He’s still terribly cute. Look at him, just adorable. She reaches out to take his hand again, giving it another kiss.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that was a lovely exit. Do you need a minute of quiet, should I find something to distract myself with to give you proper space?”

"I believe I have a duty to fulfill," he replies, though the returning flush to his face suggests he may enjoy the idea of the duty somewhat.

“Certainly, but it need not be right this minute. I’m not about to run from the room screaming about you not immediately bending me over to enter me the first moment you had me alone.” Hand kiss. “I am perfectly happy to wait for you. Or hear whatever seems to be on your mind, if you’ve the need to share it.”

Alisander frowns. "You're as bad as Zakary. He can always tell what I'm feeling, too, just from looking. Sometimes not even looking." Then he stops himself and shakes his head. "Forgive me, that was out of line."

“Was it? I didn’t think so. I’d rather we be honest with each other than not.”

He looks down at his lap but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I suppose milady is right. Though we've just met so I, ah..." He clears his throat. "Am not altogether completely at ease, you could say. Which is certainly not the most Starklike trait."

“Well, good thing I didn’t marry the ultimate ideal of House Stark itself. I married you. And you, being a person of flesh and blood, are a bit more complicated than that. Which sounds altogether preferable, I expect I’d get terribly bored, being married to an ideal instead of a person.”

The sentence "Brandon was the ideal Stark" dies on his lips. She knew his brother better than Alis did, and probably suffers from grief much more than he does.

"Nevertheless. I cannot help but feel like—" and once again Brandon's name isn't uttered. "Like someone else in my place would be having less trouble getting to the main part here, with a beautiful, intelligent, perceptive wife such as you right there. Someone else in my place would have welcomed the feast in my honour and been joyful and merry." Okay actually some of his flush is probably the wine, with how the words are just flowing out with a lot less care than usual.

“Ah,” she says softly. “And maybe if I were more intelligent and perceptive, I’d have gone for, oh, Jaime Lannister instead of,” and she can’t say his name either, but she carries on regardless, “and father would feel secure enough to not have handed my baby sister off to the first High Lord that was available, in a bid to keep the Riverlands from being sacked and pillaged.” Hand kiss. “See, there are my ugly feelings about not being good enough, we make a perfect pair. I don't think you're—not good enough. You've been very sweet, and thoughtful, and kind. I don't think taking time to talk through one's feelings before performing one's duty to their House is a sin, either, I actually just think it's smart. Besides, I'd rather work from the reality in front of me instead of comparing myself or others to mirages of what might have beens."

He turns to look at her, then, and as the memory of what exactly the duty he's meant to be fulfilling surfaces back up he turns away. Then he remembers that actually it's fine to look, and to want her, and okay maybe he should in fact not have drunk that much wine his logic isn't working well right now. But he looks at her again anyway.

"...I think this has been a good enough break," and wow that sounded much better in his head but out loud it just sounded kind of daft. Where's the demon that possessed him back at the feast to make him have good words, he wants it back.

She smiles a bit, and gives his hand a squeeze.

“You needn’t rush, darling. Yes, it’s a duty, and we should probably get to it sometime tonight, but we’re the ones doing it, and, um.” And now here is her blush. “… if it’s possible, I’d like it to be an experience we can both enjoy? It’d pain me to put the man who’s supposed to be my partner in the position of… gritting your teeth and getting it over with.”

"...I think I, ah. Would. Enjoy it. Actually. More than I'd expected." It did at one point occur to him that maybe he could only be with men and he had a nice little panic about it but Zakary reassured him that he was probably overthinking and besides in the worst case Alis could always just picture him while fucking his wife and he punched Zak hard enough to knock the wind out of him but he did see the logic in it, grudgingly. Fortunately it seems like it will very much not be necessary, if his current feelings are any indication. "And I want to make sure you enjoy it. I will need your help, though, I haven't really done it before," and oh gods there goes his tongue again he already heavily implied he did have a lover, maybe she'll assume that that's what he meant by "not exactly" was that he hadn't really been with anyone or... argh.

“Oh,” she murmurs, and her blush deepens. "Well. I have no experience to speak of either, except, er. Some kissing. So, um. While I'm happy to help, I don't really know... how. I mean I—I understand the mechanics at play I just don't, um, have firsthand experience and. Um."

"Then if milady would permit me I would begin with her clothes."

Some stuff is the same. Kissing is the same, and hands and places. Some stuff isn't. He's been told women can climax multiple times—well, Zakary told him this, other people have implied no such thing and he's even heard some people claiming that women cannot climax at all ("So now you know who's absolutely terrible in bed," said Zakary)—so he knows he'll want to pace himself. Make her feel good. Women aren't like men, you can't just get the oil and get going, they need more care, more love. He needs to make sure she is comfortable and happy, he should use his fingers and his mouth ("But don't hold onto scripts, people are different, you know? Just pay attention to her, listen to her, let her tell you and show you what she likes the most." "Will this help with conceiving heirs?" "Alisander Stark I will pretend you did not just say that and continue to believe that your goal when going to bed with your wife will not be limited to getting heirs."), and if being a man means that when he climaxes he will have a lot less interest for a bit, he should make sure at the very least that he's pleasured her as much as he can before they get to the heir-making part.

She was not expecting to enjoy her wedding night this much. At best, she was hoping to find the experience somewhat fulfilling. Sure, there are all sorts of songs and poems about the act being pleasurable, but there are all sorts of songs about everything, really. It doesn't make any of them true. Ultimately, she didn't want to get too much of a false impression of what sex is like by giving it unrealistic expectations before she even got into it. It seemed to be a thing men enjoy a lot, and women tolerated (or didn't) for various reasons, and other data could be explained away as outliers, or liars, or a deep emotional connection, or something. Not something to be relied upon. Whatever else it was, it was going to be a thing that she did for conceiving children and making her husband happy, and that'd be enough.

That is not what is going on here. What is going on here is that his hands feel amazing, and his warmth and weight against her feels even better, and every part of him is wonderful. She'd made the jape about his mouth, because she'd figured out it's useful for married couples through social context clues, but she did not understand. That has very much changed. She understands now. Suddenly people being insane over this one subject matter makes so much more sense! Insanity seems perfectly reasonable. Sign her right up for a healthy helping of the stuff, now and forevermore. He can keep touching her as much as he likes. She is his to touch this night, and every night after, and instead of that being a somewhat daunting prospect, it's the best thing ever. Of the hopes she'd had, she'd hoped she'd be strong enough to not beg her husband for him to stop. The idea that she might want to beg him to continue didn't enter her potential futures. It turns out that was more likely. She'll say 'please,' and she'll whimper his name, and say she's his, and, and, and anything else he wants, what does he want, she'll be so, so happy to give it to him. She is so happy to be used however he likes, and would be delighted to bear his heirs.

They're not marching on the morrow, so Alisander doesn't try to rush this, or cram as many sessions as he can into it. He's not even sure that works, he thinks you need to do this over multiple days and it depends on whether the woman is fertile right then. They have some time.

But also: yeah this was a great idea actually. It's... it's just different, he didn't really know what to expect but it's great. This whole marriage thing is turning out to be a much sweeter deal than he'd been led to believe.

And at the end of it he can just cuddle her, spent, exhausted, and kind of feeling very affectionate. He figured the causation arrow was the other way around but apparently making love to someone does just directly make you feel more comfortable with them. This is good.

His wife is also feeling very affectionate. So, so affectionate. He's a good husband. She's glad she married him. She's just a happy little bundle of love nestled into him, gently drifting off to sleep in his arms.

He dims the lamp light down to nothing and then settles into sleep, too. It feels a little bit like he hasn't slept in a while. He supposes he's been kind of worried about all of this for that while. But the wedding is done, the alliance is settled, his Zakary is back and in good health, and his wife turns out to be a gift from the gods.

...maybe he'll need to deal with those two last statements at some point. Better than he has so far, that is. But for now he'll just be out like a light.

The party concludes without them, eventually, and a little while after that, morning comes. Since it's the morning after a double wedding, one of which was theirs, they aren't disturbed by anyone.

She stirs first, sleepy and sore and very, very cozy. She's far too comfortable to be any kind of frightened, but she is a bit confused. That fades soon enough as she remembers what all happened the day (and night) before. Oh. Right. She's married now. Properly considered a full woman, deflowered and everything. Probably she should do proper wifely duties like arranging breakfast and maybe a nice hot bath and the like, but. ... She's so cozy. He's such a wonderful husband. If the world can stay still and leave them like this forever, that'd be great, actually.

So instead of going and sorting out proper wifely duties and leaving her poor husband to sleep alone, she stays nestled next to him, somewhere between waking and dozing.

Alis takes a while longer than her to wake up, exhausted to the bone as he has been from these physical and emotional trials and tribulations. He has some sleep debt to pay, and for the first time in a while he allows himself to do it.

He isn't particularly confused, when he wakes up; this is not the first time this has happened with someone in his arms. The confusion happens once he notices the unexpected shape of said someone and there's a second's freeze until the memories catch up to him, too, at which point he gets back to being fully relaxed. "M'rning, milady," he says, then covers a yawn with his free hand. He's not sounding extremely bleary or sleepy—waking up quickly and promptly is something you have to learn how to do if you don't want to have your throat slit in your sleep—but he makes no effort to try to get up either.

"Good morning," she says affectionately, caressing little circles into his arm with a thumb. She should probably say something else besides that, but actually she's instead grinning like an idiot and feeling oddly shy for speaking to a man who so recently knew her in such a carnal fashion. (Speaking of, can they do that again? Soon, possibly right now? She has no idea, it seems presumptuous to ask and it's only an idle thought, not a burning need.)

"...something on your mind?" he asks a couple of seconds after she greets him, looking down at her face—what he can see of it—with an open and curious expression on his.

"I was, that is, um," she stutters, and then she nestles closer to him so she can hide her face. After a pause, she mumbles: ".... You are a kind and dutiful husband and I am happily yours for the taking anytime you'd like me."

He takes a couple more seconds to understand what exactly she's saying and when it clicks he blushes a little bit, himself. Also, if Anavett was not familiar with the concept of morning wood she might find herself becoming so.

"I, uh, I need to use the privy, give me, erm," and oh gods this is really awkward and embarrassing but on the other hand he suddenly has a need.

.... She giggles. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry to delay you, um. Should I poke my head outside and arrange something to break our fast with?"