Work Text:
Sansa had made him a cloak on the cusp of winter, a gift to warm him but also to indicate his importance as a part of House Stark.
Now that spring had come again, Jon wished to give her a gift, something pretty to make her smile but useable, something a man might give his wife.
He sent word for her to join him when she was at leisure. He might have hinted that he had something for her. Sooner than expected (or not knowing how she secretly took a girlish delight in surprises), he straightened when he heard the rustling of her skirts.
Her mossy green gown was made of velvet instead of the wool and even leather she’d worn throughout winter. The color complimented her ivory skin and auburn hair. He loved the soft feel of it when his hand would wrap around her waist. Every graceful step she took sang of spring. And while she looked every inch a queen as she approached, he could clearly see the woman whose cheeks never failed to turn a rosy pink whenever he joined her beneath their furs at night.
She came to stand beside him and looked down on the activity below, a keen interest playing across her face.
“Who are those men?” she asked, indicating the newcomers.
“Glassblowers and glaziers from Myr.”
“From Myr?” Her brow quirked in question and a slight frown appeared.
“Sam found them for me. I have given them their freedom and they have agreed to restore our glass gardens. They’ll be paid wages to share their knowledge with our people. They may stay or go as they please though.”
The frown disappeared. “Maester Luwin once told me that the best glass came from Myr.”
“He was right.”
“It will be beneficial to everyone for us to restore the gardens and grow vegetables there again.”
“And perhaps flowers as well, my lady.”
There was that lovely blush again along with a smile. “It’s a very fine gift, Jon.”
“I’m glad you approve but this is not all I wish to show you. Come with me.”
He took her by the hand, an act that was becoming more natural for them. Despite the initial and inevitable awkwardness of marrying a person you’d grown up believing was your half-sibling, despite suffering the torment of shameful longings prior to the truth being known, they loved one another and were working on building a marriage while rebuilding their home.
He’d had the bolt of lace placed in their chambers. The white had been so crisp and clean-looking in the yard when it’d been presented to him, he’d been afraid to touch it and possibly soil it. He’d like to touch it though. He’d like to touch it on her.
“Myrish lace,” she murmured, her hands ghosting over the delicate fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
Not nearly so beautiful as you. “I thought you might make use of it. You could make something pretty for yourself if you please.”
“I wouldn’t need it all for me but there is plenty here.”
“Of course. Whatever you think is best,” he agreed though he hoped she’d still indulge herself with some of the lace for her own.
“Perhaps your gift can please me and bring pleasure to others as well.”
And it did indeed.
His clever queen gifted some of the much sought after lace to other ladies, some who were friendly to them and some she wished to make friends of. Some were brilliant women, some were cunning and some were mere fools but all appreciated the queen’s generosity.
“And whenever they touch the lace, perhaps they’ll think kindly of the bearer,” she’d explained.
For herself, Sansa added a little of the lace to three of her gowns, not a lot, just enough to give them a touch of distinction from her other dresses, including the green velvet. She kept those gowns back for special occasions. The love he bore her only grew each time he’d see her wearing one and he took an absurd pride in her delight whenever anyone would pay her a compliment.
“Jon gave me the lace,” she’d say sweetly, soft as a kiss.
But, Jon’s favorite things by far she’d made with his gift were the small clothes that no one save himself ever saw.
“Forgive me, wife. I am only a man with all of a man’s carnal appetites when it comes to you,” he’d plead whenever she’d scold him for his busy hands.
“Tonight, when we’re alone,” she’d chasten.
He could be drinking ale with his bannermen in the Great Hall and surrounded by dozens of others as she might be twirling on the arm of another man but at some point, she would finger the lace on her gown and give him a smile that was for him alone. His heart would pound like a drum and it was never long before Jon was sweeping his wife from the room and away to their chambers, sometimes quite rudely without even begging anyone’s pardon for his hasty departure.
For alone in their chambers, he knew he’d find more of that lace hiding beneath her gown and shift and stays.
He’d pull her into his arms, his mouth hungrily working its way along her jaw as his fingers fumbled with her lacings and he’d receive his usual warning.
“If you tear one more pair of them, Jon…”
“I’ve already sent for more lace, my love.”
“But this was my gift,” she’d reply, the lilt in her voice betraying any attempt at sternness.
And the guard outside their door would move down the corridor whenever he heard the sinful sound of the beautiful lace being torn, his queen’s laughter and his king’s rumbling response, “You said my gift could bring pleasure to others as well. It’s like the gift that keeps on giving.”