Chapter 1: A Meeting of Kings
North of the wall is a barren bitter place. He can see the appeal in crossing beyond it to greener lands even if it were not for the threat of the Others. He has heard much about them from Jon Snow, and then how to kill them - Dragonglass which had already been sent for back on Dragonstone. How fortunate that he was Lord…or King, of it. However, the Others did not need the hundred thousand Wildlings to add to their forces too which meant he had to speak to ‘The King Beyond the Wall’. Bah!
“We would speak with the King Beyond the Wall.” Davos announced as they stopped at the fringe of gathered Wildlings.
Stannis’ own men, mounted and ready to defend him should the fighting get fierce. The Wildlings had not been expecting his army and had scattered, yelling unintelligible words as they fled toward the centre of their camp. It was not a battle, more like herding up lost cattle into a position he wanted.
“—a game of whispers always goes awry, I see. King beyond the wall.” A soft voice spoke with humour from the crowd of Wildlings.
Stannis grew steadily annoyed as the Wildlings watched he and his men warily, their eyes shifting about from beneath their furred hoods.
Jon Snow stood to his left and Davos to his right and he could feel their tension too. Where was their so called King? Was he going to have to cut his way through if they did not produce him? For a King to not care for his subjects…well then he was not much of a king.
“Where is your King?"
The sea of grey furs shifted and low mutters broke out as a figure, two heads taller than himself, carrying a wicked blade stepped out from the crowd. The man was practically made of muscle and he could see the way his clothes had obviously been extended and mended and added to in order to fit his bulk.
Stannis couldn’t help but raise a brow. Well. He had to admit the man was impressive.
Beside him, Jon Snow, looking much like a wide eyed youth instead of the man he was supposed to be, let out a stuttering, “Are you the King?”
The man made no reply because instead another moves out from the crowd and in front of the man who had stepped forward first.
“No,” said the Wildling and from beneath their hood they grinned. “That would be me.”
They wore grey furred clothes like the rest, and would have blended right in if it had not been for the helmet they wore. It was made of wolf bones, the snarling jaws open around the speaker’s head.
“Who are you?” Stannis demanded. The cold was beginning to seep in through his armour and it made him irritable. Though they had the superior swords and mounts and tactics they were not so prepared for the cold as the Wildlings.
He gave Stannis an amused smile from beneath his hood, though what man had such full lips and a soft voice and was still able to command an army of Wildlings…?
“Why, Sir, I am The King!”
Cheers and laughter broke out through the Wildlings, stamping their feet and spears in the snow. Their wary faces now expressing amusement and laughter.
“Though I do believe my initial message ended Queen Beyond the Wall, a game of whispers does often change the tale.” Then, in one smooth motion The King flipped back his helmet and hood to reveal that he was in fact addressing The Queen Beyond the Wall. Her skin was pale and smooth aside from a smattering of freckles dusted over her cheeks and bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a cool, clear blue and her long curling red hair disappeared down into the collar of her furred coat.
His shallow intake of breath was covered by Jon Snow’s own gasp.
“Sansa? Is that you?” the young man breathed, taking an involuntary step forward and Stannis saw the surprise on her face.
The tall man decked in weapons, clearly the woman’s protector of sorts whom Stannis had almost forgotten about, took a firm step forward with his hand on the hilt of his blade. Stannis noticed that the rest of the Wildlings had grown still and silent from Jon’s move, their own hands reaching for their weapons.
It appeared she was well loved, their Queen.
Stannis watched, trying not to fidget as the cold bite of the wind breezed in through the cracks in his armour, and cast an assessing gaze over her features. She did have the look of the Tully’s and if she had been dressed in Southern clothes she could have been a twin for Catelyn…or her daughter. All of Westeros knew how the girl had been stolen from Winterfell at the tender age of six. Her mother had almost gone mad with grief if it had not been for the rest of the children she bore afterwards. She guarded them jealously, even Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark was included before he joined the Night’s Watch.
The Queen’s brow furrowed as she looked back at them, her eyes lingering on the Lord Commander until she blinked and suddenly a radiant smile broke out on her face. “Jon? Oh, I remember you—“ She turned to the Wildlings who looked confusedly in her direction and rattled off what Stannis supposed was an explanation in a furious tongue he could not understand. She turned back to them soon enough, Stannis’ own men growing restless behind him as Davos listed their terms.
This would be easier, he thought, he could instate her as Lady of Winterfell, settle her people on The Gift as soon as she bent the knee and—
“Bend the knee?” she says amused and the Wildlings around her echo her laughter. “The only way I’ll ever get on my knees is if you’ll do it first.”
As if the laughter had not been enough she adds in a wink and saucy grin that makes her people give a raucous cheer. He understands she is not speaking of anything pure and glowers at his men. Their gasps and whispers fall silent immediately.
Stannis’ glare is not so effective on her, however, and she looks unrepentantly back at him.
The Queen Beyond the Wall seemed quite enamoured with the maps and carved figurines that had been set up in the new tents. She had invited he and his men to set up camp with them while they discussed…things.
Stannis did not know what she had said to her people as they left the open air for his tent (having been the first to rise). She spoke again in that rough tongue of hers and it made them laugh and whistle once more.
In the time it had taken his men to set up his tent and begin preparations for their (hopefully) short stay, he had already heard several suggestions that an alliance could be secured with marriage to the ‘Wildling Queen’. Perhaps his own men thought he would have given her to one of them for suggesting it but he was inclined not to give them the chance simply for the way they leered at her, commenting “...even if she is a Wildling…” Though that was not strictly true as she was also a Stark and that meant she was heir to Winterfell. He was not blind to the ambitions of others.
Sansa Stark looked up at him from her perusal of the map, her slim hands released from the confines of her gloves to trail over the illustration of Winterfell. “Marriage? To whom?”
The guard with whom she seemed to go nowhere without stood silently beside her. The only indication that he lived or breathed at all was the sudden tightening of his fist on the handle of his sword.
Stannis paid the man no mind. He had his own guards here and while it might be a tough fight should she give the command for the man to attack, Stannis was sure they would be able to take him down. His own men were trained and tested, and he doubted this man had ever tasted Southern steel.
The guard was not the only Wildling she brought into his tent however, there were several others looking to be from different ‘clans’, both men and women of different ages and experience who seemed more friends than advisors.
Stannis noticed Davos give Jon a sharp pinch when his eyes lingered on one of the red-headed archers. Though if Jon’s red face was anything to go by, his interest had been noted.
“That would be your choice.” Stannis replied.
It was a gamble. She could choose anyone or no one at all and still demand an alliance. This show of consideration and somewhat compromise, as Davos had told him, would make her think of it more favourably should he should give the choice to her.
“My choice…” Queen Sansa echoed. “In the South they don’t think much of giving women choices, do they?” her eyes flick up to Jon briefly but then dart back down to the map. Stannis wonders whether she remembers much of her time in Winterfell or not. Her manners are quite good for someone who has lived beyond the Wall for most of her life.
“So…a marriage…to secure this alliance and my people safe passage through the wall I must lay with one of you?”
Stannis grinds his teeth. “There are vows.” he says, though essentially she has the right of it. She had confirmed she had no husband or lover that would stop her from doing so, though again that is her choice.
“Yes, vows I know.” The faraway look in her eyes shifts to a saucy glint and her smile turns cheeky as she looks to her advisors. “They wish for me to lay with one of them. Perhaps I will take their King for my own…”
Stannis chokes on his next breath.
Her advisors all laugh deeply and Stannis knows that most of their mirth is from the heat that creeps into his cheeks. He fights the warmth silently, his face stiff as though it is made of stone. Though outwardly he remains calm, inside he begins to panic a little. It was not part of the plan he was not an option — she was meant to pick someone else!
The laughter trails off and the Wildling Queen leaves her perusal of the map to sweep closer to him. Despite the lack of trailing skirts she moves with the same grace. She looks him up and down, lingering on his legs and waist and shoulders until she looks into his face with curiosity.
The glint remains in her eyes and her voice is almost a purr as she speaks, “If you are agreeable…Your Grace?”
Two days later they speak vows in front of a Weirwood and all the Wildlings under her command had appeared for this occasion. It was not the full force of the Wildlings of course, the rest had been sent for and were now on their way to meet them. Then, once they had arrived, they would be able to pass through the wall and settle onto The Gift. Some would be moved to Winterfell and the surrounding areas once they had retaken Winterfell.
The people that can see pass a description of their vows and how they look beneath the weeping tree down to those in the middle. They then they pass it down to the rest who are clustered at the back. He has never been under such close scrutiny before and wonders why, out of all men, she had chosen him. Was there some point she wished to make? Perhaps she sought to control him? Thinking him weak and easily moulded under a sultry stare. He would treat her with the respect that was due his wife. He only hoped that she was not prone to exhibitionism like Jon Snow was with the Wildling girl, Ygritte. The echoes from the cave had even made Davos blush.
Just the thought of it made him scowl a little deeper. Did no one take their duty seriously anymore?
Their vows end and The Wildling Queen - Sansa - his wife - gives him the expected, soft maidenly peck on the lips and his men clap and cheer.
He only has a moment to pull back slightly, thinking that it wasn’t so bad, before she is wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth to taste him. Her tongue strokes against his and sweeps across his teeth until he regains his ability to move and pushes back, separating them quickly, face once again aflame.
The sound of the Wildlings cheering and whistling drowns out all else.
Stannis catches the heat in her eyes and the smug grin on her face before he turns and strides through the gathering in the direction of his tent. His wife follows at a more sedate pace seemingly unaffected by the catcalls and whistles directed their way.
He moves quickly, his brisk strides and the cold wind do nothing to soothe his burning face.
smut is the next chapter! Planning to get this fic finished over the christmas holidays as a little present to you all! Thanks again for all the wonderful comments it's been so lovely reading through them all!
His wife watches him with a raised brow as he lifts the furs.
“I don’t think so.”
This was not the time to change her mind, but he would not force her. “You should have said something sooner if you did not wish to wed me.” Stannis bit out. He cannot help the way it sounds. Though perhaps he should be grateful - it would save him what was bound to be a humiliating experience. He knew what to do of course, only he had never put it into practice. Robert seemed all too keen to make up for Stannis’ own lack of drive and bedded everything that moved.
His Wife raises an inquiring brow and as he steps back. Her red hair is trapped beneath the pelts wrapped around her, barely a sliver of her pale neck can be seen through the gap at the top. In the dim light given off from the candles, and soon it will grow dark, she looks like a ghost.
“You will strip. You will not come clothed to my bed.”
Stannis grinds his teeth in frustration. Perhaps she had not changed her mind after all. He feels the back of his neck begin to perspire and his stomach tighten. He dare not describe the emotion as excitement for their joining - he is not so ruled by his wants as Robert was.
“Fine. Let's get this over with.”
Perhaps it's not the best thing he could have said to his wife before the consummation of their marriage. Wife . The word tasted odd in his mouth.
Sansa sighs as he hastily removes his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and almost throws himself beneath the furs. It’s a little warmer there, hot stones have been used though his feet are still cold for all the good it does him. The bed is wider than he is used to having been travelling for so long and it feels strange for him to lie down and there still be room around him. He usually demands no preferential treatment than the simple necessities given to his men. It’s terribly cold, even if they have the best tent available.
“Well…get on with it.” he snaps. If she doesn’t do something soon, something rather vital is likely to fall off in the cold and then where would they be?
His wife simply stares at him, a bemused look on her face as she sits cocooned in her furs. “How cold you Southern men are to not want to taste or savour what is shared.” she slips beneath the covers, revealing only a brief flash of pale skin, before she’s arranging the rest of the furs atop them. Stannis grips the edges, barely resisting the urge to pull the furs up to his chin. The sooner they get back to Castle Black and then Winterfell the better. Though they have to remove the Boltons first…
The Southern King, her husband now, seems to want to get their ‘duty’ over and done with as quickly as possible. Sansa had been too young for her mother to explain or speak to her of fucking one’s partner…though she doubted her mother would have ever used such a word. The thought almost makes her laugh and that would definitely send the wrong impression to her bedmate.
By the Old Gods he is as prickly and as grumpy as a bear with a sore paw! His gruff attitude is wasted on her however. If he expects her to be intimidated then he will be quite disappointed.
They lay together in her tent, it’s warmer and she has far more furs than he had asked for in his own.
Without his armour on and rough scruff of a beard he could almost pass for one of them. She can just imagine him coming to her tent one night dressed in furs and skins with a blade strapped to his back…his intent to steal her. Oh she’d pretend to put up a fight at first in order to show him how good she is at combat and their joining would be fierce and hot…
In an effort to get him to loosen up a little and begin their more pleasurable ‘duties’, Sansa hums into his ear, blowing gently.
He flinches away from her, his scowl pronounced but she can tell from his surprise and the way his eyes are blown wide that he liked it. She gives him a sharp smile as she presses herself against his side and her hand reaches for him.
Stannis cannot help the gasp wrenched from his mouth as she grasps his half-hard length in her hand. She gives him a smouldering look that warms him better than any heated stones in the bed and he can feel his cheeks flush.
Such a strong reaction to a woman he has known less than a week is unsettling though the rush is heady. Stannis wonders if this rush is what Robert had craved when he tumbled laundry maids and serving girls.
Sansa leans forward and kisses him as her hand moves on his cock. Her grip is not too tight to be abrasive or too light to tease, but the pace of it is desperately slow and he feels arousal build like a steady fire in his gut.
She pecks his lips, looking at him all the while, before her lips trail across his jaw to his ear to whisper, “You may want to go fast My King, but I like it slow.” she trails kisses back toward his mouth and Stannis is glad of it. She doesn’t stop the movement of her hand on his length though he has little idea what he can do in return other than the actual consummation of their marriage and she seems in no hurry.
It’s terribly awkward, kissing, and not having done much of it himself, he has little idea on what to do. Eventually when he doesn’t respond in the expected manner Sansa moves from his mouth to bury her face in his neck, kissing and gently sucking at the skin there.
He can’t help but wonder what strange practices the Wildlings perform when they copulate. Is this normal for them? Her hand moves a little faster and her grip tightens slightly to a firmer pressure and his prick stiffens fully.
Her request is a reasonable sort and Stannis feels relatively safe when he places his hands on her hips - her skin is warm and soft against his hands, rough from training and hard graft over the years.
Stannis can only assume from the way the woman laughs softly and says “It’s a start…” that he has not quite understood her request. Her eyes like blue fire and she does something with her hand, a twist in her wrist and her thumb brushing over the head of his cock that makes his ears buzz and her smile grow wider.
Through the haze and building sensation he still has little idea on what to do with his hands then— What is she doing?
Instead of lying still she slips one of his legs between her own and he can feel her burning centre pressed against his thigh. It must feel good for her because she lets out a low moan that sends heat shooting through him.
Stannis wonders whether he is ready so quickly because it is in reaction to the hot blood of the Wildling woman, but then he remembers — she is just as ‘Southern’ by blood as he, even though she has spent most of her life beyond the Wall.
As she rocks against his thigh and her hand strokes his cock in a rhythm that makes him want to groan, she lets out a soft little gasp that makes his skin break out in a fine layer of sweat and the furs grow warmer around them.
Stannis jerks as he feels her teeth nip at the skin between his neck and his shoulder and she moans a little louder. The sound goes straight through him and his cock bounces embarrassingly in her hand. Should he really be reacting this way to such a display? From what he has read he should really have her on her back and— ah ! Her hips move against him and her centre rubs against his thigh as he turns to bring them face to face.
His wife is flushed, pupils blown wide and excited. “Better?” She gives him a wolfish smile and slides her arms around his neck and her leg over his hip. Stannis feels as though all air has left the room as his cock is pinned between his stomach and the heat of her when the heel of her foot digs into his back and pushes him forward. He can bear it no longer.
On their sides they can’t do much, there’s a flush in his cheeks and of all the things to be embarrassed about, it is his need of her which shows clearly. There’s a fire in him for sure but it’s blocked off by layers of ice and stone he’s built around him - it will be fun to tease him a little to try and bring it out. Her husband won’t give in to it easily but the world is cold and getting colder so it will be a pleasant distraction. She always did like a challenge, though this one will be far easier and definitely more enjoyable than trying to get all the Free Folk clans together.
Her husband pushes himself over her, the length of his body pressed delightfully against her own.
The empty ache of her belly is fiercer now and she just wants him inside her. She can tease and coax his fury out as much as she likes but if only he would put it in .
His jaw is clenched tightly together and she can hear his grinding teeth as he tries to control himself. Sansa grins at him, the male scent of him, sweat, smoke and something else makes her skin prickle all over and the heat between her legs throb in a desperate pulse. She can’t quite resist bringing her hands up to smooth over and feel the muscles in his arms and sides. He holds himself as tight as a bow string as she runs her hands over him, feeling his strength beneath her fingertips.
Stannis’s eyes are dilated as he looks at her. He is aware not to put the full weight of his body along hers but the contact is lovely and Sansa can’t help but buck up against him, arching her back and trying to coax him into doing more than staring.
Stannis does much more than stare and she can feel his length pressing against her heat. There seems to be some difficulty with getting it to exactly where it needs to go and she can hear the grinding of his teeth as he fumbles, almost unsure…
Sansa is surprised, but rather excited at the same time, to find out that her husband - the King of the South, is a virgin. His inexperience is unexpected but now she is eager and looking forward to showing him the delights that can be found with another. Perhaps her cold king will soon warm up to her?
Stannis leans over her, his hands either side of her head looking for lack of a better word… nervous .
“This may hurt the first time—“
“Oh I’m sure you’ll be as gentle as you can…” Sansa gives him a sly smile and sits up so they are face to face, so close she can feel the hitch of his breath on her face when she takes his length in her hand and holds it to her entrance.
Stannis pushes forward and she feels herself stretch around him, watching his face for his reaction - a widening of his eyes and face contorted as though he’s in pain.
Sansa does her best, rocking her hips and pulling him forward by the hips and showing him just how to move inside her, though to her consternation he barely makes a sound. Little more than low punches of breath that drives her insane. She wants to hear him. His voice is low and she can only imagine the rough ways he would groan and gasp and even perhaps say her name…
Stannis never would have thought coming to the Wall would have ended in this. Wedded. Bedded. and following his demanding wife’s directions to bring her pleasure. There was pleasure for him too. Overwhelming pleasure that raced up his spine and pulsed low in his belly. He fought for control as much as he could but his wife managed to wring a few thoroughly debased sounds from him.
Sansa directs him to touch her breast, the feeling of it filling his palm as he thrusts into her makes him thrust harder than is acceptable and she lets out a short cry that echoes through the tent and is undoubtedly heard by those attending their duties outside.
“No, no it’s good, keep going!” she urges, squeezing him from inside in the way that makes him want to drive into her with everything he has.
He forces himself to remain still though she urges him to move, rolling her hips in a maddening pattern that is enough to make him come like a greenboy. He’s nothing if not disciplined and a lesser man would have come already.
“You’re too loud—they’ll hear .” Stannis says. The act between them is intimate and he would not wish another to hear of it. The sight of him buried inside her as she is spread out beneath him is for their eyes only, as her sounds are for their ears only.
Sansa looks at him as though she can’t quite believe it, and in a move he doesn’t expect, and never would have been performed by a Highborn lady, his wife flips them easily and his back hits the furs with an ‘oof’.
She sits atop him, pulling a fur around her shoulders that is open down the middle so he can see the long stretch of pale skin that starts at her throat, travels down between her breasts, along her stomach and then between her legs where her hair curls a dark red. She looks like the maiden and the mother all rolled into one and he would have claimed her to be so if her actions were not quite so lascivious. She clenches her walls around him and begins to rock forward and back and forth on his length with a sultry expression. “It is a good thing to be loud, to let others know that your love is good and that they are yours.” Stannis grits his teeth against the sensation, gods he will come like this, and she is still talking calm and composed. He is supposed to make her feel pleasure though perhaps not in the volume that Robert liked to perform to. “Such passion and yet you hold it all in!”
Sansa leans forward and moves his hands to her hips. He pulls her closer involuntarily and she lets out a little happy moan, her eyes closing and lips tipping up in a blissful smile. She leans in further to nip and kiss his lips and down to his neck to bite gently there. He cannot help the shocked gasp that escapes when he feels her teeth there. He sees her grin.
“I want to hear you say my name.”
An embarrassed grunt escapes instead as she tightens on him, her inner walls clenching down around him with a control he never knew women possessed. It is an embarrassingly short time before he comes. The speed at which she rises and falls on his length increases and the heat and slick way he moves inside her is like nothing else he has ever felt before. His hands flex on her hips, surely leaving finger shaped bruises and he thrusts up without control, his teeth clenched tightly together and body tensing and shivering as his release comes upon him in a searing white light.
“Well, I suppose I should take it as a compliment…” His wife laughs though her voice sounds far away. When had he closed his eyes?
His wife moves away to fetch the cloth to wipe them both while Stannis lays beneath the furs, arms above them, chest heaving and eyes closed as though he had just sparred with her. In a way he had, though he’d been the only one to use a sword.
Sansa wipes herself and then him before tossing away the cloth and turns to get back in bed.
“What are you doing?” she says, confused when he begins to rise.
He’s not quite sure he can walk yet but he knows how the rest of this goes. He needs to leave before things become awkward. His wife probably wants to be alone now. “I have duties to attend—“
Sansa looks imperiously at him and slips beneath the furs on his side, pushing him down and laying directly on top of him so he cannot move. “No one leaves my bed so soon, it’s very bad luck on your wedding night.” He is unsure what to do or what to say. They had done their duty and were now man and wife…did she not want him to return to his own tent?
Sansa looks up from where she had lay her head on his chest and looks him in the eye, her expression a little softer than it had ever been before. “That’s an order from your Queen .”
He settles down a little at that but now in the quiet between him he cannot help but think over how quickly he came. Had his wife reached completion? He doubted it, very few would be satisfied with my -performance- he thinks, and Stannis can’t keep the grimace from his face.
As though sensing his thoughts, or perhaps feeling how tense he is beneath her, Sansa proceeds to distract him. “I think you shall be ready again before morning,” she says conversationally, wriggling her hips against his to help the meaning along. “and there’s plenty of time to teach you how to please me.” Sansa smiles against his chest as Stannis sputters at her language and the images it would conjure for him. She grins at his shock at her manners and can’t quite help teasing him. “You prefer it if I speak frankly with you? Well then, I think you’ll come to like my bold tongue.” She pulls the furs up tighter around them and softly orders him to sleep now because he won’t be getting much of it tonight. This time he understands her meaning perfectly.
Calling this one finished for now though may come back to this later! :)