Wedding

40 AC

Winterfell Godswood

Third Person Pov

The heart of Winterfell's godswood was hushed, the ancient weirwood tree standing sentinel over the assembled lords of the North. A light dusting of snow shimmered on its pale bark and the surrounding evergreens, lending a serene beauty to the winter scene. The lords of Winterfell, their faces solemn and expectant, stood in a semi-circle, their banners furled against the cold.

Before the heart tree, stood Lord Torrhen Stark, his weathered face etched with a mixture of pride and solemnity. He would officiate the ancient rites that would bind his grandson to his chosen bride. Beside him stood Theon Stark, his usual calm demeanor tinged with a barely perceptible air of nervous anticipation. He was dressed in stark grey cloak, the direwolf sigil of his house embroidered in silver thread upon his chest. His gaze was fixed on the path leading into the godswood, waiting for the woman who had captured the heart of the 'Mighty Wolf' to arrive. The only sound was the gentle whisper of the wind through the branches, carrying the weight of tradition and the promise of a new beginning for House Stark.

A hush fell over the assembled lords as figures emerged from the snow-dusted path leading into the godswood. First came Lord Theomore Mormont, a stern-faced man with the rugged bearing of Bear Island, his dark green cloak trimmed with grey fur. Beside him walked his daughter, Diana Mormont.

She wore a gown of deep forest green velvet that seemed to absorb the muted light of the godswood, its simple cut emphasizing her strong, graceful form. A cloak of light grey wool, fastened at her shoulder with a clasp shaped like a fierce bear's head, billowed slightly behind her as she moved. Her dark brown hair was braided, and her green eyes, the color of a emeralds, were fixed on Theon. She moved with a quiet confidence, the very air around her seeming to carry the untamed spirit of Bear Island. Lord Theomore's hand rested lightly on her arm as they approached the heart tree, ready to present her to her future husband.

Lord Torrhen Stark raised his hands, his voice, though aged, still carrying a resonant authority that silenced the gentle rustling of the wind. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

Theomore Mormont stepped forward, his stern face softened by the solemnity of the occasion. "Diana, of the House Mormont, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Theon's gaze remained locked on Diana,

Theon then turned to Torrhen stark. "Theon of House Stark, heir to Winterfell."

Theon Stark's gaze turned towards Theomore Mormont, a respectful nod accompanying his question. "Who gives her?"

Theomore Mormont's voice boomed slightly in the quiet godswood. "Theomore of the House Mormont, Lord of Bear Island, who is her father."

"Lady Diana Mormont," Torrhen then said, his gaze turning to her, "do you take this man to be your husband, to share his joys and sorrows, to stand by his side in times of peace and peril, for all the days the Old Gods grant you?"

Diana took Theon's hand in his, her grip firm and unwavering. "I do."

Torrhen then shifted his gaze to Theon and asked, "Theon Stark, do you take this woman to be your wife, to cherish her, to honor her, and to protect her against all the darkness that may come, for all the days the Old Gods grant you?"

As the ancient words hung in the air, Theon took Diana's hands in his. Her emerald gaze softened as she looked up at him, and a profound sense of belonging settled within him. "I do."

The sound of the wind rustling through the weirwood's branches seemed almost like a blessing, a whispered promise from the Old Gods themselves. As Theon leaned down to kiss Diana, sealing their vows beneath the ancient heart tree, a deep sense of peace settled over him.

The world seemed to fade around them, leaving only him and her bathed in the pale light filtering through the snow-dusted branches. In that moment, they believed that nothing could ever break the bond they had just forged.

Hand in hand, they turned to leave the courtyard, the sacred silence of the Old Gods still echoing in their minds like a soft hum. No words were needed. The moment had been too profound to tarnish with idle chatter. Their few family members and friends, who had borne witness to the ceremony, hung back, respecting the sanctity of their new union. Husband and wife.

As Theon and Diana left the heart tree, the Northern lords cheered and rushed forward with congratulations.

"The Mighty Wolf's found his she-bear! A great match for the North!" boomed Lord Umber.

Lady Hornwood welcomed Diana, and Lord Manderly offered a toast: "To the happy couple!"

Theon and Diana, overjoyed, accepted the lords' warm wishes. The atmosphere was filled with excitement as the wedding party headed to the Great Hall for the wedding feast, promising a night of joyous celebration and stronger bonds between the Northern houses.

Inside the Great Hall, the celebration was in full swing. Lords, relieved and joyful, conversed freely, their earlier solemnity replaced with festive cheer. Laughter echoed through the hall as Lord Manderly regaled his neighbors with tales of White Harbor, his voice booming over the music. Ladies, adorned in their finest furs and jewels, exchanged pleasantries and congratulations, their smiles as bright as the hall's many candles. Even the usually taciturn Lord Reed was seen sharing a rare smile and a cup of ale with Lord Flint, their conversation a low rumble amidst the general merriment. The hall buzzed with a sense of camaraderie and shared joy, a welcome respite from the worries of winter.

As Theon and Diana ascended the dais in the Great Hall, the lords began to present their wedding gifts, each offering a token of their esteem and well wishes. Lord Ragnar Lothbrok, a man with a weathered face and piercing blue eyes, approached first. He presented a magnificent stag skin, thick and supple, its fur a rich tapestry of browns and greys. "A gift for warmth in the long winters, and for good fortune in the hunt," he announced in a strong, clear voice, the stag a symbol of strength and prosperity in the North.

Following Lord Ragnar, other lords came forward with their offerings. Lord Cerwyn presented a pair of sturdy hunting hounds, their leashes held by a young kennelmaster. "May these hounds bring you joy and aid in your hunts, Lord and Lady Stark." Lady Tallhart gifted a finely woven tapestry depicting the history of House Stark, its intricate threads telling tales of courage and resilience. Lord Flint offered a chest filled with ironwood, a valuable resource for the long winters ahead. Each gift was unique, reflecting the character and resources of the house presenting it, a tangible representation of the North's support for their future Lord and Lady.

As the feast drew to a close, a lord, emboldened by the ale, raised a cry: "Bedding! Bedding!" Several others took up the chant, eager to observe the traditional bedding ceremony. However, before anyone could proceed, Theon Stark swept Diana into his arms in a swift, bridal carry. With a determined look in his eyes, he strode out of the Great Hall, leaving the stunned guests in his wake. He didn't give anyone a chance to touch his bride or follow custom.

In their bedchamber, Theon gently placed Diana on her feet. They stood for a moment, gazing at each other in the soft candlelight. A small smile played on Theon's lips as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Diana's cheek. "You are even more beautiful than the day I met you Diana," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

Diana's cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled. "And you, theon," she replied, her voice equally soft, "Still as clueless as the day we met." She reached up to trace the strong line of his jaw. 

Theon chuckled, his gaze never leaving hers. "What can I say, I feel lost in those eyes of yours."

Okay, here's eight more passages of banter between Theon and Diana in their bedchamber:

"Lost?" Diana raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "The Mighty Wolf of Winterfell, lost? I find that hard to believe."

Theon stepped closer, his hand still gently framing her face. "Only when I look at you. You've bewitched me, Diana Mormont."

"Bewitched?" she echoed, but her voice was breathless now, the playful tone softening. "Is that truly the word you'd use, Theon Stark?"

"The only one that fits," he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips. "From the moment I saw you on Bear Island, I knew my life would never be the same."

Diana's heart pounded in her chest. "You were rather quiet about it at the time," she teased, though her voice betrayed her own growing emotion.

"A Stark always plays his cards close to his chest," Theon countered, his thumb gently stroking her cheekbone. "But my heart spoke volumes, even then."

"And what is your heart saying now, my lord?" Diana asked, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes searching his.

Theon's eyes burned with an intensity that made Diana's breath catch in her throat. "It's saying that I've waited a lifetime for this moment, and that you are everything I've ever wanted."

Theon didn't answer her question with words. Instead, he lowered his head, his gaze locked on hers. His first kiss was feather-light, a tentative exploration of her lips that sent a shiver down Diana's spine. It was a kiss that spoke of reverence and a long-held desire finally given voice.

Diana sighed softly into the kiss, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. The gentleness of the kiss deepened, becoming more assured, more demanding. Theon tilted his head, deepening the connection, and the world outside the circle of their embrace seemed to fade away.

Then, the kiss shifted. The tenderness flared into passion, a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface. Theon's hold tightened, his lips becoming more insistent, and he kissed her with a fierce intensity that stole her breath away. Diana met his passion with her own, her lips parting willingly, her body leaning into his.

Theon broke the kiss, his breath mingling with hers, his eyes dark with desire. He trailed kisses along her jawline, his hands moving to the fastenings of her gown. With deftness born of anticipation, he slowly began to undo the delicate clasps and laces, revealing the soft velvet beneath.

Diana shivered, not from cold, but from the heat that was building between them. Her gaze never left his as he worked, her fingers reaching up to help him with his own clothing.

When the gown finally pooled at her feet, Theon stepped back for a moment, his eyes sweeping over her with an appreciative gaze. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"You are even more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured, and then, with a playful grin, he swept his arms beneath her and lifted her off her feet.

Diana gasped, surprised but delighted. Before she could even react, Theon carried her the few steps to the bed and gently tossed her onto the soft furs, his eyes sparkling with mischief and love.

Theon quickly shed his own garments, his eyes never leaving Diana as he undressed. The stark grey cloak and tunic fell to the floor, followed by his boots and breeches. He stood before her for a moment, his gaze filled with adoration.

Then, he knelt beside the bed, reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. His touch was tender, filled with a reverence that spoke volumes of his feelings for her. He leaned in, whispering soft words of affection against her skin, his breath warm against her ear.

He took his time, exploring her body with gentle hands and lips, learning the curves and contours that had haunted his dreams for so long. His touch was patient and loving, focused entirely on her pleasure. He wanted this first time as husband and wife to be a tender and cherished memory for them both.

Diana's breath hitched, her body arching slightly under Theon's tender ministrations. The sensations he was creating were exquisite, building within her with an intensity that was becoming almost unbearable. She reached for him, her fingers digging lightly into his shoulders.

"Theon," she murmured, her voice husky and urgent, her eyes filled with a raw desire that matched his own. The gentleness was still there, a foundation of love beneath it, but the need was undeniable now. She shifted restlessly, her gaze locking with his. "Please," she breathed, her voice a low plea. "I need you... I need you now."

Theon's eyes darkened, his own desire flaring in response to Diana's words. The tenderness didn't vanish, but it was now entwined with a fierce urgency. He shifted, positioning himself between her thighs, his gaze searching hers for confirmation. At her eager nod, a low growl rumbled in his chest.

He entered her slowly, filling her completely. Diana gasped, her back arching into the furs, her fingers clenching on his shoulders. The connection was deep, primal, and utterly consuming. Theon paused, giving her a moment to adjust, his gaze locked with hers. He could see the love and trust in her eyes, and it fueled the fire within him.

Then, he began to move. Each thrust was deep and powerful, a testament to his strength and his need for her. Diana met him with equal passion, her hips rising to meet his, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The soft candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating their entwined bodies.

The world outside the bedchamber ceased to exist. There was only the rhythm of their bodies, the heat of their skin, the sound of their breathing, and the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected. With each thrust, the tension built, coiling tighter and tighter within them, until they were both on the edge of oblivion.