Hyaclnth
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“On the wedding night,” Lysa had continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you must be bold. You must not disappoint him. You must please him.”
Please him.
The words echoed in your head, a relentless, terrifying refrain. Please him how? The thought had never truly occurred to you. In your sheltered life, filled with books and needlepoint, intimacy had begun and ended with chaste kisses you’d shared with Jon in the secluded shadows of the godswood. You had assumed, naively, that on your wedding night, you would simply… talk. And then sleep. Side by side, perhaps. The thought of anything else was a vast, uncharted wilderness, and you were utterly lost.
What happened on a wedding night? What did it mean to ‘please’ a husband? The questions were a fire inside you, but you had no one to ask. Asking the handmaidens would only invite more of their humiliating giggles. Asking Lady Stark was unthinkable. Asking your own maids, who were as sheltered as you, would be useless.
You needed answers. And there was only one person in the world you trusted to give them to you, even if you didn’t know how to ask.
Bookmarked by Hyaclnth
23 Jan 2026