled to the brim with these libations. The clinking of cups and toasts resounded through the hall, a chorus of good wishes and heartfelt blessings. From the eldest of nobles to the youngest of squires, all raised their vessels high, honouring the union of Sansa and Gwayne.

Amidst the feast, laughter and conversation flowed like a river in spring. The hall echoed with the mirth of guests, sharing tales of valour, love, and the enduring spirit of the North. Minstrels plucked the strings of lutes and fiddles, serenading the revellers with songs both old and new, their voices weaving stories of legendary heroes and the promise of a bright future.

Sansa and Gwayne, seated at the high table, were the radiant focal point of the celebration. Their attire, resplendent with intricate embroidery and shimmering fabrics, mirrored the splendour of the occasion. As they exchanged smiles and whispered endearments, it was evident that this union was not only a joining of two hearts, but a celebration of the unity and strength of the North itself.

As the feast wore on, the vibrant energy within Winterfell's grand hall swelled to a crescendo. The minstrels and bards, a troupe of gifted musicians and storytellers, became the enchanters of the night, their instruments weaving a tapestry of melodies that wrapped around the hearts of the guests.

At the heart of the ensemble, a lute-player with nimble fingers plucked the strings of his instrument, conjuring a lively tune that danced through the air. The rhythm of the music was infectious, a cadence that beckoned even the most reserved of attendees to tap their feet in time with the beat.

A flutist added delicate trills and lilting notes, her music weaving between the lute's spirited chords like a playful breeze through a sun-dappled forest. The combination of these instruments evoked an aura of merriment and joy, as if the very essence of celebration had been distilled into musical form.

The minstrels' voices, melodious and rich with emotion, rose above the instrumental symphony. Their songs transported the assembly to distant lands and times long past. Tales of ancient heroes, their deeds etched in the annals of history, flowed from their lips like tributaries into a grand river of storytelling.

One moment, the audience was regaled with the epic saga of Bran the Builder, the legendary figure who raised Winterfell's formidable walls. The next, they were swept away by a ballad of star-crossed lovers, their hearts entwined against all odds.

The guests, their senses steeped in music and the warmth of camaraderie, found themselves swaying to the rhythm of the melodies. Some joined hands, forming impromptu circles to dance in jubilant celebration. Others simply closed their eyes, letting the music wash over them like a soothing, enchanting tide.

As the feast reached its zenith, the grand reveal of the wedding cakes marked a moment of awe and wonder. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and sweet confections filled the air, a tantalizing promise of the delectable delights to come.

At the centre of the feasting tables stood the pièce de résistance—a colossal cake that towered above all others, resembling the proud and majestic Stark direwolf sigil. Its form was sculpted with astonishing precision, its contours shaped from layers of rich, moist sponge cake.

Every detail was meticulously crafted: the direwolf's fierce yet noble countenance, the texture of its fur rendered in painstaking detail, and its mighty paws poised as if ready to pounce. Adorned with a multitude of honey-glazed dried fruits, which had been carefully sourced from all corners of Westeros and even the far reaches of Essos, the cake was a testament to the culinary artistry of the North.

Clusters of crimson pomegranate seeds added a burst of colour and a hint of tartness, while the glistening jewels of candied apricots and figs hinted at the sweetness within. Dried berries, plump and resplendent, were scattered like precious gems across the surface. Each piece of fruit was a testament to the diversity of the realm, a symbol of unity through the marriage of flavours.

The moment they cut into the cake, the collective gasp of the attendees filled the hall. The first slice revealed the cake's heart, a sumptuous interior of alternating layers— honey sweet yeast dough, bright sandalwood, fragrant saffron, and the delicate essence of almonds.

As the newly weds fed each other the first morsels, their smiles spoke of shared dreams and a future forged in love. The guests, too, took delight in the lavish treat, savouring not only the exquisite taste but the symbolism of unity that it represented.

As the feast drew to its crescendo, a hushed sense of anticipation settled over the hall. The merriment and revelry had reached its zenith, but there was a palpable energy in the air as the guests awaited the next spectacle. The minstrels and bards, positioned strategically throughout the hall, readied their instruments and cleared their throats, sensing that the time was ripe for a grand finale.

Sansa and Gwayne, the newly weds, stood at the centre of the room, framed by a sea of expectant faces. Their attire was resplendent, Sansa's gown a vision of Northern elegance, and Gwayne in a finely tailored doublet that spoke of his noble lineage.

Gwayne extended his hand to Sansa, his eyes dancing with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. "My Queen," he said, voice low and warm, "may I have this dance?"

Sansa, her heart aflutter with joy, placed her hand in his. "You may, my lord," she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips.

The minstrels began to play a haunting melody, one that seemed to transcend time and place. The lilting notes of the harp and the plaintive strains of the fiddle melded together, creating a tune that was at once melancholic and exultant.

As they began to sway to the music, the rest of the world fell away, and it was as if they were the only two souls in existence. Sansa's gown rustled softly as they moved, her hand nestled in Gwayne's, and their steps were as graceful as the flight of a pair of swans.

"Tonight," Gwayne whispered, his gaze locked onto Sansa's, "is the beginning of our own tale, Sansa Stark."

Sansa's heart swelled with emotion, and she tightened her grip on his hand. "Yes," she murmured, "our tale—one of love, unity, and a future together."

The guests watched in rapt attention, their eyes fixed on the couple at the heart of the dance floor. There was a collective understanding that they were witnessing the birth of a union that held the promise of a prosperous and harmonious North.

As the music swelled and the dance carried them away, Sansa and Gwayne revelled in the moment, their steps and hearts perfectly in sync. In that enchanted instant, it was as if they were dancing not only for themselves but for the realm, and the future that awaited them as husband and wife.

The final notes of the music faded into the air like a soft sigh, and Sansa and Gwayne came to a graceful halt, their eyes still locked together for a moment, their shared dance a testament to their love and unity. As they took a step back from one another, the formal protocol of the court began to gently loosen its reins, allowing the newly weds to mingle with their guests.

Sansa's smile was radiant as she turned to the assembled nobility and commoners. "Thank you all for joining us on this joyous occasion," she said, her voice carrying through the hall. "Your presence here warms our hearts. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening, savour the delicacies, and make merry. This night is for all of us, for the North."

The guests responded with a chorus of cheers and applause, their approval echoing through the hall. Sansa and Gwayne moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from lords and ladies, knights and common folk alike.

Lord Manderly, a broad smile on his face, clapped Gwayne on the back. "A fine dance, my lord. You and our queen make a splendid couple."

Gwayne inclined his head with a gracious nod. "Thank you, Lord Manderly. I am truly honoured to stand by her side."

Meanwhile, Lady Cerwyn approached Sansa, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy. "My lady, you were radiant out there," she said, her voice filled with genuine affection. "I can see the happiness in your eyes."

Sansa's cheeks flushed with a blush as she curtsied slightly. "Thank you, Lady Cerwyn. Your support means the world to us."

As the night continued, the atmosphere in the hall shifted from the formality of the ceremony to the exuberance of celebration. The feasting resumed, the minstrels played lively tunes, and the guests danced and laughed. The bond between Sansa and Gwayne was celebrated not only by their union but also by the unity and joy of the North.

As Sansa and Gwayne continued to mingle with their guests, Sansa found herself surrounded by the remnants of her family from the Riverlands and the Lords of the Vale who had taken kindly to her. It was a heart warming reunion that filled her with a deep sense of belonging and unity.

Edmure Tully, her uncle, approached with a warm smile. "Sansa," he said, his eyes filled with pride, "you've grown into a remarkable woman. Your mother would be so proud of you."

Sansa embraced her uncle tightly. "Thank you, Uncle Edmure. It means the world to me to have you here."

From the Vale, Lady Myranda Royce, a close friend and ally, joined the conversation. "Lady Sansa, you were simply enchanting in the ceremony," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Your grace and poise are truly remarkable."

Sansa curtsied gracefully. "Thank you, Lady Myranda. Your presence here honours us greatly."

Lord Harrold Hardyng, standing beside his wife, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Lady Sansa. Your marriage is a symbol of hope and unity for the North and the Vale."

Sansa smiled warmly at them all. "I am grateful for the friendship and support of the Vale. Together, our regions can thrive."

Sansa and Gwayne continued to revel in the festivities of their grand wedding. They danced with other couples, twirling and swaying to the music as the minstrels played melodies that filled the hall. The atmosphere was filled with joy and merriment, and it seemed as though every guest was caught up in the celebration.

As they moved through the crowd, Sansa couldn't help but feel a profound sense of happiness. Gwayne's presence beside her was a source of comfort and strength. She watched as he engaged in conversations with lords and ladies, his charisma and charm evident to all.

At one point, as they took a brief respite from dancing, Sansa leaned in closer to Gwayne. "This is more wonderful than I could have imagined," she admitted with a radiant smile.

Gwayne's eyes sparkled with affection as he replied, "It is, Sansa. But the most wonderful part is knowing that I have you as my wife."

Their hands entwined, and they shared a tender moment amidst the revelry. Sansa's heartfelt full, and she knew that this union, born not just of political alliance but of genuine affection, was the beginning of a beautiful chapter in their lives.

Sansa and Gwayne found a moment of respite in a quiet alcove, away from the bustling hall. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow upon them as they stood close, revelling in the intimacy of the occasion.

Gwayne gently brushed a strand of hair away from Sansa's face. "You look more radiant than the sun itself, my love," he murmured, his eyes filled with adoration.

Sansa's cheeks flushed with a soft blush as she replied, "And you, my dear husband, are the most handsome man in all the Seven Kingdoms."

They shared a tender kiss, their love and affection evident in the way their lips met. It was a brief yet meaningful moment of connection, a reminder of the deep bond they now shared.

But duty called, and with a reluctant sigh, they pulled away from each other. Sansa placed her hand in the crook of Gwayne's arm, and together they returned to the head of the table, where their guests eagerly awaited their presence.

As they resumed their positions, Sansa couldn't help but steal a fond glance at her new husband. The journey that had brought them to this point had been filled with trials and challenges, but it had also led to this moment of joy and unity. With Gwayne by her side, she felt stronger than ever, ready to face whatever the future held for them and for the North.

Sansa's voice, filled with warmth and gratitude, cut through the joyful chatter of the feasting guests. She raised her goblet high, its golden rim catching the flickering candlelight.

"Dear friends, noble lords and ladies, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for gracing us with your presence on this joyous occasion," Sansa began, her words carrying throughout the hall. "Today, we celebrate not only the union of two souls, but the strengthening of bonds that tie our realms together."

She glanced lovingly at Gwayne, who stood beside her, his eyes locked onto hers. "My husband, Lord Gwayne Massey, and I are deeply honoured to have you here to share in our happiness. Let us continue to revel in the spirit of unity, friendship, and love that fills this hall."

The guests raised their goblets, echoing Sansa's sentiments with hearty cheers. The sounds of clinking glasses and joyous laughter filled the air.

"But," Sansa added with a playful glint in her eye, "for Lord Gwayne and me, the night is far from over. It is time for us to retire to our wedding chamber, a symbol of our commitment and the hope for future heirs to House Stark-Massey."

The assembled guests erupted in playful cheers and whistles, fully aware of the light-hearted customs that accompanied such occasions. Sansa's smile widened as she turned to Gwayne, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

With a shared understanding, they bid their guests farewell and made their way to their chambers. Sansa and Gwayne, under the watchful eyes of the Queensguard, left the raucous celebrations behind as they made their way to the spacious chamber reserved for them. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, their hearts beating in rhythm with each other as they crossed the threshold of the room.

In the soft glow of candlelight, the chamber felt warm and intimate. The rich tapestries that adorned the walls depicted scenes of northern landscapes, and a large, canopied bed dominated the centre of the room, dressed in luxurious furs and silks.

They moved with a sense of purpose, not adhering to the more raucous customs of the bedding ceremony. Instead, their privacy was paramount. Sansa, radiant in her bridal gown, turned to face Gwayne, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of excitement and tenderness.

"Tonight," she began, her voice a soft, inviting murmur, "is our night, Gwayne. A night to share our love and devotion away from the prying eyes of the world."

Gwayne, looking dashing in his lordly attire, took her hands gently in his own. "Sansa, my beloved," he replied, his words a heartfelt promise, "I've waited so long for this moment. To be alone with you, to express the depth of my love."

The high born lords and ladies, who had gathered to witness this intimate moment, looked on with a mixture of respect and understanding. They knew that this was a rare and cherished occasion, one where the bride and groom were afforded a measure of privacy on their wedding night. With a quiet reverence, they observed as Sansa and Gwayne made their way to the large, canopied the couple sat down on the edge of the bed, there was a collective understanding that this was a deeply personal and private moment.

The lords and ladies exchanged knowing glances, acknowledging the significance of this moment for Sansa and Gwayne. It was a testament to their love and respect for each other that they had chosen to share it with their closest friends and family, even in the midst of such a grand celebration.

Meera, as a trusted member of the Queensguard and a dear friend to Sansa, took her place near the door. With a gentle nod, she closed it, granting the newly weds the privacy they deserved.

Gwayne gazed down at Sansa with eyes full of warmth and longing as they lay together upon the furs. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in to capture her lips once more in a sweet kiss. Sansa sighed softly against his mouth, her hands coming up to rest on his broad chest as the kiss deepened gradually by slow degrees.

Gwayne teased her bottom lip gently with his tongue, seeking permission, which Sansa gladly granted. Their tongues met and danced in a passionate yet unrushed rhythm, learning the shape and taste of one another. Sansa found herself melting into the furs, desire stirring low in her belly as Gwayne's skilled kiss transported her.

When at last they parted to catch their breath, Gwayne turned his attention to the row of delicate ivory buttons down the back of Sansa's wedding gown. With patient, loving fingers he began to work each one free one by one, placing featherlight kisses to the newly exposed skin of her neck and shoulders with each small victory.

Sansa sighed blissfully at the gentle ministrations, arching her back to allow him better access. Soon the gown had fallen open entirely, baring her slim form clad only in wisps of lace and silk. Gwayne pulled back to admire his beautiful bride, eyes dark with wanting yet respectfully restraining himself. "My queen," he rasped hoarsely. "You are more radiant than any moon."

Gwayne gently cupped Sansa's cheek, gazing tenderly into her eyes. "You are so strong, yet you allow yourself this moment of softness. It is a gift."

He traced a calloused finger along her hairline, coming to rest at the delicate lace holding her intricate braid. "May I?" Sansa nodded assent, and he slowly began loosening the ribbons' hold. Bit by bit, her auburn tresses fell free, cascading over her bare shoulders in fiery waves.

Gwayne combed his fingers through the loosened locks, spreading them out upon the furs like a mantle. "Exquisite," he breathed, pressing a kiss to her temple. His lips trailed lower, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "As radiant as the sunset, yet far warmer."

Sansa sighed at the mingled sensations of his mouth, his hands carding through her hair. No one had gazed upon her with such tenderness in too long. Gwayne's ministrations began to loosen tightnesses she did not know remained within her.

"You are safe, and cherished, my love," he murmured against her neck. His lips and tongue teased her pulse points delicately as his hands learned the planes of her body, reacquainting her with physical intimacy through patience, care and heartfelt praise. Under his loving attention, Sansa felt herself blossoming open like a long-wintry flower seeing the sun once more.

Gwayne paused in his attentions to press a gentle kiss to Sansa's forehead, just below where her delicate crown still rested.

"My radiant queen," he murmured, gazing at her with eyes full of warmth.

Sansa's lips quirked in amused affection before she turned her attention to the thin linen dress beneath her gown. With practised fingers, she began loosening the ties at the front of the under-dress, parting the soft fabric to reveal more of her creamy skin to her lord's gaze.

Gwayne watched, enraptured, as more and more of his bride's body was bared. When the dress had been fully cast aside, his breath caught at the vision of loveliness before him clad only in her crown, smallclothes and lace. Reverently, he pressed a kiss to each new expanse of skin revealed, praising her beauty between each one. Tonight was for Sansa's delight alone, and he would not rest until he had seen her fully unbound.

As the last of Sansa's smallclothes were removed, leaving her fully bare before him, Gwayne could no longer resist his queen's allure.

With a soft groan of longing, he lowered his mouth to her ample breasts, kissing each pearl-pink nipple gently in turn. Sansa sighed above him, arching into his touch as he swirled his tongue in delicate circles around one taut bud. Her fingers carded through his hair encouragingly as he took more of her breast into his warm mouth, suckling softly.

Gwayne lavished her chest with devoted attention, kissing and nipping at the soft flesh, while one hand came up to massage her other breast. He rolled the rosy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Sansa's lips. All the while, his mouth worshipped her, tasting her sweetness and feeling her heartbeat quicken under his ministrations.

Sansa's head rolled back in ecstasy, her crown askew, as waves of sensation washed over her sensitive skin from Gwayne's skilled tongue.

Gwayne kissed his way down Sansa's stomach, tasting the faint salt of her skin, as his hands explored her sides, caressing the curves he found there.

Between gasps of pleasure, Sansa noticed her lord husband was still fully clothed. "Wait," she breathed, pushing gently on his shoulders. Gwayne froze at once, concern in his eyes.

"What is it, my heart?"

Sansa smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed. "You attend so thoroughly to me, yet remain dressed yourself. That will not do - we must have equality between us." Her hands moved to the laces of his tunic.

Gwayne chuckled softly. "As my queen commands." He helped her undo the ties, shrugging the fabric from his muscled frame to pool on the furs.

Sansa drank in the sight of him, lithe muscle and scars that spoke of strength and survival. But it was his eyes, full of care and desire only for her, that caused a swell of emotion in her breast.

"Now we are matched," she said, running her hands over the plains of his chest. Gwayne leaned in to kiss her once more, slow and deep,

At her insistence, he stood to rid himself of the last of his clothes, baring himself fully under Sansa's admiring gaze. Her cheeks flushed anew at the sight of his ready manhood standing proud, a testament to his desire.

When he was done, Gwayne sank back to the furs, propped upon one elbow. "I am yours to behold, and yours to direct this night, Sansa."

Sansa's lips quirked in a smile, her confidence growing. "Then lie back fully, that I may explore you as you did me."

Gwayne obeyed gladly, stretching out upon the furs with hands behind his head, surrendering completely to her touch. Sansa traced light fingers over his muscled frame, learning the planes and scars of his body as he had learned hers. Her caresses grew bolder, stroking him from chest to thighs as desire reignited within them both. Tonight was a night for giving as well as receiving,

Gwayne's breath hitched as Sansa's exploring hands drifted lower. Her feather-light touches sent sparks of arousal dancing across his skin.

When her lips followed the path of her fingers to press gentle kisses upon his taut stomach, he let out a low groan, desire pooling heavy and tight. Sansa smiled against his flesh at the sound, pleased to see her lord husband so undone by her ministrations.

Her hand drifted to his thick thighs, kneading the muscle there as her mouth continued its leisurely descent. Finally, she reached her destination, gazing upon his proud hardness with hungry eyes. Gwayne was beyond thought now, lost in a haze of wanting as her skilled fingers at last closed around his hot length.

His world narrowed to that single point of contact as Sansa began to stroke and tease him with a sure touch learned from past relationships. A guttural moan was wrenched from his lips when at last her warm, wet mouth replaced her hand, taking him deep.

Gwayne looked on through lidded eyes as his queen pleasured him with her talented tongue, his hips bucking helplessly into the perfect suction. He was hers entirely at that moment, unravelling beneath her devoted attentions.

Sansa lavished Gwayne with her mouth, finding a pleasure in his enjoyment that surprised her. For so long this intimacy had been a violation, but with this gentle man it felt a gift.

Still, memories lingered at the edge of her mind, threatening to spoil the moment. When Ramsay had forced her compliance, deliberately twisting something beautiful into yet another abuse to break her spirit.

Gwayne must have seen a shadow cross her eyes, for he tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her face. "You owe nothing, my love. This is ours alone."

His understanding soothed her wounded places. Sansa focused on Gwayne's soft moans, the way his body responded to her every flick of tongue. His desire was for her, and her alone.

Steadily, the ghosts of her past receded, replaced by growing confidence in Gwayne's love and her own power over this act. She took him deeper, swirling her tongue in a way that had him grasping the furs in ecstasy.

Sansa took Gwayne fully into her warm mouth once more, revelling in his muffled moans of pleasure. She set a steady pace, moving her lips up and down his length while her tongue swirled intricate patterns around his sensitive skin.

Finding a particular ridge that made his breathing hitch, she paid it special attention, laving it with quick flicks and long, languid licks. All the while, her hand cradled and massaged his heavy sac, adding to his mounting rapture.

Gwayne was lost to sensation, one hand buried in Sansa's auburn locks as his hips rocked helplessly into the exquisite suction. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer as the tension coiled impossibly tighter within him.

Gwayne's breaths came in ragged gasps as the peak of his pleasure approached. "S-Sansa, I'm close," he managed to rasp.

Rather than pull away, Sansa redoubled her efforts, swirling her tongue expertly around his throbbing head. At the same time, her hand worked him in a rhythmic clutch, in perfect counterpoint. She felt his thighs begin to tense beneath her other hand splayed there.

Leaning in, Sansa pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses along the taut muscle of his thigh. Her lips were as demanding as her tongue and fingers working his manhood, drawing him ever closer to the precipice.

Gwayne could hold on no longer, crying out as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. Sansa felt his seed spill hot and thick over her fist and tongue, swallowing every drop as his body shook with release. Only then did she slow and gentle her ministrations, helping him ride out the aftershocks of passion.

Sansa kissed her way back up his sated form. Gwayne pulled her close, their lips meeting in a kiss of deep intimacy as outside, the northern winds howled through the night.

Still lost in the heady haze of pleasure, Gwayne cupped Sansa's face in his hands and brought her mouth to his in a kiss filled with emotion.

"Sansa; my love, my heart," he murmured between presses of lips. "You are my light in this world, my joy and my salvation. I am yours, now and always."

Sansa sighed against his mouth, heart swelling to hear such tender words after suffering so much cruelty. Gwayne was her shelter in the storm, the balm to soothe her battered soul.

His hands drifted down her body, calloused fingers tracing delicate patterns on her flushed skin. When they reached the last barrier between them, Gwayne pulled back just enough to meet Sansa's eyes in question. At her shy nod, he made quick, efficient work of the smallclothes and tossed them aside.

Now nothing remained between their naked forms, and Gwayne took a moment to simply gaze upon his queen's voluptuous beauty, laid bare both physically and spiritually in his arms. "You are divine," he breathed in awed reverence, before capturing her lips once more in a searing kiss of passion, tenderness, and infinite care for the radiant being in his embrace.

Gwayne gazed down at Sansa's glistening womanhood, crowned by a lush thatch of auburn curls. His breath caught at the exquisite sight.

"You are a vision, my love," he said hoarsely. Then, taking his cue from her earlier actions, he set about lavishing attention upon her sensitive flesh.

Gwayne pressed open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs, savouring the faint taste of salt on her skin. His hands parted her folds, delving deeply to find her most sensitive pearl, already swollen and begging for his touch.

Sansa gasped and writhed as his fingers circled her nub in slow, maddening passes that left her hovering on the edge. When he dipped lower to collect her wetness on his tongue, lapping eagerly at her essence, she thought she might come undone then and there from the sheer intimacy of it.

Gwayne was lost in the taste of Sansa, intoxicated by her passion. He lapped eagerly at her flower, delving his tongue deep between her folds to drink in her essence.

Sansa writhed above him, small sounds of bliss falling from her kiss-swollen lips with each devoted stroke of his tongue. He alternated long, languid licks with rapid flicks around her swollen pearl, keeping her hovering on the edge.

"Please, Gwayne..." she mewled, lost in the rising tide of sensations only he could draw from her. In answer, he slid two gentle fingers into her slick channel, curling them to stroke that special spot within. Sansa keened his name, hips bucking wildly into his talented mouth. Gwayne sucked her sensitive nub between his lips then, applying just the right pressure as he pumped his fingers relentlessly.

It did not take long before Sansa came undone, her walls clenching impossibly tight around his fingers as waves of rapture crashed over her. Gwayne continued his ministrations through her release, prolonging each exquisite spasm, before lapping up her flowing nectar in full.

Only then did he kiss his way back up her sated form, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, so she could taste herself on his tongue. Sansa clung to him weakly, limp with bliss,

As Sansa floated back to awareness in Gwayne's arms, she found him gazing up at her with eyes dark with want.

"Sansa, I wish nothing more than to feel you surrounding me, to join our bodies as one," he breathed reverently. "Would you do me the honour of taking me inside you, to ride me as your queenly pleasure dictates?"

Sansa's heart swelled at his worshipful request. She straddled his hips, aligning herself over his straining manhood. Reaching down, she grasped his rigid length and guided him to her entrance, still slick and swollen from her peak.

Slowly, carefully, she sank down upon him, both gasping at the exquisite sensation of union. Gwayne stretched and filled her perfectly, completing their physical joining as their souls already had been one.

When he was fully sheathed, Sansa stilled, savouring that first moment of intimacy. Then, setting her own unhurried pace, she began to move, rising and falling upon his thick length in a graceful rhythm that had them both soon lost to passion.

Sansa rode Gwayne with slow, undulating rolls of her hips that had them both gasping. She savoured every ridge and throb of his manhood, stretching her inner walls deliciously full.

Beneath her, Gwayne grasped her hips, fingertips pressing crescent marks into her flesh with each upward buck of his own. His eyes, dark with lust and adoration, never left her face as she pleasured them both.

Finding her rhythm, Sansa began to ride him in earnest, bouncing atop his rigid length with increasing vigour. Flesh slapped against flesh in a primal song of passion, her ample breasts jiggling enticingly with each powerful thrust.

Gwayne was mesmerized by the erotic dance, hypnotized by the sight of his queen taking her pleasure. Unable to resist, he sat up to capture one taut nipple in his mouth, suckling deeply in time with her movements.

The new stimulation sent Sansa over the edge with a keening wail. Her walls clenched impossibly tight around Gwayne's pounding manhood as ecstasy claimed her.

Sansa rode Gwayne faster, driven to new heights by his fervent mouth on her breast. The tension coiled impossibly tight within her womb with each slick slide of his thickness.

Gwayne sucked deeply, nipping her nipple just enough to send sparks of arousal jolting down her spine. The dual stimulation pushed Sansa to the very precipice.

When his thumb rubbed tight circles around her swollen pearl, the dam broke with a wail. Sansa threw back her head, flame-red locks cascading behind her like a wild woman possessed.

Her walls spasmed uncontrollably around Gwayne's pistoning girth as ecstasy crashed through her in crashing waves. Above, the northern lights danced behind her eyes, painting the night sky with colour as her body sang its release.

The sight and feel of Sansa unravelling around him was Gwayne's undoing. With a guttural moan, he thrust up hard, seed pulsing from him to fill her quim in hot pulses.

He gripped her hips tightly, holding her flush as his climax ripped through him. Sansa rode out their peaks together, collapsing breathless and sated when the final aftershocks faded.

Spent muscles turned to liquid as Gwayne gently lowered Sansa to rest atop his pounding heart. Their bodies remained intimately joined, unwilling yet to part from the sanctuary within one another.

For long moments, they simply breathed, floating in a haze of endorphins and oxytocin. Sansa traced idle patterns upon Gwayne's chest with her fingertips, smiling softly at the strong beat beneath her palm.

"My love, that was..." Gwayne trailed off, at a loss for words exquisite enough to describe what had passed between them.

Sansa turned her head to meet his gaze, eyes aglow with sated joy and newfound lightness of spirit. "Perfect," she agreed, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

For a time the lovers lay content in the afterglow of their passion, bonded body and soul. But soon Sansa stirred, sitting up with a thoughtful expression.

"Gwayne, my love - I've realized we forgot one important thing tonight."

He frowned in concern. "What is it, my heart? Tell me, and I shall remedy any wrong at once."

Sansa smiled softly. "No wrong has been done. It's only that I spoke with a wise woman ere the wedding. She counselled that, should I wish to become with child, it would be best if you...mounted me, this first time."

Gwayne's eyes widened in understanding. His heart swelled further at her desire to create new life with him. "Then let it be as the wise woman says."

He kissed Sansa tenderly, rolling their still-joined forms, so she lay beneath him once more. Gazing down at her beauty, he sought permission silently - which she granted with a loving nod and widening of her thighs.

Gwayne positioned himself at Sansa's glistening entrance once more, already awakening beneath her siren's call. He leaned down to capture her lips in a languid kiss as he pressed just the head of his manhood inside.

Sansa sighed into his mouth, adjusting to welcome his slow penetration. Gwayne paused, allowing her walls to stretch and accommodate his thick girth inch by velvet inch. Only when he was fully seated within her did he break the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both savoured the intimacy of their rejoining.

"Are you well, my love?" he asked softly. At Sansa's shy nod, Gwayne withdrew just as gradually, eliciting a small gasp from her lips at the exquisite drag of sensitive flesh.

Setting a tender rhythm, he began to make love to his queen with slow, deep strokes that had them both trembling on the cliff's edge. Their joining was an act of worship, a sacred rite sealing body and soul as one for the mingling of seed and womb that might fruit in new life.

As their intimacy deepened, Gwayne felt Sansa's readiness to join him in spiralling ascent. Maintaining their loving gaze, he began to move within her walls with incrementally brisker strokes.

Sansa's breath hitched in response to the new pace, her walls growing impossibly slicker. Gwayne watched her face for any hint of discomfort, but saw only pleasure and invitation in her lidded eyes.

Emboldened, he drew his hips back to deliver long, deep plunges that had their union wetly slapping together. On every pass, he grazed that sweet spot within her, drawing mewls of delight from Sansa's kiss-swollen lips.

Her hands roamed his flexing back and arms, fingers clutching whenever he brushed that secret place. Gwayne angled his hips to target it relentlessly, intoxicated by her passion's heady scent swirling around them.

Gwayne drove into Sansa's sheath with abandon, his heavy sac slapping her with each impactful stroke. She writhed beneath him, keening his name as ecstasy built to a crescendo.

When his thumb replaced his mouth to circle her swollen nub, the dam broke. Sansa threw back her head with a wail, her walls clenching his pistoning girth like a vice. Pleasure pulsed through her in crashing waves, painting the world behind her eyes in vivid colour.

The sight and feel of Sansa coming undone around him was too much for him. With a guttural moan, he swelled impossibly larger, grinding deep as his seed spurted hot inside her quivering channel.

He pressed his hips against hers tightly through each pulsing pump, holding her flush against his groin. Sansa relished their shared rapture, milking him for every last drop with her fluttering sheath until blissful exhaustion claimed them both.

Sansa lay limp and pliant in Gwayne's protective embrace, her sated body aglow with happiness. She turned shining eyes up to meet his loving gaze.

"Gwayne," she sighed, tracing idle patterns over his sweat-slick chest. "What we have found together is a gift beyond price. You have healed parts of my soul I feared lost forever."

Gwayne pressed a reverent kiss to her forehead. "As you have mine, Sansa, my radiant queen. Your beauty and spirit outshine all the stars in the heavens. I am blessed beyond measure to call you wife."

Sansa made a small, contented sound and snuggled deeper against him. Safe in the shelter of Gwayne's strong arms, she felt all the horrors of her past finally relinquish their hold. Here, in this place, she was free.

As sleep rose softly to claim them, Gwayne whispered words of love and devotion to carry her into dreams. Sansa whispered them back, her heart so full it felt near to bursting. Thus did the Lord and Lady of Winterfell surrender to slumber's embrace, souls joined in a love to transcend all, ending under the watchful gaze of the northern lights.

Well as I've said, this was supposed to be the last chapter, the climax , of this story. But over the recent weeks I realized there are still things that I have in mind and need to be written. So, there will be an encore.

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