Jon swallowed down his nerves, and still felt them fluttering all through his stomach. It felt silly, in a way, to still feel so nervous around a woman who had been his Lady Wife for the better part of a year, and his true companion for several moons' turn by now. They had taken countless strolls through the gardens, and Jon still could not believe how they had come to life under her care, full of day and night blooming flowers alike, alive with scents he could have never even imagined. She even, at times, accompanied him to the Godswood and looked upon the laughing Heart tree as he prayed. Somehow, though, tonight felt different, weightier, her hand heavier on his arm than it had been since they had finally come together, and he could hardly catch his breath for the apprehension rushing through him.
When he knelt before the Heart tree, she sat herself down next to him, smoothing her skirts out around herself, and as always she was silent, waiting patiently, but she was not as restful as usual. Rather, she seemed to almost thrum with something he could not possibly name, and it racked his own anxiety up to where he did not even know what to do with it. It was only minutes before he gave up the hopes of finding peace and prayer that night and turned towards her. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her; she was beautiful in ways he could not describe, and regardless of what he had thought for a while there, so fearful of her rejection he had walked through his own castle on the tips of his toes, frightened and embarrassed, she was kind as well, thoughtful. Funny, even, when she chose to be, and although he had not chosen her himself, and would not have wanted it to happen so early, theoretically, he was beyond grateful that she was here, with him, that she was his Lady Wife, his, the one person no one could ever take from him. He only hoped she felt half of that for him. "Is something wrong?" he asked, suddenly uncertain. Half of him near thought she meant to tell him that she wished to go back to how things had been, to the polite distance and overt avoidance, that he had become too much of a burden. He did not know what he would do if that were the case.
She looked at him for long moments, her blue eyes glowing gold in the faint light of the evening. Her hand came up to clasp his, and relief gripped him tight and warm for a moment. She could not possibly mean to go back to formalities alone if she could touch him like this. Still, for long moments she did not speak, and Jon felt fear begin to rise. What if something was wrong? Was she ill? Had someone caused her some kind of harm? She must have read something in his expression, because at long last a faint smile tugged on her shapely lips. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "At least I hope not." The long breath she drew in shuddered audibly, and Jon turned his hand over, laced their fingers together. Margaery's other hand came up, covered the back of his, and utter fear made Jon's breath catch and his chest constrict once more. He glanced up at the laughing tree, fought to find some kind of solace from the sight of that kindly face, but it did not come. He had no idea what to do with this situation, and that always seemed to draw him up short. Her thumb rubbed across his knuckles. She drew in another breath. The knots in Jon's stomach tightened further. "I am with child," she said.
For one long moment, Jon's whole world stopped and seemed to hang suspended. He could not breathe, or move, or speak. A million thoughts rushed through his mind. He was barely more than a child himself, hardly a man grown, for all that he had been wedded and bedded for almost a year. He still required his uncle or aunt to sit in when he heard petitions. He still woke from night terrors telling him to 'wake up'. He still did not even know what kind of man he would be at all, for all the hopes he had for himself and his future. When it came down to it, he was still the motherless bastard who would rather find a way to hide than have too many people look upon him. The thought of being so utterly responsibly for another human being made his throat clog, made his vision threaten to white out. If they had not been in the Godswood, he thought he might have run away. But how could he? He was before the Heart tree, before the Old Gods of his Lord Father, and they saw everything that happened within their domain. How could he run away when they would forever know him to be craven? He could not, would not, bring shame upon his House or his father's. Somehow, he dredged up a smile, hoped his undoubtedly too-wide eyes would not give too much away. "That is wonderful news, My Lady," he managed. He could almost imagine that his voice did not sound strangled.
How much of an idiot was he? They had been bedding almost nightly for moons. She was flowered, and his stubble was growing coarser seemingly by the day. He had been shaving for moons now, and his voice was that of a man. Most of their peers did not wed until they were at least a few years older than the two of them, and of the few who did wed so early, most did not have children until years later. Jon supposed it was just something he had put out of his mind, to deal with later. But later, it seemed, was now, and unless he wanted another several horrible moons of distance between himself and Margaery, he was going to have to be a man grown and deal. And so he would. It was not the hardest thing he had had to do. At least he did not think so. Although, honestly, at that very moment he was hard pressed to remember anything that might ever have been harder.
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