#the jeyne we saw for 5 minutes was how i imagine her

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Thinking about my hotd fic & all my ocs so much this morning

[geekprincess26]

Four Weddings and a Blizzard: Chapter 5

My Day 6 (and final, because it’s only an hour and 15 minutes before the premiere starts) entry in the Jonsa Season 7 Summer Challenge.  I chose the “Music” theme.  A huge THANK YOU to @jonsa-creatives for hosting this amazing event and giving me the incentive to complete another Jonsa fanfic!

Sansa Stark married Jon Snow nine months after Rickon’s wedding.  It was the first day of spring, but a fierce blizzard swept out of the north just as the ceremony began.  Snowflakes swirled around the stained-glass windows of the historic church and cast ethereal beams of light on the pews and white-carpeted aisle.  Sansa grinned as she took her last glance through the windows adorning the foyer where she and her father stood waiting for Arya, the maid of honor, to reach the altar.

The Sansa who had stared at the stained-glass windows during Robb’s wedding so long ago had dreamed of marrying in an art museum, or perhaps the St. Paul Cathedral, at the height of summer; and at the center of it all she had imagined herself in a bejeweled ball gown and surrounded by bridesmaids in identical yellow chiffon gowns carrying red roses.  But that Sansa had wanted a long engagement and a marriage to Joffrey Baratheon, and both ideas seemed equally ridiculous to her now.  In any case, the brief length of her engagement had sent Jon scrambling to his friend Sam Tarly, the church’s pastor, to snag it as their venue, and sent Sansa and her family scrambling to the Mall of America and the nearest Michaels to get cloth, candles, beads, and everything else the bride-to-be needed in order to craft her own wedding decorations.  There was no time to order custom-made dresses; so Sansa had told her bridesmaids to select the champagne-colored gowns of their choice and bought a sample gown for herself in the second bridal salon she had visited.  It was all very rushed; but Sansa had grinned madly the first time she saw the diverse assortment of bridesmaids’ dresses next to her own and thought she could never have imagined such a beautiful arrangement if she had planned it herself.  She had hummed every evening as she had assembled decorations out of the very non-uniform assortment of beads and ribbons she and her family had managed to snag at the store.  Her humming had turned to singing, and Jon had often crept up behind her to take her in his arms and hum along with her.  His voice was never quite on-key, but Sansa never cared, especially when he would slowly turn her body into his arms and begin kissing her, which made her knees buckle and her mind forget about everything but Jon’s strong arms and passionately tender kisses and and whispers of I love you, Sansa Stark.

That, Sansa reflected now as she grinned even more widely, was probably why she and her family members had been up until 2:00 on the morning of the rehearsal dinner finishing the decorations.  Ned Stark turned to look at his daughter and shook his head.

“You’re the first one of my children with fewer tears than me on their wedding day,” he said, but his trembling voice belied his light tone.  He opened his mouth to continue, but instead shook his head again and bent to kiss her cheek.

“I’m your rebel, I guess, Dad,” Sansa whispered back, and suddenly her own voice started to quiver.  “I’m not getting married in the summer or in Wisconsin.  Or in the sun.”  She inclined her head toward the snow pounding against the nearest window, a tiny opening covered by a glass depiction of a blue rose against a gray background studded with clear, sparkling snowflakes.  “And I’m not twenty-four years old, like everybody else.”

Ned Stark kissed his daughter’s cheek again.  “Your husband was worth waiting a lot more than twenty-four years for,” he said gruffly, and tears blurred Sansa’s vision.  She leaned her head onto his shoulder and felt him kiss her briefly on the forehead before she straightened, adjusted her bouquet of white roses, and watched the ushers open the double wooden doors in front of her.

In the weddings created by Sansa’s fancy years ago, she smiled at her groom warmly, but not too soppily; and she teared up a bit, but did not actually cry.  Now, the moment the doors opened, tears began pouring down her cheeks, which were split nearly in two by the most utterly foolish grin Sansa had ever worn.  She cried when her father placed her head into Jon’s, and she cried as Sam began the wedding sermon.  Jon’s own eyes were suspiciously wet, and he kept reaching over to thumb the tears gently off of her cheeks.  So neither of them noticed the murmur that spread among the guests seated at the front of the church five minutes or so into the message.  Neither, in fact, noticed any sign of trouble until Catelyn Stark’s yelp brought both of them turning sharply to see Edd Tollett, Jon’s friend and groomsman, fainting dead away into the arms of a very startled Robb, who had been standing next to him.  Sam stopped speaking at once, and he did not continue until Edd had been roused and helped out of the room by Jon’s friends Tormund Giantsbane and Davos Seaworth to a round of applause from the entire room.  He made a joke about the building’s overly enthusiastic heating system before continuing, but his jest had more merit than Sansa had thought, for not five minutes later, Rickon swayed and collapsed.  Tormund caught him just in time, and Lyanna sprinted out of the room after them both.  Sansa felt Jon squeeze her hands, and she turned back to him at once.

“You all right?” he whispered in a voice so low that not even Sam heard it, and the smile returned to Sansa’s face, and she nodded.

“How about you?” she murmured; and the tender joy that lit Jon’s face was all the answer she needed.

Bran went pale and had to be wheeled out of the sanctuary by Meera right after Jon and Sansa had spoken their vows; but by then Edd, still pale, had returned, and Sam paused the ceremony again while two of the ushers retrieved a chair from one of the back rooms and set it on the dais so he could take back his place by Robb’s side.  They repeated the same procedure for Rickon, who re-entered the sanctuary right before the exchanging of the rings; and Meera wheeled Brank back in just in time for Sam to pronounce Jon and Sansa husband and wife.  Before he had time to finish instructing Jon to kiss his bride, the latter had thrown his arms around her and kissed her senseless.  Loud whoops punctuated their march up the aisle; but Sansa only giggled with happiness.

The wind howled more fiercely as the evening went on, and snowflakes piled merrily around the hotel where the reception was held.  All three of the afflicted groomsmen had recovered enough to initiate round after round of glass clinking during the dinner, and they needled Jon when he kissed his wife thoroughly each time.  They teased even more mercilessly when the deejay announced the first dance, although Sansa merely rolled her eyes and informed them that she would not expect any of them to appreciate her husband’s excellent taste in music.  Jon, a long-term Nickelback fan, grinned and kissed her in appreciation as the band’s “Far Away” played over the hall’s speakers.  When the chorus started, his smile widened, and so did Sansa’s, and they sang the words to each other:

I love you; I have loved you all along. I’ve missed you; Been far away for far too long.

When the second verse began, Jon pulled his wife in for a gentle kiss.  Sansa returned it a little less gently, and their lips spent most of the rest of the song connected.

“Oh, God, get a room,” Arya muttered over the whoops of the groomsmen as the two departed the dance floor.  Sansa stuck out her tongue.

Time whirled away along with the snowflakes, and Sansa whirled happily across the dance floor.  Jon had never been much of a dancer, but he could not stop beaming in any case.  Only when Jon twirled Sansa near the corner of the floor during a waltz did an enthusiastic argument between Rickon and Gendry snap out of their reverie.

“What’s all that about?” Sansa asked Robb when the dance was over.

Robb grinned.  “They made a bet,” he replied.  Sansa narrowed her eyes, but Robb took no notice.  “They’ve each been trying to talk the deejay into playing a different song.  They have to drink every time they fail.

Sansa, who had heard no deviations from the list she had gone over with the deejay, shook her head.  Jon grinned next to her.  “Which songs?” he asked.

Robb’s blue eyes twinkled.  “Gendry asked for ‘My Humps.’  Rickon picked ‘Baby Got Back.’”

Jon snorted, and Sansa grinned widely enough to outdo Robb.  “Oh, Lancel Lannister won’t play anything I told him not to,” she replied.  “I have way too much dirt on him from when we were at the U of M together.”

So she was not surprised when she heard Lyanna declaring loudly to her husband during the next dance that she could still drink him under the table and then have some more ale in their hotel room besides, and still dance better than he.  Sansa and Jon took one look at each other and began laughing.  They only laughed harder when they saw the silly grin on Gendry’s face as he swung Arya happily and sang her the words of Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You, Babe.”  Arya was shaking her head; but Sansa caught the mischievous glint in her eye as she and Jon sashayed past the two.  She snorted, and then snorted again when she saw Robb and Jeyne swaying in each other’s arms and kissing all the way across the dance floor next to Bran, who was whispering something to a blushing, giddy Meera.

“Oh, God,” she groaned.  “How much do you want to bet one of them conceives our next niece or nephew tonight?”

Jon only grinned.  “Maybe all four,” he said.  Sansa snorted again.  Then she bit her lip and fixed him with a devilish grin.

“How about we go all the way and make it five?” she suggested.  Jon’s answering grin was even more devilish than her own.

“I’m game if you are,” he said, and leaned down to whisper in her ear as the song ended, “I’ve got you, babe.”

Sansa blushed.

She blushed harder when Jon kissed her senseless in the corner during the next song.  She blushed even harder when the deejay announced the bride and groom’s departure, and squealed when Jon swept her up in his arms to carry her off the floor and into the hallway containing the elevator that led to the bridal suite.  And she felt her entire body flushing red when Jon set her down inside the elevator and began planting kisses down her neck and shoulder.  Once they reached the suite, Sansa, determined to give him back as good as she had gotten, proceeded to attack his lips with her own.

“This room’s even hotter than the church, dear,” she said when they finally drew back to catch their breath.  She wiggled her eyebrows at him.  “Do you mind helping me take off my dress?”

Jon’s eyes went a shade darker, and his answering hum had a distinct rumble to it.  Sansa grinned and turned her back to him.  She expected him to undo the zipper as quickly as he could; but instead he nibbled a trail of kisses from the base of her neck all the way down her spine.  They made Sansa hum and shiver, like the snowflakes kissing the windows of the suite; and by the time Jon lowered her dress carefully to the floor, she could barely step out of it due to her thighs rubbing each other in anticipation and delight.

“Your turn,” she rasped after kissing Jon deeply once again.  Her lips drew a long line of kisses down his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt, kisses punctuated by his groans of Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.  By the time she had flung his shirt to a far corner of the bed, his gray irises had turned nearly as dark as his pupils.  When he leaned over her to undo the straps of her lingerie, he pressed his mouth to her shoulders and neck over and over; and by the time he reached back to take her mouth, Sansa was groaning loudly, and she moaned Jon, Jon, Jon into his mouth as she opened her legs to wrap them tightly around his waist.

The snowflakes continued to fall, and the wind continued to howl; but their chill could not match the heat of Jon’s kisses trailing up and down his new wife’s body, and their wailing could not match the keening emanating from Sansa as that body writhed with pleasure, or the moans Jon hummed in concert into her neck.  Nor could snow or wind have hoped to shatter the tender gaze with which his gray eyes fixed his wife’s as Sansa gladly opened her lips and her body to fuse herself joyfully with her husband.  And neither howling nor chill could drown out the cries of ecstasy and love that mingled in air and across clutched hands and on warm, undulating flesh alike.  

After a time, the snow stopped falling, and the wind ceased howling, and husband and wife lay cradled in each other’s arms.  Jon stroked Sansa’s flushed cheek, and she ran a gentle hand through his sweaty curls.

“I suppose Arya should be happy now,” she whispered, a lazy grin on her face.

Jon reached over to kiss her forehead.  “Why is that, my love?” he murmured.

“Well,” Sansa replied, “she did tell Gendry after Rickon’s wedding that it had taken us long enough to get together.  And tonight, she did tell us to get a room.”  She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and Jon chuckled.  “And I have a few more plans for how we can use it this weekend.”

Jon reached up to brush a strand of hair off his wife’s face.  “And I intend to follow them all, love of my life,” he whispered, and planted a tender kiss on her lips.