36 Wedding in the Godswood

Resting the torch on the mount built into the wall, Jon stared ahead at the stone likeness keeping vigil over the sarcophagus. It was quite stylized - nowhere near resembling the beautiful, wild, loving woman that Jon knew was his mother. Everytime he blinked her kind face flashed in front of him. The warmth of her touch seeping into his body. The mother he never had. The mother who had indeed always been with him while growing up. Quite the irony if Jon thought about it long enough.

Pulling off his glove, breath visible in a milky-white cloud in front of him, Jon rested his hand on the smooth stone. "Mother…" His voice cracked with emotion. "I love you so…" A sudden flash of shame crossed him, for today was the day he was marrying Daenerys - her sister in law - but it faded. She had told him to find her. Ducking out of the preparations had led him here. "I'm marrying Dany," he confessed to Lyanna. "My dragon, like father was yours. I know she would have loved you, and so would our twins. We have twins together, mother. Can you believe it?" The stone carving was silent, provoking him to tears. "I need you, mother. I always did. Why couldn't you be here?"

"She is here, watching you." Jon turned his head slowly to see Lord Howland Reed, his aging face crossed into a small, sad smile. "I knew you were here, Ser Barristan standing guard a the entrance." Striding up beside him, he joined his king in gazing upon the statue. "We all pass into the gods' domain when we die, the good into eternal warmth and the wicked into eternal winter."

Memory flashing back to the endless plain of vibrant green, Jon understood. "Fitting." Lord Reed looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Fitting that the realm of the wicked is eternal winter - given that is the Night King's objective for all humanity."

Lord Reed snorted. "Aye. Quite fitting, your Grace." The two continued to stand side to side in silence, torch flickering as they seemed to wait for the statue to say something… anything. But only silence. "It's an abomination, the way they carved her. Her beauty and kindness deserved far better."

It was welcome to Jon, to know others felt the same. "Ser Barristan told me that my father - Rhaegar," he clarified. Jon felt that he had two true fathers, the one who loved and raised him and the one that loved and watched over him from above. "Wanted to expand the arts. To leave the realm marble when he inherited brick."

"I did not know that about him." Reed shifted his feet. "What I did know is that your mom loved him… and you. Loved the both of you desperately." He continued to gaze ahead as his King turned to stare at him, eyes soft with the subject on memories of his long lost mother - so close yet also so far. "Before she died… in the Tower of Joy." 'More like the Tower of Grief.' The memory was hard for Howland, Lyanna Stark being so beloved. "She told Ned how much she loved both of her dragons. How she hoped that at least one person in Robert's Westeros would know the truth about your father."

Jon fought the tears in his eyes. He did not know why Lord Reed was telling him this, but valued it nonetheless. He craved knowledge of his parents. Needed whatever information he could find to find that special connection he knew he should feel for them. "He hated him… Ned Stark hated Rhaegar, I mean?" Jon's story was that of loss and pain. His father made a monster, mother dying giving birth to him, one grandfather burning the other alive, and uncle/father lying to everyone to keep him from being put to death. It weighed on him every day.

Howland continued, the lines deepening on his weathered face. "At first yes, but then Lyanna proved to him the depths of Robert's lies - he thought it was just hubris and arrogance, though I still think that Robert knew Lyanna had run off with your father and let it play out anyway." Jon's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, wishing he could slice through the Usurper and watch his blood soak the ground. "In any event, with you in his arms and your mother's casket in the cart… his honor couldn't let it go."

An eyebrow was raised in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Pointing to the unmarked grave beside his mother's, Howland placed his other hand over his King's shoulder and guided him to it. "Did your father ever say who was buried here?"

"One of the Stark ancestors several generations back. The statue broke apart in an accident." What did this have to do with anything?

Shaking his head, Howland looked upon the rough stone. "It was just Ned and I, all our comrades having died in Dorne. Traveling north with you and your mother… I told him it would be next to impossible, but his honor wouldn't stop torturing him until it was done." A moment of silence hung in the icy air before he continued. "He knew Robert, what he would do with the body. We found it in the river, left in the muck to be eaten by the fish."

All of a sudden it hit Jon, staggering him. Shaking, he slowly reached out to touch the tomb. "Who… who is buried here?" He knew the answer, but knowing was different than having your knowledge confirmed.

"Ned buried your father next to his sister in an unmarked grave. At least in death, they could continue together."

'Father…' Flashing to the image of the strong man, tough yet with a loving expression for those whom he loved, Jon couldn't help the emotion threatening to consume him. 'Rhaegar Targaryen.' Slowly, cautiously, he lowered his spinning head until it rested atop the dusty stone. Where his father had been resting, ever close to him as his mother.

"Your father, my friend Ned Stark, he couldn't be here on this day. I just know, my King, that he wanted to tell you the truth of it all." The King said nothing, though Howland could see he was fighting to keep control of his emotions as he rested his brow on the tomb. "All that I owe him, I believe this is the biggest. Just know that your entire family is here with you." Beginning to walk away, Lord Reed heard the faint sobs and quickened his steps. No man should have such a moment intruded upon.

The magnitude of it all shook Jon to his very core, crying softly in the presence of his father. Tear droplets ran down the dusty stone. "Father…" he ground out, whisper hoarse. "You've been here this whole time… with mother." Wiping away his tears, Jon stood up, visualizing the man that had sired him. "I'm marrying Daenerys, making you proud, father. I will be the King you wanted me to be." Running his hand once more on the stone, Jon sighed and made his way towards the entrance to the crypts.

The last of the Dragons, all together once more.

A wince left Dany's lips as she jerked her hair to the side. "Please, your Grace," Missandei offered, gently guiding her head back into place. "Stay still. You want your hair perfect for the ceremony, no?" Not waiting for the answer, she reapplied the comb to the silver locks.

Much as her handmaiden tried to be as gentle as possible, yet again did Daenerys feel a jolt of pain at the persistent tugging on her silver locks. "Gods, is there any way you could just finish this?"

"If you want this to be finished in haste, my Queen," Shae replied, bemused - no one present knew whether Tyrion rubbed off on her or he on him, or if their personalities were like this from the beginning. "Then it will require us to continue tugging on your hair." Dany simmered but quieted down, gritting her teeth as the two women continued to yank at her hair. Whimpering beside her, a furry head leaned up to lick her palm. Exhaling, Dany slowly stroked Ghost's fur, calmed a bit by the direwolf's affection. When not with the twins he was at her side for the most part. Jon wasn't jealous, no more than she was jealous of Rhaegal's bond with her King.

In the corner, Sansa tried - and failed - to suppress an amused chuckle. The Dragon Queen's resulting glare only intensified her humor. "Don't worry, Daenerys. Everyone will appreciate the Northern style to your hair."

"Remind me again why the usual riding braid isn't an option?" Another yank saw a withering dragon glare sent to Shae - the whore turned consort to the Hand of the Queen merely blew a kiss at her, continuing. "It was fine enough for the people of Meereen."

"You were at the head of a conquering army set to free the vast majority of them," remarked the Rose of Highgarden. "You could have worn a straw sack and still have awed them."

Dany eyed Margaery curiously. "Channeling your grandmother, I see?" Her violet eyes danced with mirth. The other women around her laughed. Much as the preparations irritated Daenerys - she never one for such formalities, and the thick northern dress made her feel buried in wool - looking around her, this was what she wanted in her life. Joyful, lighthearted times. A family, one that cared for and loved her in all the ways that Viserys didn't. Jon had given her one in the Starks and she would love him forever for it.

"...aaand there!" Shae backed away, bowing with a flourish. "All done." As Missandei placed a mirror in front of Daenerys, Tyrion's paramour clucked at her latest creation. "Radiant for the wedding party yet positively scrumptious for the groom. He will be made mad with lust at the mere sight of you."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "She was just like this with me, so it isn't just you that makes her uncomfortably blunt." Picturing her brother in the throes of lust with his wife - her new sister - was not something she would prefer to imagine.

Daenerys didn't hear them, staring at the reflection in the mirror. She had always knew of her beauty, but Shae was right - there was a radiance sparkling from her. It wasn't overpowering, as many had commented of the effect of Cersei Lannister, but rather understated. Hair tied up in a simple Northern bun, dress one common to weddings but quite plain, and only a touch of rouge to color her cheeks. The effect did much to temper the dragon within her, but the queen still shone. Gazing in the mirror did bring forth the gravity of such a moment. 'I'm marrying Jon.'

"He will be impressed, your Grace," commented Missandei, smiling at her queen's expression. Being by her side for so long, her long-lost love had been unattainable for so long - it was only natural for there to be a moment to think this too good to be true. As if sensing her thoughts, Ghost leaned his head up to squeeze his snout into Dany's lap, nuzzling it with a whimper.

Broken from her reverie, Dany smiled down at the direwolf - as large as a pony but still like a puppy in so many ways, like her dragons. "It's alright, boy. I'm not going anywhere." Ghost licked her hand and drew back, content.

"Now, I know this is the time your mother would inform you of what happens with the bedding," Shae interrupted, quite bluntly once again. "But judging the sounds from your chambers, I doubt you need any further knowledge on what occurs then." Sansa groaned, Missandei smiled sheepishly, Margaery chuckled softly, while Dany just blushed red with mortification. Normally she wasn't a prude thanks to her time with the Dothraki, but it was different with family.

"Must you?" Mortification was written on Sansa's face. "He is my brother you know."

"And quite the handsome man." Shae licked her lips, none of the three women knowing where the teasing stopped and the female appreciation began. "It is my experience that, Lord Tyrion being the exception, it's the quiet ones that make the most fantastic lovers…"

"Please stop." Sansa covered her ears, grimacing. "Not something I want to know." That did coax a laugh out of Dany. The queen shot Shae a look, one that confirmed her statement in Jon's case. All three of the highborn ladies in the room had been married, all to bad or indifferent men. They knew the ins and outs, and terrible as they had been it was different now. Daenerys was marrying her true sun and stars, Margaery was practically betrothed already, and Dany was confident someone as kind as Sansa would find someone.

Fortunately for Sansa, a knock at the door ended that particular conversation. "May I enter, your Grace." It was Jorah.

"You may, Ser Jorah."

As soon as the door opened two small figures raced in. "Mother!"

A bright smile curled on her face. Dany hadn't seen her children all day, and welcomed their loving hugs. "My sweetlings." Kissing the tops of their heads, she noticed all present were relaxed and smiling at the Prince and Princess - even Shae, her normal sarcastic regard for everything unable to resist the innocent charm of the twins. Ghost was the most enthusiastic, mouth open in excitement.

"You look pretty, momma," Rhaegar offered, kissing her cheek.

"Is today yours and poppa's wedding?" Arya asked, grey eyes twinkling. While reserved with experience and hardship, Dany recognized that same twinkle in Jon's eyes when he was happy and excited. Gods, she loved them all.

"Yes it is," she told them.

A pout then formed on her daughter's face. "Why can't we come?" Northern weddings always occurred at night, under the stars if possible - a tradition as old as the First Men.

Dany kissed Arya's forehead. "You need your sleep, my sweetlings. If you want to be mighty royals, you have to grow and strengthen yourselves."

"But… I'm not tired." The yawn that interrupted Rhaegar's comment drew suppressed chuckles from the women.

Sansa ruffled her nephew's hair. "Don't be too sad, little dragon." Arya's nicknames caught on. "You aren't missing much. Mostly boring adult talk and Northern Lords acting like stuffy idiots." Half true - weddings and feasts often had the most powerful people beyond the neck getting drunk and boisterous, hence being idiots. "Ghost'll keep you company." That perked the twins up, who immediately went to the fluffy white direwolf. Ghost reveled in the attention, licking their cheeks and rolling on his sides as they tickled his belly. It would be a cute sight for any canine, but for the massive direwolf it was amusing as well.

"Your Grace… Maester Aemon sent me." Dany looked up at Ser Jorah, who looked quite emotional - and trying to hide it. There was no other person than Aemon - the patriarch of House Targaryen - to officiate the ceremony on behalf of the Old Gods. And Dany knew how touched Jorah was when she asked him to give her away. With Aemon officiating and Ned Stark dead, who better? "The King is waiting for you."

"I'll head over and make sure he's ready," Sansa offered, slipping out of the room.

Lips curling until she was beaming, Dany kissed her children's heads and stood. "Behave yourselves until the nursemaid arrives, my sweetlings." Confident that Ghost would look after them - now letting the twins climb on his back one at a time - she stood and took Jorah's offered hand. "Shall we?"

"Nervous, King Jaehaerys?"

Balancing himself on the balls of his feet, soles coming down to crunch on the snow below, Jon glared at Sansa. "I thought we agreed for you to call me 'Jon,' Sansa. You may be my Hand but you're also my family." Normally not bothered by the cold of the North, he rubbed his hands together. "And no, I'm not nervous." It was an obvious deflection. The composure following his moment in the crypts evaporated as the moment of decision grew closer and closer. Had it not been winter, Jon's brow and palms would have been drenched in sweat.

"Please," Arya scoffed beside him, Sansa to her right. "If you were any more jittery, you'd be bouncing." Watching him nibble on his lips, the old unsure Jon she had grown up with returning, she punched him in the arm. "Stop it."

Wincing, Jon rubbed his arm. "What was that for?"

"Stop worrying, brother. She's not backing out."

"Dany can't stop looking at you," Rickon pointed out, rounding off the Starks. "It's quite gross if you think about it." Arya chortled, drawing curious glances from the older lords and ladies.

He pursed his lips, that same bastard insecurity written on his face. Sansa reached out and clasped his shoulder. "She's not going to back out, Jon." A smile formed on her face, attempting to absolve Jon of his remaining fear. "You're the perfect match for a Queen, and the perfect match for her." The redhead then turned to Arya, motioning with her eyes for the younger girl to say something.

Shaking her head, a glowering look from Sansa made her groan. "Fine." Turning to Jon, she gulped. "I'm only gonna say this once. You are… quite good looking. Any lady would… be lucky to scoop you up." His sister blanched, not one for the flowery oratory nor thinking of Jon in terms of attractiveness. It was then that Sansenya, Rhaella, and Lyanarys swooped down out of the sky. Growing rapidly, they just barely fit onto their normal perches on Jon, their father feeling their heavy weight. They nuzzled him, chirping their love before taking off again.

A chuckle left Jon. All he had to do was look around and he had the love and affection he had always missed as a child. He tugged his sisters close, glad they were here. "Thanks."

At that point Sam hurried into the Godswood. Setting Gilly and Little Sam among the other guests, he took up his place with Jon. "She's coming." Jon managed to look out and that was when he saw her. The breath was knocked out of him at the sight.

Jorah holding her arm, Daenerys' breathing quickened as her eyes settled on Jon. Through her veil, she could pick out his fur cloak and leather direwolf tunic without a moment's notice. 'He's so handsome.' She fought to keep her composure thought - for the sake of the formality. Clad in a dress of the purest eggshell white, the Northern custom was hewed quite closely. Dany noticed the various northern lords and ladies that would remain behind in Winterfell. Lyanna Mormont, Alys Karstark, young Ned Umber… all for whom the ceremony was hoped to appease. She looked back at Jon as her steps drew her to right across from him, his warm grey eyes that she loved so coming into view. 'We'll have plenty of time to be ourselves tonight.'

In the soft glow of the many lanterns, light dancing along the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree, Maester Aemon looked over his family. It was a beautiful sight around them, the simple rugged beauty that the North possessed in abundance. Pure white snow covering the earth. Intricate snowflakes - glittering like diamonds - fluttering to the ground all around them. The Northern lights dancing in the dark, clear, moonless night sky, ribbons of color heralding the most auspicious of omens. For the lights to appear at a wedding was a sign of greatness in all faiths. But the couple only had eyes for each other. "Well," he cleared his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

Smiling at Jon, heart filled with love, Dany nodded. "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, a woman grown and true of birth. I come to be wed in the presence of the Gods." A Queen, she spoke for herself. A woman in love, she shore all her titles. For Jon, she only needed to be Dany - her heart caught slightly, knowing that it was her that Jon loved and was marrying, not her title.

"And who comes to give her?"

"I, Jorah of House Mormont," the young bear said proudly, removing his hand from the crook of her arm. "Sworn Sword to Her Grace."

"And who comes to wed her in the sight of the Gods?"

Fighting tears in his eyes, a rare emotional moment for him, Jon reached out and took Daenerys' hands in his. Symbolizing their new union. "I, Jon of House Stark, King in the North." Being a Northern ceremony, he was using his Northern name. It didn't really matter to him, for Dany loved all of him. "I take her to wed." Slightly breaking protocol, he raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it softly. Through her veil, Jon could just make out the twinkling pools of violet. The love radiating in them.

Aemon felt his breath hitch, gazing upon his beloved niece. 'She looks so much like her mother.' Rhaella would have been proud, bursting with happiness for this moment. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, do you take this man?"

Her smile widened. "I take this man." She almost laughed at the visible relief on Jon's face. 'As if I'd say anything else.' From the moment she saw him - though she didn't realize it until later - she had become bound to Jon Snow. Preordained. Destiny. Her destiny.

"Jon of House Stark, do you take this woman?" He reminded Aemon of his brother Aegon V, the same slender looks and deep compassion for the common man.

Jon resisted the urge to close the distance and kiss Daenerys passionately. That time would come. "I take this woman," he breathed softly, never taking his eyes away from her. A small blush adorned Dany's pale cheeks at the intense gaze. Dropping his right hand, he kept his left out, Dany's right resting atop it. 'I love you,' he willed for her to understand, the depths of his feeling. She saved him, brought him to where he was - even from halfway around the world.

Gingerly, Sansa handed Maester Aemon the special strip of silk. She had sewn it herself, two Targaryen three-headed dragons mixed with Stark direwolves. The union of ice and fire. As was Northern custom, Aemon loosely wrapped the cloth around their joined hands. Binding them. Symbolically and literally. "In the sight of Gods and men, I hereby bind these two souls together for eternity." And it was done. The marriage completed. Ice and fire united.

Peeling her veil back with his free hand, Jon cupped Dany's cheek. Nuzzling it softly, Dany stepped forward, standing on her tiptoes and bringing their mouths together. A cheer rang out from the Northerners present. "Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!" A trio of roars filled the din - Balerion, Rhaegal, and Edderon chiming in with their approval,

Breaking their kiss, Jon stared into the deep amethyst of her eyes. "I love you, wife."

Dany melted into his stormy grey orbs. "I love you too, husband." All else meaningless to them at that moment, they kissed again.