FIC: Wedding, part three (Stannis/Sansa)
Jun. 22nd, 2012 01:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
linndechirTitle: Wedding (part three)
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Stannis/Sansa
Words: 5240
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: spoilers for ASOS, same age difference and probably underage as before. Also, this probably won't make much sense unless you've read the first two parts.
Summary: She doubts she will ever love the king when she agrees to marry him, but Jon assures her that Stannis is as just and honourable as father had been, and that alone is more than she can say about any other man she has met. (Or: the morning after the wedding night.)
Author's note: I'm sorry this took me so ridiculously long, but here's finally the third and last part of the wedding fic. I'll definitely write more Stannis/Sansa in the future, but not as part of this fic. :)
Part one | Part two
Sansa was woken by a cool breeze on her face and the smell of fresh air in her nose. She opened her eyes, blinked against the early morning sun that fell in through the open window. A glance at the hearth showed her that the fire had gone out during the night, but Sansa didn't feel cold. She was wrapped in a thick fur blanket, though she couldn't remember covering herself before she went to sleep.
A blush crept over her face when she thought of last night; her thighs felt a bit sticky, her hair was a mess. She was so used to sleeping alone that it took her a moment to wonder where her husband had gone, for he wasn't in bed with her anymore. A pang of disappointment filled her at that; she remembered how he had held her last night, and she would have liked to wake up in his arms. She turned around and sat up, holding the blanket close to her chest. She smiled when she saw Stannis standing at the other side of the room, his back turned to her.
The king was bent over a small basin and washing his face; he couldn't have been up for long. He had taken off his shirt, and his breeches sat low on his hips. Sansa was glad that he hadn't heard her yet, for she enjoyed the opportunity to look at him: the skin on his back was pale, but smooth, marred only by a few old scars and some younger-looking bruises. He was well-muscled, as she had expected, but far too thin – his shoulder blades jutted out, and she could see his ribs when he dried his face.
"Good morning, Your Grace," Sansa said. He flinched in surprise and turned quickly, and Sansa winced when his blue eyes met hers. She had thought he would frighten her less after last night, but it did not help that he always looked so tense, like a predator who was ready to snap his prey's neck. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you," she added demurely.
He relaxed a little and walked over to the bed. Sansa glanced up, let her eyes wander over his body for a moment. The muscles on his chest and stomach were sharply defined, not so much because he was overly muscled than because there didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on his body. She wondered if he would let her touch him.
"I thought you were asleep, my lady," Stannis said stiffly.
"I was, until a few moments ago."
"Then I should apologise for waking you."
Sansa met his eyes at that. There it was again, that slight insecurity he hid so well behind what always looked like annoyance. She stretched out one hand to take his, relieved that he stepped closer. Their fingers entwined, and the care with which he returned the gesture reassured her.
"You should only apologise for leaving bed so early," she said with a smile, hoping that she was not overstepping her boundaries. She tugged gently at his hand, but he didn't move. "It's barely day."
"I have a kingdom to rule, my lady," he pointed out, and Sansa half wondered if he was joking. Judging by the light in the room, the sun had only just come up. There were limits even to how early a king should rise.
"Surely not on the morning after your wedding, Your Grace. I doubt anyone is already awake after last night's feast." He seemed to hesitate, but when she tugged at his hand again, he sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand was cool in hers, still a bit damp from the water, but she remembered all too well how he had touched her last night. As she looked at him, eyes roaming over his chest, his broad shoulders, his sinewy arms, he mustered her as well, and his frown seemed worried more than anything else. He raised his other hand to her face and gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Did I hurt you last night?"
Sansa shook her head and moved a bit closer to him, as far as she could with the blanket wrapped around her body.
"It is kind of you to ask, but you needn't worry." She squeezed his hand. "I told you it was lovely."
This time her words did not make him smile, his frown only deepened and he suddenly pulled back his hand, as if he didn't like what he saw.
"You're barely more than a child."
His words felt like a slap, and Sansa stared at him in disbelief. Part of her wanted to remind him that she had hardly been a child last night, but that would have been discourteous. Instead she took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was about to say, straightened her back a little.
"I haven't been a child since the Lannisters murdered my father, Your Grace." Her voice was sharp on his title, but it seemed to snap him out of his moment of guilt. The look in his eyes softened. For a few seconds Stannis was quiet, stared down at their still entwined hands, his thumb brushing gently over her palm. His voice cracked a little when he spoke.
"I was about the same age as you were when I lost my parents." It was Sansa's turn to be quiet. She was surprised; Stannis had never spoken of anything personal to her before, never even mentioned his parents or his brothers, nor his late wife and his daughter. She moved closer still until her shoulder brushed his.
"I did not know that," Sansa said softly. "What happened to them?"
"A storm ... their ship sank, just in sight of the castle. Robert and I watched it shatter on the rocks."
Sansa couldn't ever imagine King Stannis as a boy, couldn't imagine him crying in his brother's arms, but she knew the pain of losing one's parents and felt suddenly sorry that she had ever mentioned it. She touched his cheek with her free hand, a shy caress only, but it seemed welcome. Encouraged by the way he moved into her touch, she leant in and breathed a kiss on his jaw. The surprise in his eyes when he looked up was almost painful to see, as if even last night had not convinced him that she liked touching him. Sansa realised only now that it had been guilt, more than anything else, that had made him pull back from her earlier.
"Stannis." She leant into him, as awkward as that was in her position, didn't even mind that the blanket slipped from her shoulders. "Have we not both suffered enough? Lost enough? Parents, siblings ..." Sansa's voice failed her for a moment – she thought of father and mother and Robb and who knew where Arya was, if she was even alive – but she forced herself to go on. "I am so tired of grieving. I have grieved enough for an old woman. I don't want to be bitter and unhappy and alone."
A joyless laugh escaped Stannis' throat. "You mean like me?"
Sansa bit her lip, scolded herself for her careless words, but she couldn't take them back, not when they were true. Instead she only kissed his cheek again, curled her fingers around his. She could not lessen his grief any more than he could take hers, but the least they could do was try to make the future happier than the past.
"You don't have to be." She cocked her head, tried to meet his eyes although he was still looking away. "Last night was not ... bad for you, was it? If it was, I'll learn, I'll - "
"No." Stannis' fingers tightened around hers; the blue veins on his hands and forearms stood out under pale skin. The sight made her heart beat a little faster, brought back pleasant memories of what those hands felt like. "You don't have to learn anything for me. I don't require such things."
Sansa wondered if he was truly being dense or if he did not want to understand her. She cupped his chin to make him look at her, smiled when he finally complied.
"It would hardly be just if I gave you any less than you give me." She dared to kiss him lightly, and just as she was about to pull back his mouth pressed back against hers. He didn't move away, and his lips still brushed hers when he muttered, "You didn't."
She nudged his nose with hers, then kissed him again while she put a hand on his chest. It was almost like a game, trying to coax him into moving when his whole body was as tense as if he was trying to turn himself into stone. Her hand slid down, fingertips brushing over coarse hair, down to the hard muscles of his stomach. Sansa sighed happily when he finally moved, his tongue teasing against her lips while he tried to push down the blanket that still half covered her.
As much as she did not want to let go of him, she was starting to sweat under it. She pushed it away a bit awkwardly – not without noticing that he must have taken real care to tuck her in before he got up – and blushed when she was left with nothing but her shift. Her heart raced in her chest when she felt his eyes on her, she couldn't think about anything but the way he had touched her last night, his hands on her thighs, between her legs, his lips against her throat. Sansa wondered if it was normal, if it was proper for a woman to long for her husband so much, but she found that for once she did not care. She reached out to take Stannis' hand again when he still hesitated, guided it to her lips to kiss his knuckles, a warm breath on each one of them, before she put his hand on her chest, just above her breast.
It finally made him move closer. He sat next to her on the bed, trying – and not quite managing, she thought almost giddily – to keep his eyes on her face. His resolve seemed to falter when she guided his hand downwards to cup her breast, his touch heavy and gentle at the same time, and burning hot even through the thin fabric. Sansa shuddered a little, but it was from excitement as much as nervousness.
"You ... you don't have to do that, my lady," Stannis said in a gruff voice, although it was obvious that he hardly wanted to stop.
"I know," she replied, and it wasn't a lie. She truly believed him that he would be just as content to do his duty quickly and only as often as necessary, and barely even touch her while he was at it. He did not seem to understand that that would only make it more painful for her. "But will you think less of me if I would rather enjoy my duty than merely endure it?"
Stannis finally kissed her at that, more passionately than before, fingers tangling in her hair while the thumb of his other hand stroked her breast lightly. Sansa melted into him; she wanted so many things at the same time and could barely voice half of them. Whimpered in protest when his hand briefly moved away from her breast, but only to slip underneath the fabric, and the hard callouses on her sensitive skin made her moan. She threw her arms around him to hold him close, gasped a little when his weight pressed her down onto the bed, when his body covered hers and she suddenly felt trapped. For a second she wondered if he had only been kind to her that first time, if he would be rougher from now on, if her willingness would make him think that he didn't have to be careful anymore. She closed her eyes in a moment of panic, but all Stannis did was kiss her face, his lips gentle on her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, then her mouth again. His touch on her breast was as light and tender as before, and Sansa felt silly for doubting him. She blinked up at Stannis, reminded herself that she had nothing to fear from him. He had promised not to hurt her, had he not? And Jon had said the king was a man of his word.
Stannis took as much his time with her as the night before, kissed and caressed her with that same mixture of tenderness and hesitation, and she soon found herself relaxing again. She arched up against him, clung to his shoulders when he kissed his way down. His hand still cupped her breast, and she shivered as his mouth joined it, soft kisses at first, then just the lightest grazing of teeth. She tried and failed to bite back her moan, knowing that it would only make him stop, and as she had feared Stannis looked up, frowning in concern. He seemed as edgy as she was, as afraid of hurting her as she was of being hurt. Sansa caressed his cheek, ran her fingers over his lips. She smiled when he kissed them – almost reverently, she liked to believe, and a girlish part of her which she had long thought dead added that he kissed her hand like a queen's.
With her fingers back on his cheek she nudged him closer again, sighed happily when he resumed his kisses, didn't even mind when he pushed the fabric further aside to reach more skin. There wasn't much finesse to his touches, but they were always so careful; like she was so precious that he could risk breaking her. Yet at the same time she could feel – and in the light of day even see – the restrained strength in his body, the way the thick cords on his neck and shoulders stood out, the way his arm muscles tensed when he reached down to push up her shift, but he stopped before he even reached her hips.
Blue eyes looked up questioningly. Sansa considered asking him to stop, to let her leave it on since it wasn't really in the way and the thought of being naked still scared her a little, but she decided that she'd rather feel him, all of him, his chest and his stomach and his legs against hers without any fabric between them. So she nodded and accommodated him when he pulled the shift up and over her head. A shiver went through her when he discarded it; she almost regretted her decision when his eyes raked over her body. But before she could move to cover herself with her hands he was on top of her again, pressed flush against her. Sansa smiled against his shoulder – this she could live with; she felt a lot less exposed with his body covering hers.
Stannis kept caressing her, and Sansa was far past any fears by the time she felt his hand between her legs, his fingers making her moan and shiver long before he entered her. He took her as gently as the night before, slow and careful, no matter how much she arched up against him, her legs wrapped around his hips to keep him where she wanted him. Sansa was already dizzy with pleasure by the time his restraint faltered, she felt as if she was coming apart even before he thrust a last time into her and went still. She felt overwhelmed, better than ever before in her life. Every inch of her skin prickled, even where he didn't touch her. It was hard to believe that the moans that left her lips were her own, so helpless and blissful at the same time.
"Sansa." Stannis' voice was a low rumble by her ear. She opened her eyes, couldn't even remember closing them, and blushed when she realised that he was looking at her while he was still inside her. But even so she felt safe, with her arms and legs wrapped around him while he held her, one of his hands stroking her hair again as if he thought he had to reassure her.
"Don't ask if you hurt me," Sansa said breathlessly, sweetening her words with a smile, and she thought the corners of his mouth quirked up a little. "If you were with me all day, I still would have no complaints."
"Don't flatter me," he grumbled, but even he didn't sound like he actually believed his words.
"Are you accusing me of lying, Your Grace?" Sansa asked and planted a playful kiss on the corner of his mouth, as if she could somehow keep his smile there. There was no reply, but he turned his head to kiss her properly. Strong arms pulled her with him when he rolled over onto his back, and although she was a bit disappointed to lose his touch there, it was more comfortable to curl up against him. She was suddenly aware again that they were both naked – the king had discarded his breeches before taking her – and she hid her flushed face against his chest.
Stannis was quiet, idly caressed her hair and her back – featherlight touches that almost tickled – and since he did not move to cover himself just yet, Sansa dared to open one eye and peek down. His manhood rested a bit to the side on his thigh; the hair between his legs was ink black and curly. Sansa's hand on his stomach twitched a little, tempted to reach down and run her fingers through that hair, maybe even touch his manhood. She wondered if it would feel as good for him as it did for her when his fingers were between her legs, but she didn't dare to find out. Stannis looked contented, unusually relaxed, and she was afraid that her clumsiness would only bother him. Instead she simply nuzzled closer and let her fingers caress his chest and stomach, curiously tracing the ridges of his muscles, the outline of his ribs. She decided that she'd have to get him to eat more, now that the war was over.
It was comfortable, familiar almost. She had never expected to feel that way around him, not ever, and certainly not so soon. Not after he had glared at her throughout the wedding ceremony, not when he had behaved as if marrying her was a nuisance and a waste of time.
"Your Gr– Stannis," she said when he started to tense up again, before he could sit up. She raised her head a little to look into his eyes. "I wish ... I wish you would not think of me as a child. I know I am young, but ... I can be a good wife to you, a good mother to your children. A good queen." She raised her hand to smooth out the lines on his forehead, but she could not take the confusion from his gaze.
"You're ... kind," he said with wonder in his voice. "After everything that was done to you."
"Why would I not be kind to you? You saved me, you punished those who took my loved ones, you found my brothers and brought them back to Winterfell ... And Jon speaks as highly of you as he does of our father."
"Few people think of me as highly as Ser Jon does," Stannis pointed out. Sansa believed she heard just a hint of affection in his words. It did not surprise her. From what Jon had told her, he and the king had become close during the war. They must have for Jon to leave the Night's Watch and devote his life to serving Stannis in the South.
"He is my brother. Maybe we see you through the same eyes." She noticed the barest hint of a flush underneath his beard, but it had probably been there before.
Sansa shivered a little. Without Stannis on top of her, moving against her, it was rather cold in the room. The king must have opened the window after getting up, and the cold winter air brought goosebumps to her skin. Stannis noticed her shivering and sat up. His hands went for a blanket and pulled it over her. There was a certain awkwardness about his gesture, similar to when he kissed or touched her, as if he half expected to get it wrong and be mocked for it. Sansa sat up as well, one hand holding the blanket in place, and reached out with the other to caress his cheek.
"May I ask you something, Your Grace?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he gave a curt nod. It was almost impressive how quicky he could make her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome again, but Sansa reminded herself of Jon's words, that she should not let his brusque manner scare her off. "Your first lady wife ..." Sansa paused, but there was no pain in Stannis' eyes, no regret, no longing, and she continued, "she did not love you much, did she?"
"No more than I loved her," Stannis replied coldly. He turned his head aside, but Sansa's finger stayed on his cheek, just the smallest caress. "We didn't marry for love." He said the word with the same disdain with which he had said 'pleasure' the night before, as if it was some unseemly frivolity, a waste of time best left to lesser men.
"Neither did we," Sansa said. "But we can learn to love each other, no? My parents did." Thinking of them still broke her heart, but for the first time she thought that she might heal, that her wounds might be mended one day. Stannis ground his teeth.
"I appreciate your kindness, my lady. But I am not fool enough to mistake that kindness for love."
She felt as if he had slapped her, and didn't try to hold him back when he got up and crossed the room with a few long strides before he put on a thick dressing gown.
"And you're telling me I shouldn't be a fool either?" Sansa asked finally, but her voice was so weak it trembled. Much as she tried to tell herself that he hadn't meant it that way, the words still stung.
Stannis looked at her in surprise; his frown deepened and he shook his head slightly. He walked back towards her, somewhat more comfortable now that he was dressed. His eyes seemed softer, but maybe Sansa was only imagining that because she wanted to.
"I did not mean -" He was grinding his teeth again, obviously unsure what to say. "I merely know better than to expect love from other people."
"I am not 'other people'. I am your wife," Sansa reminded him, then quickly added, "And I will be a better wife than one who apparently showed you so little affection that you seem surprised every time I wish to kiss you."
Stannis stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but then he laughed. It was only a dry, short burst that would have barely deserved to be called laughter if he were any other man.
"I didn't know you could be as blunt as your brother," he said simply. Sansa thought it was meant as a compliment. It gave her hope again that his words had really only been awkward, that he hadn't meant that he could never love her.
"He said you did not like people to mince their words. As discourteous as that is."
"Keep your courtesies for court, and your bluntness for me," Stannis said. He had stopped grinding his teeth, and when Sansa took his hand like earlier that morning, he squeezed it gently. Sansa looked at their entangled hands, the way his fingertips caressed her skin, and thought that even if he never loved her, his kindness alone was more than she had hoped for just a day ago. She shouldn't expect too much of him.
"I can try, Your Grace." She met his eyes again. "My husband."
And this time when she said it, it wasn't the word 'husband' that made her smile, but the thought that he was hers, and hers alone. The king might belong to his people, his realm, his throne, but she doubted that there were many who truly knew the man who wore the crown, many who had seen him as unguarded as she had that night.
"I really must leave now," Stannis said, but his voice was less gruff than usual. Sansa sighed, but thought better of it than to object another time, even though she would rather have him join her in bed again. By now she knew enough about Stannis Baratheon to be sure that his duties always came first.
"Will you join me tonight, Your Grace?" Sansa asked when he let go of her hand. She made sure to sound as hopeful as she felt, rather than make him think that she was dreading his company. "If I am to give you an heir ... I will need your help."
Sansa had to bite back a smile when Stannis swallowed hard. She felt the same pleasant, tingly heat in her stomach as when he touched her, just from the way he looked at her now, his eyes dark, his lips slightly parted rather than pressed together as they usually were. For a moment she hoped that he would come back to bed and make love to her again. He reached out to stroke her hair, then cupped her chin lightly. Sansa straightened up and raised her head, sighed when his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. She kissed it, let it slip between her lips for just a split second. Stannis pulled back his hand as if he had burnt himself, and this time there was most definitely a faint blush on his cheeks.
"I will," he said a moment later, as if he only just realised that he still owed her an answer. His eyes were fixed on her lips, and she tilted her head up a bit more, prayed silently that he would understand what she wanted. And he did, although he hesitated before he finally leant down and kissed her, dry lips pressing against hers for just a moment, his beard scratching against her skin, and then he pulled back already. But Sansa's lips still prickled and she touched them gingerly, if only to hide what she was sure had to be a rather silly smile.
"You said it's a husband's duty to kiss his wife," Stannis quoted her own words back at her, and although he sounded somewhat sarcastic, she didn't feel that he was mocking her, nor that he had only kissed her out of duty. "I remember."
Sansa giggled, covered her mouth with one hand for a second, before she replied, "My brother did say that you're nothing if not dutiful."
"I'm sure that's not what he meant." The smile lingered in Stannis' eyes for another moment, but then it simply disappeared. His jaw clenched, he looked as dour as ever. The king again, always guarded and distant and unapproachable, but he intimidated her less now that she knew that he could smile.
"My queen." He nodded at her, that same curt nod he gave all ladies when he couldn't avoid talking to them, but then he added, "Sansa."
It was ridiculous that her heart beat faster just from him saying her name, but she couldn't help it. Coming from him this small concession already felt intimate, a greater compliment than anything else he could say. A sign that he saw something else in her than just another duty.
"Stannis."
A twitch of his jaw muscle betrayed the hint of a smile, but he didn't say anything, just turned around and left for the adjacent room. Sansa heard him call for a servant and bathing water, before the door fell shut and she was alone again.
Wrapped in her blanket Sansa fell back onto the bed, smiling all over her face. She hadn't smiled so much since King's Landing had been taken by Stannis' forces, since Jon had found her in the Red Keep, since she had hugged him and clung to him, even though he was not the brother she had ever expected to come for her. She had forgotten her smiles again when she had agreed to marry King Stannis, willing to do what was best for the realm, but fearful of this dour king who never smiled. But as awkward as he was around her, both with words and with gestures, the care he had taken all night and all morning not to hurt her gave her hope that she might just find happiness with him. She remembered her mother telling her that kindness was the most important trait in a husband, and while Stannis seemed to lack any kindness at court, he had all the more left for her.
She pressed her face into the pillow that still smelled of him and closed her eyes. She wasn't sleepy anymore, but the bed was comfortable and she thought it was too early to rise just yet. It was nice to dream without any fear of the upcoming day, dream about being queen to a king who deserved his crown, with a Kingsguard that would protect rather than beat her. It was winter now, but she still remembered how beautiful the gardens of the Red Keep had been in summer, and she vowed to make sure they would be restored in spring. She could see herself spending her days there, making a home of the castle that had once been her prison. She imagined talking to Jon; she felt as if she barely knew the brother she had always shunned, but she wanted to know him now. And maybe she could befriend Stannis' daughter. The Princess Shireen was almost the same age as her, and while Sansa knew she could never replace the girl's mother, they might just become sisters.
She imagined having children of her own. Not blond, no, but black-haired and blue-eyed as their father, and maybe King Stannis would allow her to name their sons Eddard and Robb. Their father would teach them to be just, but she would also teach them to be kind and courteous and gallant.
Sansa remembered the last time she had such dreams, when the Tyrells had promised her Highgarden and a kind husband before the Lannisters had snatched that dream away from her. But there was only little sadness in her when she thought of that now, because this was not merely a dream, her husband was not only a name and a promise, and despite all the pain of the last years, she did not think that she would be disappointed again. Winter had lasted so long for her that it did not seem naïve to hope for spring.
And maybe her imagination was running away with her, but she thought that the cold wind that blew in from the window carried the faintest scent of snowdrops.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Stannis/Sansa
Words: 5240
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: spoilers for ASOS, same age difference and probably underage as before. Also, this probably won't make much sense unless you've read the first two parts.
Summary: She doubts she will ever love the king when she agrees to marry him, but Jon assures her that Stannis is as just and honourable as father had been, and that alone is more than she can say about any other man she has met. (Or: the morning after the wedding night.)
Author's note: I'm sorry this took me so ridiculously long, but here's finally the third and last part of the wedding fic. I'll definitely write more Stannis/Sansa in the future, but not as part of this fic. :)
Part one | Part two
Sansa was woken by a cool breeze on her face and the smell of fresh air in her nose. She opened her eyes, blinked against the early morning sun that fell in through the open window. A glance at the hearth showed her that the fire had gone out during the night, but Sansa didn't feel cold. She was wrapped in a thick fur blanket, though she couldn't remember covering herself before she went to sleep.
A blush crept over her face when she thought of last night; her thighs felt a bit sticky, her hair was a mess. She was so used to sleeping alone that it took her a moment to wonder where her husband had gone, for he wasn't in bed with her anymore. A pang of disappointment filled her at that; she remembered how he had held her last night, and she would have liked to wake up in his arms. She turned around and sat up, holding the blanket close to her chest. She smiled when she saw Stannis standing at the other side of the room, his back turned to her.
The king was bent over a small basin and washing his face; he couldn't have been up for long. He had taken off his shirt, and his breeches sat low on his hips. Sansa was glad that he hadn't heard her yet, for she enjoyed the opportunity to look at him: the skin on his back was pale, but smooth, marred only by a few old scars and some younger-looking bruises. He was well-muscled, as she had expected, but far too thin – his shoulder blades jutted out, and she could see his ribs when he dried his face.
"Good morning, Your Grace," Sansa said. He flinched in surprise and turned quickly, and Sansa winced when his blue eyes met hers. She had thought he would frighten her less after last night, but it did not help that he always looked so tense, like a predator who was ready to snap his prey's neck. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you," she added demurely.
He relaxed a little and walked over to the bed. Sansa glanced up, let her eyes wander over his body for a moment. The muscles on his chest and stomach were sharply defined, not so much because he was overly muscled than because there didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on his body. She wondered if he would let her touch him.
"I thought you were asleep, my lady," Stannis said stiffly.
"I was, until a few moments ago."
"Then I should apologise for waking you."
Sansa met his eyes at that. There it was again, that slight insecurity he hid so well behind what always looked like annoyance. She stretched out one hand to take his, relieved that he stepped closer. Their fingers entwined, and the care with which he returned the gesture reassured her.
"You should only apologise for leaving bed so early," she said with a smile, hoping that she was not overstepping her boundaries. She tugged gently at his hand, but he didn't move. "It's barely day."
"I have a kingdom to rule, my lady," he pointed out, and Sansa half wondered if he was joking. Judging by the light in the room, the sun had only just come up. There were limits even to how early a king should rise.
"Surely not on the morning after your wedding, Your Grace. I doubt anyone is already awake after last night's feast." He seemed to hesitate, but when she tugged at his hand again, he sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand was cool in hers, still a bit damp from the water, but she remembered all too well how he had touched her last night. As she looked at him, eyes roaming over his chest, his broad shoulders, his sinewy arms, he mustered her as well, and his frown seemed worried more than anything else. He raised his other hand to her face and gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Did I hurt you last night?"
Sansa shook her head and moved a bit closer to him, as far as she could with the blanket wrapped around her body.
"It is kind of you to ask, but you needn't worry." She squeezed his hand. "I told you it was lovely."
This time her words did not make him smile, his frown only deepened and he suddenly pulled back his hand, as if he didn't like what he saw.
"You're barely more than a child."
His words felt like a slap, and Sansa stared at him in disbelief. Part of her wanted to remind him that she had hardly been a child last night, but that would have been discourteous. Instead she took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was about to say, straightened her back a little.
"I haven't been a child since the Lannisters murdered my father, Your Grace." Her voice was sharp on his title, but it seemed to snap him out of his moment of guilt. The look in his eyes softened. For a few seconds Stannis was quiet, stared down at their still entwined hands, his thumb brushing gently over her palm. His voice cracked a little when he spoke.
"I was about the same age as you were when I lost my parents." It was Sansa's turn to be quiet. She was surprised; Stannis had never spoken of anything personal to her before, never even mentioned his parents or his brothers, nor his late wife and his daughter. She moved closer still until her shoulder brushed his.
"I did not know that," Sansa said softly. "What happened to them?"
"A storm ... their ship sank, just in sight of the castle. Robert and I watched it shatter on the rocks."
Sansa couldn't ever imagine King Stannis as a boy, couldn't imagine him crying in his brother's arms, but she knew the pain of losing one's parents and felt suddenly sorry that she had ever mentioned it. She touched his cheek with her free hand, a shy caress only, but it seemed welcome. Encouraged by the way he moved into her touch, she leant in and breathed a kiss on his jaw. The surprise in his eyes when he looked up was almost painful to see, as if even last night had not convinced him that she liked touching him. Sansa realised only now that it had been guilt, more than anything else, that had made him pull back from her earlier.
"Stannis." She leant into him, as awkward as that was in her position, didn't even mind that the blanket slipped from her shoulders. "Have we not both suffered enough? Lost enough? Parents, siblings ..." Sansa's voice failed her for a moment – she thought of father and mother and Robb and who knew where Arya was, if she was even alive – but she forced herself to go on. "I am so tired of grieving. I have grieved enough for an old woman. I don't want to be bitter and unhappy and alone."
A joyless laugh escaped Stannis' throat. "You mean like me?"
Sansa bit her lip, scolded herself for her careless words, but she couldn't take them back, not when they were true. Instead she only kissed his cheek again, curled her fingers around his. She could not lessen his grief any more than he could take hers, but the least they could do was try to make the future happier than the past.
"You don't have to be." She cocked her head, tried to meet his eyes although he was still looking away. "Last night was not ... bad for you, was it? If it was, I'll learn, I'll - "
"No." Stannis' fingers tightened around hers; the blue veins on his hands and forearms stood out under pale skin. The sight made her heart beat a little faster, brought back pleasant memories of what those hands felt like. "You don't have to learn anything for me. I don't require such things."
Sansa wondered if he was truly being dense or if he did not want to understand her. She cupped his chin to make him look at her, smiled when he finally complied.
"It would hardly be just if I gave you any less than you give me." She dared to kiss him lightly, and just as she was about to pull back his mouth pressed back against hers. He didn't move away, and his lips still brushed hers when he muttered, "You didn't."
She nudged his nose with hers, then kissed him again while she put a hand on his chest. It was almost like a game, trying to coax him into moving when his whole body was as tense as if he was trying to turn himself into stone. Her hand slid down, fingertips brushing over coarse hair, down to the hard muscles of his stomach. Sansa sighed happily when he finally moved, his tongue teasing against her lips while he tried to push down the blanket that still half covered her.
As much as she did not want to let go of him, she was starting to sweat under it. She pushed it away a bit awkwardly – not without noticing that he must have taken real care to tuck her in before he got up – and blushed when she was left with nothing but her shift. Her heart raced in her chest when she felt his eyes on her, she couldn't think about anything but the way he had touched her last night, his hands on her thighs, between her legs, his lips against her throat. Sansa wondered if it was normal, if it was proper for a woman to long for her husband so much, but she found that for once she did not care. She reached out to take Stannis' hand again when he still hesitated, guided it to her lips to kiss his knuckles, a warm breath on each one of them, before she put his hand on her chest, just above her breast.
It finally made him move closer. He sat next to her on the bed, trying – and not quite managing, she thought almost giddily – to keep his eyes on her face. His resolve seemed to falter when she guided his hand downwards to cup her breast, his touch heavy and gentle at the same time, and burning hot even through the thin fabric. Sansa shuddered a little, but it was from excitement as much as nervousness.
"You ... you don't have to do that, my lady," Stannis said in a gruff voice, although it was obvious that he hardly wanted to stop.
"I know," she replied, and it wasn't a lie. She truly believed him that he would be just as content to do his duty quickly and only as often as necessary, and barely even touch her while he was at it. He did not seem to understand that that would only make it more painful for her. "But will you think less of me if I would rather enjoy my duty than merely endure it?"
Stannis finally kissed her at that, more passionately than before, fingers tangling in her hair while the thumb of his other hand stroked her breast lightly. Sansa melted into him; she wanted so many things at the same time and could barely voice half of them. Whimpered in protest when his hand briefly moved away from her breast, but only to slip underneath the fabric, and the hard callouses on her sensitive skin made her moan. She threw her arms around him to hold him close, gasped a little when his weight pressed her down onto the bed, when his body covered hers and she suddenly felt trapped. For a second she wondered if he had only been kind to her that first time, if he would be rougher from now on, if her willingness would make him think that he didn't have to be careful anymore. She closed her eyes in a moment of panic, but all Stannis did was kiss her face, his lips gentle on her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, then her mouth again. His touch on her breast was as light and tender as before, and Sansa felt silly for doubting him. She blinked up at Stannis, reminded herself that she had nothing to fear from him. He had promised not to hurt her, had he not? And Jon had said the king was a man of his word.
Stannis took as much his time with her as the night before, kissed and caressed her with that same mixture of tenderness and hesitation, and she soon found herself relaxing again. She arched up against him, clung to his shoulders when he kissed his way down. His hand still cupped her breast, and she shivered as his mouth joined it, soft kisses at first, then just the lightest grazing of teeth. She tried and failed to bite back her moan, knowing that it would only make him stop, and as she had feared Stannis looked up, frowning in concern. He seemed as edgy as she was, as afraid of hurting her as she was of being hurt. Sansa caressed his cheek, ran her fingers over his lips. She smiled when he kissed them – almost reverently, she liked to believe, and a girlish part of her which she had long thought dead added that he kissed her hand like a queen's.
With her fingers back on his cheek she nudged him closer again, sighed happily when he resumed his kisses, didn't even mind when he pushed the fabric further aside to reach more skin. There wasn't much finesse to his touches, but they were always so careful; like she was so precious that he could risk breaking her. Yet at the same time she could feel – and in the light of day even see – the restrained strength in his body, the way the thick cords on his neck and shoulders stood out, the way his arm muscles tensed when he reached down to push up her shift, but he stopped before he even reached her hips.
Blue eyes looked up questioningly. Sansa considered asking him to stop, to let her leave it on since it wasn't really in the way and the thought of being naked still scared her a little, but she decided that she'd rather feel him, all of him, his chest and his stomach and his legs against hers without any fabric between them. So she nodded and accommodated him when he pulled the shift up and over her head. A shiver went through her when he discarded it; she almost regretted her decision when his eyes raked over her body. But before she could move to cover herself with her hands he was on top of her again, pressed flush against her. Sansa smiled against his shoulder – this she could live with; she felt a lot less exposed with his body covering hers.
Stannis kept caressing her, and Sansa was far past any fears by the time she felt his hand between her legs, his fingers making her moan and shiver long before he entered her. He took her as gently as the night before, slow and careful, no matter how much she arched up against him, her legs wrapped around his hips to keep him where she wanted him. Sansa was already dizzy with pleasure by the time his restraint faltered, she felt as if she was coming apart even before he thrust a last time into her and went still. She felt overwhelmed, better than ever before in her life. Every inch of her skin prickled, even where he didn't touch her. It was hard to believe that the moans that left her lips were her own, so helpless and blissful at the same time.
"Sansa." Stannis' voice was a low rumble by her ear. She opened her eyes, couldn't even remember closing them, and blushed when she realised that he was looking at her while he was still inside her. But even so she felt safe, with her arms and legs wrapped around him while he held her, one of his hands stroking her hair again as if he thought he had to reassure her.
"Don't ask if you hurt me," Sansa said breathlessly, sweetening her words with a smile, and she thought the corners of his mouth quirked up a little. "If you were with me all day, I still would have no complaints."
"Don't flatter me," he grumbled, but even he didn't sound like he actually believed his words.
"Are you accusing me of lying, Your Grace?" Sansa asked and planted a playful kiss on the corner of his mouth, as if she could somehow keep his smile there. There was no reply, but he turned his head to kiss her properly. Strong arms pulled her with him when he rolled over onto his back, and although she was a bit disappointed to lose his touch there, it was more comfortable to curl up against him. She was suddenly aware again that they were both naked – the king had discarded his breeches before taking her – and she hid her flushed face against his chest.
Stannis was quiet, idly caressed her hair and her back – featherlight touches that almost tickled – and since he did not move to cover himself just yet, Sansa dared to open one eye and peek down. His manhood rested a bit to the side on his thigh; the hair between his legs was ink black and curly. Sansa's hand on his stomach twitched a little, tempted to reach down and run her fingers through that hair, maybe even touch his manhood. She wondered if it would feel as good for him as it did for her when his fingers were between her legs, but she didn't dare to find out. Stannis looked contented, unusually relaxed, and she was afraid that her clumsiness would only bother him. Instead she simply nuzzled closer and let her fingers caress his chest and stomach, curiously tracing the ridges of his muscles, the outline of his ribs. She decided that she'd have to get him to eat more, now that the war was over.
It was comfortable, familiar almost. She had never expected to feel that way around him, not ever, and certainly not so soon. Not after he had glared at her throughout the wedding ceremony, not when he had behaved as if marrying her was a nuisance and a waste of time.
"Your Gr– Stannis," she said when he started to tense up again, before he could sit up. She raised her head a little to look into his eyes. "I wish ... I wish you would not think of me as a child. I know I am young, but ... I can be a good wife to you, a good mother to your children. A good queen." She raised her hand to smooth out the lines on his forehead, but she could not take the confusion from his gaze.
"You're ... kind," he said with wonder in his voice. "After everything that was done to you."
"Why would I not be kind to you? You saved me, you punished those who took my loved ones, you found my brothers and brought them back to Winterfell ... And Jon speaks as highly of you as he does of our father."
"Few people think of me as highly as Ser Jon does," Stannis pointed out. Sansa believed she heard just a hint of affection in his words. It did not surprise her. From what Jon had told her, he and the king had become close during the war. They must have for Jon to leave the Night's Watch and devote his life to serving Stannis in the South.
"He is my brother. Maybe we see you through the same eyes." She noticed the barest hint of a flush underneath his beard, but it had probably been there before.
Sansa shivered a little. Without Stannis on top of her, moving against her, it was rather cold in the room. The king must have opened the window after getting up, and the cold winter air brought goosebumps to her skin. Stannis noticed her shivering and sat up. His hands went for a blanket and pulled it over her. There was a certain awkwardness about his gesture, similar to when he kissed or touched her, as if he half expected to get it wrong and be mocked for it. Sansa sat up as well, one hand holding the blanket in place, and reached out with the other to caress his cheek.
"May I ask you something, Your Grace?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he gave a curt nod. It was almost impressive how quicky he could make her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome again, but Sansa reminded herself of Jon's words, that she should not let his brusque manner scare her off. "Your first lady wife ..." Sansa paused, but there was no pain in Stannis' eyes, no regret, no longing, and she continued, "she did not love you much, did she?"
"No more than I loved her," Stannis replied coldly. He turned his head aside, but Sansa's finger stayed on his cheek, just the smallest caress. "We didn't marry for love." He said the word with the same disdain with which he had said 'pleasure' the night before, as if it was some unseemly frivolity, a waste of time best left to lesser men.
"Neither did we," Sansa said. "But we can learn to love each other, no? My parents did." Thinking of them still broke her heart, but for the first time she thought that she might heal, that her wounds might be mended one day. Stannis ground his teeth.
"I appreciate your kindness, my lady. But I am not fool enough to mistake that kindness for love."
She felt as if he had slapped her, and didn't try to hold him back when he got up and crossed the room with a few long strides before he put on a thick dressing gown.
"And you're telling me I shouldn't be a fool either?" Sansa asked finally, but her voice was so weak it trembled. Much as she tried to tell herself that he hadn't meant it that way, the words still stung.
Stannis looked at her in surprise; his frown deepened and he shook his head slightly. He walked back towards her, somewhat more comfortable now that he was dressed. His eyes seemed softer, but maybe Sansa was only imagining that because she wanted to.
"I did not mean -" He was grinding his teeth again, obviously unsure what to say. "I merely know better than to expect love from other people."
"I am not 'other people'. I am your wife," Sansa reminded him, then quickly added, "And I will be a better wife than one who apparently showed you so little affection that you seem surprised every time I wish to kiss you."
Stannis stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but then he laughed. It was only a dry, short burst that would have barely deserved to be called laughter if he were any other man.
"I didn't know you could be as blunt as your brother," he said simply. Sansa thought it was meant as a compliment. It gave her hope again that his words had really only been awkward, that he hadn't meant that he could never love her.
"He said you did not like people to mince their words. As discourteous as that is."
"Keep your courtesies for court, and your bluntness for me," Stannis said. He had stopped grinding his teeth, and when Sansa took his hand like earlier that morning, he squeezed it gently. Sansa looked at their entangled hands, the way his fingertips caressed her skin, and thought that even if he never loved her, his kindness alone was more than she had hoped for just a day ago. She shouldn't expect too much of him.
"I can try, Your Grace." She met his eyes again. "My husband."
And this time when she said it, it wasn't the word 'husband' that made her smile, but the thought that he was hers, and hers alone. The king might belong to his people, his realm, his throne, but she doubted that there were many who truly knew the man who wore the crown, many who had seen him as unguarded as she had that night.
"I really must leave now," Stannis said, but his voice was less gruff than usual. Sansa sighed, but thought better of it than to object another time, even though she would rather have him join her in bed again. By now she knew enough about Stannis Baratheon to be sure that his duties always came first.
"Will you join me tonight, Your Grace?" Sansa asked when he let go of her hand. She made sure to sound as hopeful as she felt, rather than make him think that she was dreading his company. "If I am to give you an heir ... I will need your help."
Sansa had to bite back a smile when Stannis swallowed hard. She felt the same pleasant, tingly heat in her stomach as when he touched her, just from the way he looked at her now, his eyes dark, his lips slightly parted rather than pressed together as they usually were. For a moment she hoped that he would come back to bed and make love to her again. He reached out to stroke her hair, then cupped her chin lightly. Sansa straightened up and raised her head, sighed when his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. She kissed it, let it slip between her lips for just a split second. Stannis pulled back his hand as if he had burnt himself, and this time there was most definitely a faint blush on his cheeks.
"I will," he said a moment later, as if he only just realised that he still owed her an answer. His eyes were fixed on her lips, and she tilted her head up a bit more, prayed silently that he would understand what she wanted. And he did, although he hesitated before he finally leant down and kissed her, dry lips pressing against hers for just a moment, his beard scratching against her skin, and then he pulled back already. But Sansa's lips still prickled and she touched them gingerly, if only to hide what she was sure had to be a rather silly smile.
"You said it's a husband's duty to kiss his wife," Stannis quoted her own words back at her, and although he sounded somewhat sarcastic, she didn't feel that he was mocking her, nor that he had only kissed her out of duty. "I remember."
Sansa giggled, covered her mouth with one hand for a second, before she replied, "My brother did say that you're nothing if not dutiful."
"I'm sure that's not what he meant." The smile lingered in Stannis' eyes for another moment, but then it simply disappeared. His jaw clenched, he looked as dour as ever. The king again, always guarded and distant and unapproachable, but he intimidated her less now that she knew that he could smile.
"My queen." He nodded at her, that same curt nod he gave all ladies when he couldn't avoid talking to them, but then he added, "Sansa."
It was ridiculous that her heart beat faster just from him saying her name, but she couldn't help it. Coming from him this small concession already felt intimate, a greater compliment than anything else he could say. A sign that he saw something else in her than just another duty.
"Stannis."
A twitch of his jaw muscle betrayed the hint of a smile, but he didn't say anything, just turned around and left for the adjacent room. Sansa heard him call for a servant and bathing water, before the door fell shut and she was alone again.
Wrapped in her blanket Sansa fell back onto the bed, smiling all over her face. She hadn't smiled so much since King's Landing had been taken by Stannis' forces, since Jon had found her in the Red Keep, since she had hugged him and clung to him, even though he was not the brother she had ever expected to come for her. She had forgotten her smiles again when she had agreed to marry King Stannis, willing to do what was best for the realm, but fearful of this dour king who never smiled. But as awkward as he was around her, both with words and with gestures, the care he had taken all night and all morning not to hurt her gave her hope that she might just find happiness with him. She remembered her mother telling her that kindness was the most important trait in a husband, and while Stannis seemed to lack any kindness at court, he had all the more left for her.
She pressed her face into the pillow that still smelled of him and closed her eyes. She wasn't sleepy anymore, but the bed was comfortable and she thought it was too early to rise just yet. It was nice to dream without any fear of the upcoming day, dream about being queen to a king who deserved his crown, with a Kingsguard that would protect rather than beat her. It was winter now, but she still remembered how beautiful the gardens of the Red Keep had been in summer, and she vowed to make sure they would be restored in spring. She could see herself spending her days there, making a home of the castle that had once been her prison. She imagined talking to Jon; she felt as if she barely knew the brother she had always shunned, but she wanted to know him now. And maybe she could befriend Stannis' daughter. The Princess Shireen was almost the same age as her, and while Sansa knew she could never replace the girl's mother, they might just become sisters.
She imagined having children of her own. Not blond, no, but black-haired and blue-eyed as their father, and maybe King Stannis would allow her to name their sons Eddard and Robb. Their father would teach them to be just, but she would also teach them to be kind and courteous and gallant.
Sansa remembered the last time she had such dreams, when the Tyrells had promised her Highgarden and a kind husband before the Lannisters had snatched that dream away from her. But there was only little sadness in her when she thought of that now, because this was not merely a dream, her husband was not only a name and a promise, and despite all the pain of the last years, she did not think that she would be disappointed again. Winter had lasted so long for her that it did not seem naïve to hope for spring.
And maybe her imagination was running away with her, but she thought that the cold wind that blew in from the window carried the faintest scent of snowdrops.
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no subject
Date: 2012-06-25 08:04 pm (UTC)But back to your fic, which is incredibly well-written. You've managed to make both characters complex and very real, and you've done a beautiful job of conveying Stannis' mercurial personality and Sansa's sensitive and deft responses to it. The sex is very realistic, and not the least bit Mary-Sue-ish. I especially like the fact that Sansa experiences physical pleasure without having an "explosive climax" in typical fanfic style, which is highly unlikely for any virgin, much less one with as reticent a first partner as Stannis.
I look forward to your continued exploration of these two characters and their relationship.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-28 04:25 pm (UTC)Anyway, thanks, I'm glad you liked the fic. ^^ And rainbows-and-stars-orgasms are the worst thing any author could possibly write and should be banned from porn, so of course I wouldn't torture my poor readers with that. ;) But I'm glad the characterisation and the smut work. :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 01:50 am (UTC)Yes, the characterisation and the smut both work very well. See, you can write het smut after all! I always knew you had it in you. ;-D