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For five years, since their betrothal was announced when she was twelve, Catelyn Tully had waited to marry Brandon Stark. He was the origin of every fantasy her heart had ever held. She took it all seriously - the duty of loving her husband, giving him her maidenhead, bearing him children, being a lady worthy of him. And, with Brandon, she expected that overlooking certain activities, especially as she aged and lost her beauty, may be part of that duty. She wondered what it would be like to love a man who kept so little inside him. Brandon’s rage, his joy, his desires bubbled out of his skin. He was a wolf, through and through. She would never have to wonder if he was cross or pleased with her. She would never wonder when his blood was up. These things she had figured out during their limited interactions over the years.
But Brandon was now dead, along with her expectations for the life she had long created in her mind.
Jon Arryn had wed her sister that day and because Jon had refused a bedding ceremony, she was also sparred one. She had been grateful for it, until this moment. If she had fewer clothes on, perhaps it would be easier to proceed.
She stood before him, Eddard, her husband, still in her blue and red gown from the ceremony. It wasn’t a wedding gown. She would never have one, she realized. This was her best, special occasion gown. There was no time to make a wedding gown in the midst of a rebellion and a quickly brokered alliance hinging on these two weddings.
The door shut behind them. Ned did not know what to say. He seldom did.
At 19, Eddard Stark was now a great many things he never imagined he would be in all his life. A husband to Catelyn Tully. The Lord of Winterfell. A rebel.
He had heard of her but only met her yesterday. Their wedding, and Jon’s to Lysa, was a crucial part of an alliance in the rebellion against the throne. All of this he understood but it mattered little now that they were alone for the first time and he was expected to perform.
His wife was beautiful, exceptionally so. That was not the problem.
He struggled to remember a time when he had been alone with a woman who was not his mother or sister. He struggled to remember his mother at all. His sister was rather easy with her affections, always exclaiming his name and rushing to hug him whenever he visited home. He had seen nothing in his wife to suspect she possessed the same ease.
His thoughts went to Robert then, who had often spoke of the many women he had bedded. Ours is the Fury. His house words were full of passion and Robert lived like a man possessed by it. Not like Ned. When Robert spoke of his women, the tales were as varied as flowers in a field. They did not all enjoy exactly the same things. There were some things consistent enough in the tales that Ned might draw upon; but the tales always started in the middle of the act. How to begin was the burning question.
Then he thought of Brandon. Brandon, who just months ago, was forced to ask a girl to dance with Ned, because he was too shy to do it himself. Brandon who would know just what to do now. After he had bedded his first few women, his brother had told him: You must play with her first, to build a fire in a woman. The flames will not leap right away. The more you tend her, she will be slick between her legs. And that’s the better, for her and you. Ned stood in this room, in this marriage, in his brother’s place. Always the shorter, less able version of his older brother. Never as good with horse or a sword as Brandon. Probably not as good at this, even once he gained experience.
Catelyn broke the silence.
“How would you prefer we proceed, my Lord? Shall I remove my gown, or would you prefer…?”
Ned’s eyes drifted to her face. His thoughts had consumed him so that days could have passed already. He cleared his throat. “I know not what I prefer in this… matter. I apologize if that disappoints you, my Lady.” He clasped his hands in front of himself, hoping she would understand.
Oh, she thought. Of course. Ned lacked a certain confidence, inherent to most men of his age, and now she understood why. Few men went to their wedding beds without having paid for it; and he was older than her. She took a step towards him and met his eye with her shoulders back. “We are evenly matched, my Lord.”
Ned nodded. “Perhaps we could sit and speak for a bit?” he said, gesturing to the chairs by the fire.
She moved at his invitation, sitting primly on the front of the chair, her long neck straight and regal. Then, just as swiftly, found she could not sit still. “May I help you with your boots?” After her mother died, she had done this for her father many nights before reading to him. It seemed right to offer.
“Please.” Ned said as he sank into the chair.
She moved elegantly to the floor, into a position of submission at his feet. The sight created a tightness in Ned’s chest, that such a beautiful, highborn woman would drop to her knees for any reason in front of him. When she was done, she placed them at the foot of the bed before returning to her chair.
After several moments, Ned’s voice echoed in the room, a bit skittish. “I had never been to a wedding of the Seven.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard of the trees in the North. Are your weddings so different from ours?”
“There are fewer words.” Ned said, looking at his hands. “We state who the bride is, and who the groom is, and who is there to give her away. And then the bride is asked if she would take her husband.” Ned looked at her then, and Catelyn stared back with her blue eyes. “And if she says, “I take this man”, the groom gives her a cloak, and they kneel together. Then, usually there is a kiss. And then he carries her away.”
She gave him a small smile, unsure of what to say. He noticed her posture again, back straight as a board and wondered how he might get her to relax. He thought of his sister again, arguing with her father over appropriate dress and had an idea. “Are you quite comfortable, my Lady?”
Catlyn opened her mouth and closed it, confusion knit into her brow. She watched Ned’s cheeks turn pink.
“Forgive me, I meant, if your corset is tight I could loosen the ties. I know how my sister complains of them. I was not-“
“I would be grateful. Yes.” She stood again, turning her back to him. She swept the great length of her auburn hair over on shoulder. “There is a clasp at the top, and then the laces.”
Ned rose, swallowing his nerves. He stepped forward to examine the clasp. He had not been this close to her since the wedding ceremony, when they had kissed. Which he had enjoyed, very much, even if it had been brief and chaste. His experience in kissing was limited to his dancing companion at Harenhall. But he would not think of Ashara now. Not standing next to his wife.
Catelyn felt his hands tremble as he managed the dainty clasp, then moved to the laces. His movements were gentle but rather nimble. He does have large hands, even if he is not tall like his br-. But she stopped herself. She did not wish to bring someone else into this room.
She was at least an inch taller than him, and more than that at the moment, for she still wore her boots. When her laces were slack, she rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, crossing her arms at her middle to keep the gown from falling. She turned to him, her voice firm. “I’d like to take off my boots as well.”
She could not ask him to do that. A Lord does not get on his knees for any reason. She hoped he might turn his back so she could deal with the matter and allow her time to slip into her dressing gown. But Ned only uttered, “Of course.” And dropped to his knees in front of her.
She was speechless as she felt those large hands reach under her skirts to cup her ankle, and unfasten the straps of her boots. She felt her body begin to heat at the intimate touch. He did not tease her, simply went about his business, but the care he displayed drove her a bit mad. She stepped out of the first boot, with his support, and as he worked the next one, she made up her mind.
When he finished, he looked up at her, and meeting his eyes, Catelyn Tully (Stark, I am married now) released her arms and let her best gown sink to the floor in a pool around her. Standing before him in her shift, her voice was a tender whisper. “I take this man.”
Neds eyes grew wide as she lowered herself beside him and placed one of her hands in his. With his own hands he guided her back up. He had no cloak for her but he leaned forward to kiss her, cupping her check, lingering longer than he’d dared in the Sept. Her arms twined around his neck. When he gently broke away from her, she smiled at him. “Don’t you carry me away now?”
“Aye.” And Ned smiled at her.
She had never seen him smile before. It was glorious, how it lit up his whole face from his eyes to his mouth. It made her smile even wider. And then, with a self assurance that shocked her, he picked her up in one smooth motion and strode towards the bed.
He had always imagined this moment, taking his bride into his arms and bringing her to the feast, walking under the heart tree, his brothers and sister cheering for him. Instead she was nearly naked and the room was silent. But he would take what he joy he could. It was kind of her to think of him at all.
He felt firm beneath his clothes, suggesting more muscle than she had anticipated. Feeling bold, she kissed him softly on the cheek and threaded a hand in his hair.
When they made it to the bed, he set her down gently, her legs dangling over the edge. For a brief moment, he stood slightly transfixed and contemplated his next move. She reached for his tunic and began to loosen it, making the decision for him. She quickly had him down to his breeches, both delivering gentle kisses and caresses of shoulders, neck and arms inbetween the effort of disrobing. When she saw his bare chest and her suspicions of it’s well muscled make up were confirmed, her hand twitched at her side, ready to touch him, afraid of being too brazen. Ned saw and took her hand in his, placing is at the spot where her gaze was fixed (right above his heart). He was warm and smooth and firm. “My Lord husband is very handsome.” she said, meeting his eye.
“As are you beautiful, my Lady wife.” He kissed her then, his fingers ghosting over her shoulder and down her arms until they reached in for her waist. She felt small as his hand nearly circled it fully.
She wanted the kiss to deepen as she was no stranger to a man’s tongue in her mouth (Petyr and Brandon has both made sure of that), but she waited for him. But rather than invade her mouth, her husband moved down her neck and across her collar bone. His hands stroked her sides, up and down, never going quite high enough to reach her breast. He gently guided her back onto the bed, stepping between her legs, and leaning over her to continue kissing a path across her body.
She felt him then, between her legs, straining against his breeches. It was nothing but slight pressure but it caused heat to rise in her belly. She sighed and ran a hand across his naked back.
It was so quiet. She is so quiet. Nothing like what Robert claimed they are like when they beg for it, Ned thought, fear pricking his chest.
His hands stilled just below her breasts and his head stilled on her chest. She could feel him panting slightly through the fine fabric of her shift. He pushed himself up and off of her, standing away from the bed. “Forgive me.”
“For what? Is this not what we are here to do?”
“I never wished for this to… be a duty.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I did not think it was so unpleasant.”
“It is not. You are lovely.” he said, solemn and quiet. She saw that his pants were still tented; he was not lying to her. “I know - I know that I was forced upon you. That you expected this to be someone else. I do not wish to force this upon you. Especially as I am not… prepared for how… to help you enjoy this.” His head hung, dejected and inadequate to the task before him.
“Ned.”
He looked at her. She had not called him anything so familiar yet.
She spoke slowly and quietly to him. “Yes, for years, I thought this would be your brother. And I thought him a good match. He was handsome and bold and fierce. And I knew, too, that he would come to me with… experience. And I would not be able to tame him. I hate all those years I spent longing for him. If I had known his end, I would not have made him wait.”
“You are different from him. You have already shown me that you are strong but gentle. And I am grateful for that.” She held out her hand and he took it, stepping closer to her.
“I am grateful that we can share this night, these two weeks. And I know when it’s over, you will leave me to march off to war to avenge him and your family. You are brave but I fear that the same wolf-blood that killed Brandon, will kill you.” Her voice grew fierce and determined. “Do not leave me a maid, having been twice betrothed and once married.” She met his eyes and her hand crushed his with surprising strength.
“Leave me with the memory of your touch and with a babe so that if you are not to return, I can teach him of his father and his uncle, and he can one day rise up and avenge you all.” She grabbed her shift and pulled it over her head, letting it float to the bed. She was naked before him. “Or leave me with a babe so you have a reason to keep your wits and find your way home.”
And then Ned Stark, the quiet wolf, came at her, full tilt. His mouth flew to hers, his hands wrapping around her to crush her against his chest. He felt the weight of her breasts between them and as his tongue plunged into her mouth, he longed to put it upon those sweet, hard nipples. She met him with equal fervor, tilting her head, stroking his mouth.
There were so many things he wanted to do to her. And he knew she was right, there was no guarantee they would ever have more than this. There was no guarantee he would ever bed a woman if not for her, now. He just had not known she would be so willing to give herself to him, knowing this was all they might have.
They hoisted themselves further onto the bed in a pile of limbs. His mouth found one of her breasts and kissed it, circling her nipple until he finally laved at it with the full width of his tongue and sucked it into his mouth. She moaned and her hips shuddered against his stomach involuntarily. Desire rose up in him, his blood galloping in his veins. He slowed down slightly, giving his same attentions to the other. His free hand ghosted over her stomach, her hip, and her thigh, gently pushing her legs apart. He barely brushed her auburn curls with his knuckles, finding them soft and a bit damp. He brought the hand up to rest just below her belly button, as he moved back to her mouth.
He kissed her fully, his fingers dancing on her low belly, giving her time to stop him. When she did not, he moved lower, cupping her, drawing a finger down her slit. She soaked the finger that plunged between her folds, moaning into his mouth, as her nails dug into her arm.
Ned peppered her neck with kisses and he searched for the pearl Robert had said was there on all women. When he found it, he drew a circle around it with his index finger. Catelyn’s hips rose up into his touch. He did it again. She panted, “That’s good,” and it made his heart sing.
His brother was still with him. Imagine a bow with an arrow. Her body is like the bow, you must bring it back to the height of tension, and when it snaps, you’ve done it.
He kissed his way back to her breasts and then sat up as he continued to work her with his fingers. He marveled at how soft she felt, how she slipped thru his fingers like silk. He wanted to look at her, how she was made. And when he saw her pink, glistening flesh and inhaled her scent, he knew he wanted to try something else. He removed his hand and tentatively licked his finger. He realized then that Catelyn’s eyes were upon him, her mouth open in lust and confusion as he sucked the taste of her from his hand.
Their eyes stayed locked as he lowered himself toward the bed, taking one of her thighs over his shoulder. He heard her give soft, incoherent noises of protest the closer her got to her, but he found one her her hands in the sheets and wove their fingers together. She held her head up to watch him as he gently placed a kiss over the bud between her legs. Then she felt the firm pressure of his tongue mix with the coarseness of his beard against her flesh and she could keep her head raised no longer.
He never pressed into her too hard. He was gentle and persistent. As if her was writing a secret language upon her with his tongue. Catelyn could not deny it felt good but she was also not sure that he should be doing it at all. Then he changed positions slightly and she felt him lick her entrance. She tried to keep quiet but she bucked against his face. He repeated the action and she bucked again. She felt his lips curl into a smile and sighed, sad she could not see it.
He squeezed the hand that still tangled with hers.
Then, he set about her like a parched man come out of the desert. Her legs slammed over his ears and yet he still heard the noises she made, unlike anything he had ever heard escape human lips. Her muscles seemed to all tense at once, lifting her off the bed, winding tighter upon themselves and he kept up his action, hoping she would snap.
Sensation rushed over her. She could not control it, name it, explain it. It built inside her; her body was a creek that raged with rapids after a hard rain, and then finally, the water crested, leaving her a puddle on the bed.
She felt him leave her for the briefest moment as she rode her high. Then she felt him return, a finger, probing her sensitive center. She looked up at him through hazy eyes and realized his pants were gone. She saw the barest glimpse of his cock between his legs and she felt no fear, despite its size. She reached for his bicep and squeezed, feeling his taunt flesh. He kissed her hand - the way he would if her was asking her to dance, she thought absently - and then she felt him.
Ned looked down, guiding himself, as he gently pushed into her with his aching cock. It was unlike anything he had ever imagined. Her walls clung to him, bathing him in warmth and softness, not unlike a river, he thought, but so snug, as he looked at her blue hooded eyes. He gradually settled over her, looking upon her face - her long neck, her teeth on her lower lip, the flush in her cheeks, the mess of her hair around her - and when he was fully seated, he buried his head in her neck and groaned, low in his throat.
Her hands wandered absently over his back, sending pleasure up and down his spine that made his cock twitch inside her. Her head rolled to the side and she kissed him on his cheek as she began to shift her hips against him, experimentally. Her breath was heavy in his ear. As he began to move against her, all he could think of was that old song. He never wanted to leave this space between her thighs.
Too quickly, his movements became erratic, though never too forceful, worried that her silence meant she was in pain. He spilled inside her with something between a shout and a bark rising from his throat. He trembled in her arms and she wrapped her long, creamy legs around him.
They were still wrapped together when he looked up into her face, this woman never meant to be his, and he brought his lips softly to hers. Smoothing her hair out of her face, he asked breathlessly, “Did I hurt you?”
“No, my Lord,” she smiled, smoothing his hair in the same fashion.
“Will you call me Ned?”
She nodded, running a hand through his brown curls. “You may call me Cat.”
As he slipped from her and gathered her to his chest, he prayed to the old Gods that, whatever may come, he had done as she asked and given her a babe.