"I can't believe we're getting married tomorrow" Kurt admitted out loud, stretching lazily on his stomach on the bed, his face buried in the pillows. He could feel the shuffling sounds Blaine was making as he undressed, but he was too tired to turn around after a last busy day of preparations.

"Again, you mean" Blaine said, a sudden weight on the mattress announcing his approach.

"Yeah" Kurt chuckled, this time lifting his head to peer behind his shoulder. "It's a little weird, isn't it?"

"Well, if you consider the fact that this will be your third marriage" Blaine pointed out, and even though there didn't seem to be resentment in his voice nor on his face, it hurt to hear it.

"Please, let's just- let's forget that ever happened" Kurt pleaded, planting his elbows on the bed to support his weight more fully and stare at Blaine intently. "Can we do that?"

Blaine rotated from his sitting position and stretched on his side to stare back at him.

"Of course we can" he whispered, the hand he wasn't using to hold his head lightly skimming down Kurt's naked spine. "I'm sorry, moon of life."

"Mm, don't be" Kurt murmured, his cheek resting on the pillow once again as his eyelids closed slowly, lulled by the movement. "Especially if you keep doing that."

Blaine did, and soon enough Kurt could feel sleep take over. He was sure he had actually fallen asleep for a couple of minutes. That is, until one of Blaine's fingers slipped lower, over the dimples of his lower back and between his cheeks, just a teasing stroke.

"Blaine" he sighed into the pillow, his body tensing, but he kept his eyes closed.

"What?" he heard Blaine say innocently, the pad of his finger skipping lower still, applying that much more pressure that made Kurt suck in a sharp breath.

"Did you know that people in Westeros consummate only after their marriages?" he teased, even though his voice wasn't as strong and sure as he had meant it to be.

Blaine instead gave one of those dark chuckles that made Kurt's toes curl in anticipation, his voice switching to that smooth tone that he liked to consider as sinful as sex itself.

"It's a little too late for that, now, is it?" he said, finger almost slipping inside but retreating at the last instant, making Kurt's legs spread a little wider as his hips thrust lazily into the bed in that way that had stopped being embarrassing such a long time before, yet still had him blush like a virgin.

"Yeah, I- I suppose it is" he agreed breathily, because really, to respect that particular tradition would have been quite hypocrite of him anyway. "Do you want to..."

Blaine's answer to his incomplete yet unmistakable question came when his husband draped himself over Kurt's back and started mouthing at the nape of his neck, his lips biting and sucking at Kurt's vertebrae as he began inching his way down. Kurt could have participated a little more, but sometimes he just let Blaine have his way with him, and as tired as he was, that was definitely going to be one of those times. He trusted Blaine so completely that he knew he didn't need to tell him what he could or couldn't do, so he relaxed into the mattress and sighed contentedly at the feeling of being touched and cherished and being taken care of.

And that's how it's going to be for the rest of my life, he thought.

But the fingers he was finding himself hoping for didn't come. Instead, Blaine's breath lingered on his lower back longer than usual and his strong hands came up to massage his cheeks slowly.

"I want to try something new" Blaine said – almost shyly, it seemed to Kurt, which was very rare. Also, was there still something new?

"What, something else you did with one of your kinky Dothraki boyfriends?" Kurt sweetly mocked him, exorcising his own irrational jealousy at the thought. Blaine's breath stopped for a moment, and his hands tightened around Kurt's flesh.

"No" he confessed quietly. "I've never done it to anyone else. It's too intimate."

The revelation couldn't help but echo through Kurt's mind, mixed with sudden curiosity and eagerness to learn. With it came a sense of utter surrender, an ache to tear down his last walls – if there were any still left – and give himself up completely. He was in such a vulnerable position, with no control over anything, but he was safe.

"You can do whatever you want to me, my sun-and-stars" he told him, because it was true. Nothing else had ever been that true in his life.

Blaine's breath was shaky when his lips came down to plant a feather-like kiss on the skin of his back, and Gods, Kurt wished he could see him – his flushed face and panting, half-open mouth rounded by plush, perfect lips, the muscles of his arms rippling with the effort of holding himself up on his elbows, but most of all the hunger Kurt knew resided in his eyes: hunger for him, always.

"You don't even know what it does to me when you say things like that" Blaine murmured, and with that, he spread Kurt's cheeks with his hands and kissed him right there, there where he had taken him and claimed him and owned him so many times Kurt had lost count, but never like that, never in the same way he did with Kurt's lips and neck and chest and cock. It lasted barely more than a second, but something hot and bright coiled in Kurt's belly at the simple thought of it, of Blaine doing that to him and no one else before, of Blaine waiting so long to make sure it was right. His eyes opened suddenly at the feeling, hands gripping the sheets at either side of his head.

"Blaine" he sighed, shocked.

"I'll stop if you want me to" Blaine whispered mere inches from the spot he had just kissed, still holding him open with his fingers, the almost imperceptible circular movement of his thumbs right at the edges making Kurt's legs tremble.

"Isn't- isn't it filthy?" he asked, yet as he said it he realized he was pushing his hips backwards a little, chasing the pressure.

"Have anyone who is not me been here, inside of you?" Blaine inquired, and even though Kurt was sure it was some sort of rhetorical question, it made him yelp in outrage nonetheless.

"What? Of course not!"

He could almost swear Blaine was smiling.

"Then it's not filthy" he concluded before kissing Kurt's entrance again, this time in a slow, purposeful way. Kurt whimpered, muffling a moan into the pillow.

"Lift your head" Blaine demanded, voice gruff and throaty. "Wanna hear you."

Kurt had a feeling he wasn't going to be the only one to hear, because the volume of his voice kept rising the more insistent Blaine became; teasing, barely-there kisses turned into sharp yet too brief kitten licks, which turned into slow, languid swipes of tongue from his balls all the way up – and every single thing elicited something different from deep inside of him, being low-tone groans or choked-off mewls or high-pitched wails with his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, I knew you'd sound like this" Blaine groaned as the tip of his tongue circled around where Kurt was aching for contact. "So- so wrecked and desperate for it."

"Put- put it inside" Kurt found himself begging, heat rising to his cheeks, but he didn't care. "Put it inside, please, Blaine, please."

It should have been embarrassing, the sound he made when Blaine's tongue breached the ring of muscles, but in Kurt's defence Blaine himself was moaning brokenly, so he supposed he was allowed to make more noise. It wasn't as thick as a finger, nor as long, failing to reach where it should, but it was warmer and wetter and – Blaine had been right – so intimate, stripped down of shame and finesse; raw and primal and real and heartbreaking in the willingness it required from both of them. At some point the fingers came too, and both feelings mingled together were almost too much, but Kurt forced himself not to let go, pushing his hips toward Blaine's eager mouth and hand instead of rutting against the bed; he knew what came next, and he wanted it to last.

Blaine seemed to be on the same page.

"Wanna fuck you deep and slow tonight" he said as he slipped three of his fingers out, in that way that made it seem as if he was talking to himself more than Kurt, just babbling whatever filthy thing came to his mind – he always did that at some point, and Kurt looked forward to it. "Wanna have you for hours on end until the sun comes up, so tomorrow everyone will feel my smell all over you."

Blaine's body was back on his then, pinning it to the bed so Kurt couldn't lift himself up even if he wanted to – which he didn't, because in spite of the pleasure he was still dizzy and groggy with barely-contained sleepiness, his muscles all slow and loose and his eyes half-open. Blaine's hands covered his and tightened around them before he pushed himself inside, attaching his mouth to a spot behind Kurt's ear as if to soothe the sudden spark of pleasure-pain the action always caused in the beginning. It stayed there as he began to thrust, easing himself almost all the way out before pushing back in excruciatingly slowly, yet hard, lingering for a couple of seconds longer than usual when he was deep so their lower bodies were grinding together, making Kurt feel fuller than he had ever been.

His mind was floating between sleep and awareness, his own moans dulled and distant to his ears; the rhythm of Blaine's thrusts was so constant, so welcomed by his willing body, that it did nothing to startle him from his state of sleepy bliss. His hips matched Blaine's movements of their own accord without him realizing it, shifting back as Blaine pushed in, and it was the sound of Blaine moaning brokenly in his ear that moved him to make the effort of twisting his head around and kiss him messily. Their tongues dipped into each other's mouths, Blaine's fingers tightening around Kurt's wrists just as his nails clawed at the beddings, and they stayed like that, moaning against each other's lips, until indeed the sun came up.

It still felt too soon to Kurt.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ceremony was scheduled for the late morning, so he allowed himself to sleep in after- well, after spending the night differently. Blaine was clearly used to rest less, because he wasn't sleeping next to him when Kurt woke up. He stared at the empty spot for a moment before dragging his pleasantly sore body out of bed and wrap himself in the black silk robe he had left over the back of a chair. He rubbed the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes and decided to go look for Blaine; first he checked the privy, then the small dressing room attached to the bedroom, which was basically an oversized wardrobe where his servants put all his clothes after washing and drying them.

Blaine was staring at his reflection in the central of the three full length-mirrors placed at the end of the room, each one giving a slightly different view of oneself. He was wearing a burgundy red doublet decorated with intricate black drawings that looked suspiciously like his own tattoos, neck high so it almost reached his chin. From the mirror to his left Kurt could see he also had a black belt with a horse-shaped clasp in the middle, and his hair seemed different: following the shape of his head, it looked as if someone had combed it and fixed it so it would stay like that somehow, almost straight instead of curly. It wasn't plastered to it though, and a high gentle swipe over Blaine's forehead made it look effortlessly natural and genuine even though it wasn't at all.

Kurt had seen him dressed in the Westerosi fashion before, at Ryder's wedding and at the Wall, but it hadn't been that regal before; just something put together out of need. Blaine looked like a prince now, the type of prince little girls dream of being rescued by, with a white horse to ride toward the sunset together. Blaine's horse was black, though, and Blaine was Kurt's.

And he was beautiful.

"So fucking ridiculous" his husband muttered to himself, cutting off Kurt's reverie. He pulled at the collar of the doublet as if he couldn't breathe in it, and as he lifted his eyes he met Kurt's in the mirror and stopped.

"You're gorgeous" Kurt said from the doorway, holding the stare. Blaine turned around.

"You really think so?" he asked. The fabric was so well-fitting that Kurt could see the shape of his chest underneath it, watch him heave quiet, nervous breaths. The tamed curly hair, now framing the contours of his face more tightly, emphasized the strong line of his jaw, which had been shaved clean of the light stubble he usually sported. He looked strong but delicate at the same time, a new kind of beauty to Kurt's unaccustomed eyes.

"Of course I do" he replied automatically, tilting his head to the side in fascination before walking toward the mirror. "Where did you get this?"

He had expected Blaine to come to the wedding with his usual riding pants and leather boots, and it was fine. This was a total surprise. It didn't even look like something out of Kurt's own closet, and it couldn't possibly be given the differences between their physiques.

"Rachel had it made for me after she came back here with us" Blaine said quietly, as if he was ashamed of it. "I asked her to. I also borrowed her hair-people or- or whatever they're called."

Kurt frowned, stopping in front of him.

"Why?"

"I wanted to make this easier on you" Blaine replied. "You know, look... normal."

Kurt's heart dropped. He cringed.

"Normal?"

"You know what I mean" Blaine minimized, lifting a hand to scratch behind his neck and stopping when he realized it was clothed now. Kurt could see frustrated disappointment flashing in his eyes at the silly, yet remarkable detail.

"Yes, and I would never want you to do it" he said, cupping Blaine's face in his hands. It was so smooth and smelled of something flowery, and Gods, it wasn't like Blaine at all, he could see it now. "I love you, not the Lord people think you're supposed to be."

"You said I looked gorgeous, though" Blaine whispered, blinking at him. "You like me like this, don't you?"

"I like you any way I can get you" Kurt chuckled, shaking his head. "But please don't do this if you feel uncomfortable. This is your wedding, too."

Blaine pried Kurt's hands away from his cheeks and turned around again to stare at his reflection, a deep concentrated frown on his face.

"It's not... it's just- weird" he concluded after a moment, pursing his lips. The adjective still felt like a great achievement, given the way he usually complained about clothes. With a subconscious gesture, he pulled at the collar again.

"Here" Kurt beckoned, walking around him to start unbuttoning it. He opened it all the way down to the middle of his chest, exposing Blaine's tanned skin to the air. "Better?"

"Yeah" Blaine sighed, taking a deep breath as if his chest had been constricted until then – it probably was like that to him. "But everyone will see them like this."

He was looking down at his tattoos, the thing he was most proud of; to think he was willing to cover them up for Kurt's reputation or whatever it was made his heart skip a beat.

"I want them to" Kurt told him with a smile, placing his palm over the middle of Blaine's chest. "They are a part of you, and every part of you is beautiful."

Blaine lifted his chin with a finger and kissed him sweetly, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before pulling away. He looked flustered. Kurt loved when he was flustered.

"Will you... can we rehearse the words one more time? I'm terrible."

"Of course, my sun-and-stars."

They looked into each other's eyes to make sure they would start at the same time.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

Blaine forgot two of the Seven Gods and tripped over a third name, so it wasn't perfect. And yet, when later that day they said the words once more with the High Septon Figgins prompting them and the entire court silent and staring, Kurt knew he would remember them like that, standing in front of each other in a small cramped dressing room with Blaine cursing over his mistakes and barefooted Kurt dressed in nothing but a robe with sleep-mussed hair and the red press of the pillow he had moaned his lover's name into still tingling on his cheek.

He would remember it like that, secluded and secret and away from Lady Kitty's jealous, resentful scowl and the lords' judgmental stares; away from the sept where he had had to say goodbye to his best friend's body clad in a glittering armor. But the Gods and his people needed to see it, needed it to be official and palpable and understandable, so he gave them what they wanted.

They made some changes, of course. No cloak was laid on anyone's back; no charming prince pledged to protect his harmless lady from peril. But afterwards they kissed, and the crowd did clap, and it was indeed the wedding he had always wanted because this time, he wanted it. If there was one thing he regretted about his life, it was how scared of Blaine he had been when they had met, how their first marriage had felt like the end of the world, but his younger self couldn't know, back then, how things would turn out.

"You are the love of my life" older, wiser Kurt told Blaine as their lips parted – a whisper, so only they could hear.

Rachel got teary-eyed as they descended down the steps of the altar together, hand in hand; Kurt couldn't help but think she was imagining the wedding she would never have. She had switched to larger, cleverly concealing dresses since coming back to the capital from the Bear Island, because her belly had started to grow a little and Kurt first wanted to see how the country would receive his same-sex marriage reform before making the announcement. Tight-fitting bodices were replaced with high-waist skirts that started just under her breasts and curved slightly upwards; a change many people would probably notice, so they didn't have much time left.

Her prettier, more sensual dresses were lent to Brittany and Santana, who were no ladies and would never be. Seeing them like that was just as shocking as seeing Blaine with princely clothes (which he had decided to wear despite Kurt's reassurances), their hair styled and their faces covered in a slight layer of make-up. Brittany could easily pass for Westerosi given her freckled pale skin and her blonde hair, just like Quinn, so it was Santana who drew the guests' attention both during the ceremony and the wedding feast in the royal gardens. Women stared at her curiously, men lusted after her thinking their wives wouldn't notice, and when at some point the Dothraki slave and the Lamb girl linked their pinkies and kissed Kurt could see lords choking on their own food, the unmistakable blush of arousal blossoming on their noble cheeks.

For said wedding feast, Kurt had allowed himself to be a little ostentatious, both to make up for the simplicity of his coronation and to give heed to Unique's advice – Let them remember a glorious wedding, he had said, so they will stop caring whose wedding it is. Jesse St. James had been very happy to hear it; spending money seemed to be his favorite hobby, even though the Master of Coin should probably be fond of saving rather than spending, in Kurt's modest opinion.

From the gardens one could see the Narrow Sea, but it was the only resemblance with Kurt and Blaine's Pentos wedding: dancing, fucking, fighting, dying Dothraki were replaced with jugglers, acrobats and fire-eaters scattered among the tables, and instead of looking ahead of him with a cup in his hand ignoring Kurt completely, Blaine laughed with him, smiled at him, fed him bites of his own food playfully and engaged in silly conversations about awful hair and dress choices.

They whispered and giggled to each other like two curious teenagers as Sam invited Quinn to dance in the circular space that separated the newlyweds' long table from the others, wondering if they had just witnessed the beginning of something, and spurred Rachel on when a tall, gorgeous man named Brody Whatever-It-Was bowed in front of their table and asked her to dance. She did after a rather long prompting – There's nothing wrong with it, it's just for fun, they reassured her –, but she was quite reluctant and stiff through the whole thing and eventually the Lord seemed to get bored with her. When she went back to her seat, Kurt saw the man chasing after some other lady, way more cheerful and careless than Rachel.

Both Dothraki warriors and Kingsguards patrolled the perimeter of the feast, Wes, David and Grey Worm in charge, but the atmosphere was happy and relaxed, and food, wine and music seemed to be enough to make people forget their king loved a man, just like the Master of Whisperers had predicted. In truth, the courses were so many and the alcohol so much that Kurt was fairly sure they could probably make a man forget his own name, and that by the end of the afternoon he would see normally decent and composed noblemen dancing barefooted on the tables.

"A beautiful wedding" Sam commented as he regained his seat at the long table, sweaty and flushed from the dance with Quinn. "Makes me miss Dorne very much."

"How so?" Blaine asked, clearly bold enough to add, "You regret not taking your harem with you?"

Sam chuckled amusedly and took a sip from a cup of wine – Dornish red, of course, since he refused to drink the "horse piss" he liked to call the wines of the capital.

"It's not just that. It's, you know, the music and the wine and the feeling of not having to worry about anything" Kurt's cousin said with a shrug before turning to address him directly. "Taking care of the realm while you were gone was a rather boring business, Your Grace."

Kurt could easily sympathize. The little time he had spent in Dorne had been great, and he had fallen in love with Sunspear in a way he had still yet to do with King's Landing, where everything was just less... spontaneous. The stark separation between the thick-walled Red Keep perched on a cliff and the filthy, narrow streets where the smallfolk lived made him always feel detached from them, even though he had made it a habit to take rides among them and see for himself what was there to be done in the city – which was very much indeed, especially in Flea Bottom, the poorest area of the capital: too many orphans, too many whores, too many smugglers, too many thieves.

"I know, my Lord Hand" Kurt replied in an understanding tone. "The Grand Maester Artie told me you did a splendid job at it, though."

"Just like Will Schuester, your noble father's Hand!" the man in question spoke up from his wheeled wooden chair farther down the table. "The books say he was very wise, and that King Burt was very fond of him. I shall write your praises one day, my Lord, so you can be remembered through the years as well!"

"I love the enthusiasm" Kurt said, laughing quietly to himself.

"Where is the cake?" Blaine interjected, looking around. "I won't have enough space in my stomach to eat it if they keep bringing more food."

"Patience, my sun-and-stars" Kurt soothed, rubbing his forearm.

He suddenly found himself thinking about the nickname, and titles in general. Should people call Blaine "Your Grace" now, too? Should Kurt arrange another coronation for him? Or should he just let Blaine be his husband and nothing more, while he ruled his father's kingdom as it was supposed to be? After all, they hadn't even had a conversation about any of it. Kurt had just assumed, from the many signals Blaine had thrown at him, that he was staying for good. But at the same time he had made it clear with everyone that he wanted to be called Khal, and just dressing like something close to a king had seemed such a great effort for him. Kurt had no right to ask for more.

Slow down, he told himself, shaking his head. There will be time to talk another day.

The cake Blaine craved for eventually arrived, carried on a sort of huge wheeled table in the middle of the circular space. The cake itself was huge, six storeys tall, and the cooks who had made it looked very pleased with themselves. As the servants started serving the dishes to the guests, Blaine was practically bouncing in his seat. Curiously so, their slices took a long time to arrive, so when Blaine's piece of salty pigeon pie was finally laid in front of him Kurt felt like teasing him mercilessly.

"No!" he grinned, batting Blaine's hand away from his fork. "The first bite is for me."

"Says who?" Blaine asked, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking.

"I do! And I'm the king, so" Kurt shrugged, leaning in to bump their noses together. "Feed me, Khal."

Blaine made a whole-hearted laugh and gave him a peck on the lips. He took his fork and cut into the pie, before feeding a small piece to Kurt.

"How is it?"

"Mmm, delicious" Kurt said with his mouth still full, savoring it slowly just to make Blaine that little more envious. He swallowed it and said, "You should try it."

"Do I have your consent then?"

"Maybe!" Kurt giggled. "Yeah, okay. I hereby declare-"

A sudden coughing fit stopped him from finishing the sentence, leaving him flushed and gasping for breath.

"I-" he started again. "I-"

"Kurt, are you okay?" Blaine asked, concern clear on his face. Kurt nodded dismissively and waved a calming hand at him, but when he tried to speak again, the words died in his throat. He suddenly felt as if the skin around his neck was too tight, as if there wasn't enough air coming in to reach his lungs.

"I- I don't-"

He coughed again, hard, so hard it was physically painful, his back hunched over the table as his own hands clutched at his throat. Panicking, he stood up without even knowing what he wanted to do exactly, but the more he coughed the more he realized his movements were frantic and uncoordinated; he felt dizzy and his vision was starting to blur at the edges.

"Kurt! Kurt, talk to me, what is it?" Blaine's worried voice said, distant and dulled under the terrifying sound of his struggle for air, of his undignified choking.

Because yes, he was choking and he knew it then. He was choking on nothing. He couldn't talk, he couldn't breathe, and all around him he knew people were staring in horror; somewhere a girl screamed and men started to offer advices that grew louder and louder in volume.

"Turn him upside down!"

"Give him water!"

"Stick a spoon in his mouth to take it out!"

Fools, all fools, because there was nothing stuck in his throat and he knew it. He felt his head spin and fell to the floor on his back, nails biting into his own flesh as if he could crawl his way inside his own body and find the air he needed, because it hurt, Gods, it hurt so much and he just wanted it to stop.

"Kurt! Kurt, oh God, what's happening?" Blaine was saying as he shook him, and through his blurred vision Kurt could see he had started crying.

He tried to say something but it just made the pain more intense, made his skin redder – in the back of his mind he knew he must look awful by now, face swollen and sweaty and purplish. And he realized, with a clarity that seemed impossible to muster in a moment like that: I'm dying. Then the clarity disappeared, and all that was left was pain and heartbreak and panic at not understanding why.

"Grand Maester, do something!" Sam's voice yelled above him, barely audible through the blur of screams his perfect wedding had become.

Someone decided to hold him still, prying his arms away from his throat to keep them at his sides. By now he could feel a single gust of air, thin as a thread, going in and out of his open mouth, and that too was getting thinner and thinner. The sound was awful; high-pitched and desperate and ridiculous.

"Don't leave me, Kurt, don't leave me" he heard, before something thin and sharp pierced the skin of his left harm; he was too weak, though, and the pain of the sting barely registered as he started to drift away, his arms and legs relaxing, the ache in the middle of his chest easing.

It was nothing like the way he had imagined it to be: no swords clashing, no dragons roaring gloriously in the sky, no flashbacks of his existence dancing before his eyes in a whirl of images, no chance to say his last words or even think about what they should be; nothing worth writing a ballad over. Just a boy suffocating on his own breath, and it was stupid, so damn stupid after everything, after how long he had travelled and how hard he had fought to get where he was now, after all the times people had attempted killing him in a multiple of ways and failed, that he would have laughed at how comically tragic it was if he could have.

Yet when it ended, when he stopped feeling, he was sure that part was the same for everyone: lonely and final and full of regret for the things left unfinished; for not loving Blaine sooner, not finding him sooner, not treating his children better when they had needed him to, not telling Finn he had meant to him more than he ever knew, not getting to see his heir be born.

And dark. So, so dark.