A SONG OF FROST AND FLAME
CHAPTER 1 – THE CLAIM
She woke to a warm but fogged spring morning. Happy and untroubled she dressed and rushed down the steps from her room with Oda, her flock-hound at her heels to the hall to break her fast on fresh bread, a few strips of crisped bacon and a wedge of cheese with her siblings; her older brother Gerald, a man grown of 18, her younger brother, Rhegard of 14 and little sister Carissa of 9; before going for a ride around the castle fields with Rhegard. They enjoyed these day-trips together. Upon their return, Gerald awaited them on the steps that led inside the castle known as Pale Haven, but his immediate attention was to be hers.
"Claira, father wants to see you." He announced. She dismounted and gave the reins of her horse to a stable hand.
"Where is he?" she asked and turned towards her brother.
"In his library. You'd better hurry, it seems important." She hurried inside, down long corridors and past great halls full of servants cleaning and wiping, and sweeping and scrubbing; laughing and jesting and bickering and of course gossiping. Many of the cats that claimed the castle as their home ran alongside her, others trailed behind on other interests while some rushed on ahead, and some only stared. Up the stairs her path led with Oda still close behind, until she passed through the door and found her father sitting at a table, busy with letters. It's been a while, judging from the pile that lay next to him on the table.
"You wanted to see me, father?" she drew his attention, and he looked up. With a soft smile, he lay the quill down and folded his hands on the desktop.
"I did. Sit down." He gestured to the seat opposite from him.
"You recall what I spoke to you about, some years ago; following the outbreak of the rebellion?" he asked. She did remember. Her father, along with the Starks negotiated with the Taugeres of the Corridor for their alliance. The Starks and the Baratheon's had no lands, riches or daughters to offer, so Lord Willmon Tormont, offered his eldest reluctantly. Five great families fought together, and they won.
"My debt is due, sweetling. With a heavy heart, I must now relinquish you to your betrothed, in marriage. The ceremony will take place here, in our gods grove in a fortnight" he said, and she found herself feeling light-headed. She had always known, but now that she faced it she was hesitant if not defiant.
"This is so sudden…" she finally managed.
"I know, I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner; I just didn't know how." He confessed, lowering his head. She stood up and went around to him, placing her arms around his shoulders.
"You did what you had to do; and I will obey." She assured; and he placed a worn hand on her arm.
"You won't be ours any more; you won't be mine any more…" he whispered, then he chased the thoughts off with a pat to her arm.
"Go on now; relish your last days here as much as you can. I must finish issuing the biddings to the other lords." He said, and returned to his writings. She left, debating on how to fill her days but instead wandered to the kitchen and sat down on the bench, watching their castle cook Arima work her wonders with whatever was brought from the stores. She looked at the young lady, her hands never-ending in their duties.
"Something wrong, child?" she asked, and Claira let her head rest on her hands while her elbows balanced on her lap.
"No. I don't think so. Marriage is supposed to be a happy prospect, isn't it?" she asked, and for that moment, Arima paused.
"It's that time already, eh?" and then she resumed her work.
"Don't you worry, milady. Your father won't have chosen some disrespectful puss to be your husband." She assured, but Claira sighed.
"That's just the thing, Arima. He didn't choose my husband to be."
"That don't matter. He would rather have lose the war than give you to someone who would treat you bad." The cook insisted, and Claira paused.
"He's never met him." She wondered, and then Arima came over with a plate of crispels and a chalice of fresh milk.
"That don't matter either. He met someone, and someone will know how the man is. And if someone knows how the man is, and your father accepted him to take you as his wife; he can't be bad." She handed the appetizers to her.
"Off with you now, can't have you soiling yourselves here in my kitchen." She said, and Claira left into the yard with her prizes. She made her way to the stables where she consumed the sweet honeyed pastries with the milk while brushing her horse. She liked to do that sometimes when she felt troubled. When she turned around, Gerald stood in the archway watching her.
"How long have you been there?" she asked, and he smiled.
"A while." He said, and then held a hand out to her.
"I have a present for you." He said, ushering her closer. She took his hand and he led her across the yard back into the castle, down a long hallway and to a large room, stacked from floor to roof with extravagant fabrics, fine and deeply detailed lace and bright rolls of thread.
"This is Kyra, she is a contractor that grew up in a merchant city named Qarth. She will make your wedding dress for you, any way you like it." He introduced as a lean woman approached and bowed low.
"It will be my greatest pleasure, my lady. Whatever your wish in fabric, I will bring it from your mind into the world." She said confidently. Claira was at a loss for words, then looked up at her brother.
"Thank you so much." Was all that she could utter in a whisper, then he bowed down and kissed her hand still in his.
"This may be the last lasting gift I may give you. I wanted it to be special." He said, and she looked back at Kyra.
"We don't need to start work on it today, my lady. But I want to urge you not to wait too long, perfection takes time and we only have a fortnight, if I understand correctly." She glanced at the young lord for confirmation.
"I will leave you here for now." Gerald said, and left again. Claira looked around the room, she'd never seen so much colour in one space; Kyra called her inside, and gently ran long nimble fingers through Claira's hair. Hair black as night, marbled with white.
"Beautiful girl; sweet gentle girl," she almost chanted, and breathed in the scent of the strands in her fingers.
"Anything you want, any way you want it." She promised, and Claira turned towards her, her hair slipping and falling through the fingers.
"I don't know where to start." She said, and the woman's hand went back to her hair, so unique her attention was on nothing else.
"You don't need to decide today. Go child, sleep. Dream of you dress, and come see me when the sun rises Tell me your dream; and I will make it true." She said, stroking the hair, and then fixing the soft curves over Claira's shoulder. She thanked the woman, and left to go about her duties. Day became night, and night withdrew from the light of a new day; so the days passed; several she spent with Maester Kenard to learn the vows she would be expected to say in the gods grove amidst family and guests, and as each new day passed, the castle grounds became increasingly eventful with preparations for a marriage. The Emerald Wedding, they took to calling it, and then one morning she woke and her arranged marriage loomed on the morrow. The lords started to arrive then, one after the other to attend this grand ceremony. She and Rhegard went out riding each day, and Kyra worked eagerly, every morning when Claira visited her workroom she adjusted measurements, suggested colours and beadings and threads and all manner of adornment; and finally late afternoon the day before this, she announced that the dress was complete and would have it brought to the lady's quarters the morning of the wedding. There would be no need for a cloak as mentioned, her dress itself would represent her house. It was a long night as nerves stirred her from sleep, but this morning she didn't feel like leaving the safety of her chamber. She sat on the window seat staring at the activities below between the towers that shielded her windows, Oda lay at her feet. She had seen many banners pass below her already; among the many the Boltons, Manderly's, Umbers and the Starks of Winterfell. More Southern houses also joined them: the crowned stag, the golden lion, the trout, the twin towers... A soft knock sounded on the hardwood of her door.
"Enter." She granted permission, but did not look back to see whom came to share her disquiet. Then a figure sat down next to her, and shared her view of the outside.
"How are you feeling?" Gerald asked, and she breathed in.
"Honestly, I don't know. I don't know if I should be pleased or miserable, or excited or scared; it's all just too much for me." She confessed; and then the sound of a horn washed over the fields; they could see castle hands running across the yard; and then the horses passed, men bearing banners with a fiery orange eagle in a night-black sky; and her pulse quickened at the thought that her intended had so suddenly arrived. After the bannermen, a great black warhorse came in to view and stopped in the centre of the yard below; mounted on its back, tall and proud sat a great man dressed in leather and the colours of his house.
"That is lord Rychard Taugere, your intended's father. He is known as a great warrior and excellent leader. I've heard good things of him." He told as they watched him dismount and raise his hands warmly to their father, coming down the castle steps to greet the new arrivals. They received each other smiling like old friends.
"You heard, or you went asking?" she corrected, and he shrugged with a smile. Gerald was kind to her, they didn't share the adventures she did with her younger siblings; but in times like these he comforted her and it brought her a sense of ease. Rychard turned back and raised his hand, calling someone over. Behind them, they could see a wheelhouse roll past and then stopped some feet away, from where stepped a smaller but dignified lady, and a younger girl.
"The lady Taugere, and their youngest daughter lady Mae." Gerald identified them; she chuckled.
"Did you look up everyone of their family?" she asked; and he shrugged again.
"I want you to be prepared. Which reminds me, there is a custom they practice on wedding nights. It's called a 'bedding ceremony'; I'm not exactly sure what it consist of, but you should steady yourself for it I suppose." and then the young lord came into view from where one of the towers blocked their view; for a moment her heart stopped. He too, was clothed in leather and the colours of his house. He bowed his head to the lord of Pale Haven, and the thought passed through her mind that she'd seen him for a moment, and learned that he was well-bred; and that he did look attractive even from this distance; and their father hailed him wholeheartedly; they could make out a smile through his features; and then he led them into the castle to welcome them.
"Why not come with me for a last ride? We can visit the standing stones." He suggested, and she smiled at him.
"Really?" she hadn't seen the standing stones in years.
"Of course. You can jail yourself tomorrow." He said standing.
"Get dressed, I'll call for rations." He said as he left. She threw on faded riding leathers, and rushed down with Oda on her heels and met her brother behind the kitchen to where her their grey and bay mares were brought for them. Saddlebags were stuffed with bread, hard cheese, apples and nuts. They left the castle through a morning mist on their journey to visit the stones, a legend of their family told that this was where one of the first Tormont lords met his wife, a lady of the woodland whose likeness could be perceived in the features of every Tormont daughter. They remained the day there, as she ran her hands across the warmth of the stone. They were severely overgrown of moss and vines, but the parts you could touch with your hands were smooth like crystal, and the colour of it as well. Gerald sat on a stone nearby, peeling an apple, and Oda bound across the clearing chasing after random forest creatures.
"Has father ever told you, why you have white in your hair?" Gerald asked, and stuck a slice in his mouth. Claira looked back at him.
"Father has white hair." She reminded, and he smiled while he cut another slice off the apple.
"That's because he's old. His hair used to be black." He indicated, and she looked back at the stone in front of her. It was odd, all her siblings was dark of head. She was the only one with these white lines. Then Gerald stood up and walked over to her, laying his hand on the smooth of the stone.
"You were born in the last days of a harsh and unforgiving winter; your skin was pale and your hair was white. The frost nearly claimed you." He looked up, and around the clearing like he remembered and was seeing it all again.
"Father brought you here, seeking the aid of an ancient and powerful sage. He saved you, but he professed that you would never completely recover." He took her hands in his.
"That's why you have white in your hair. That's why your hands are always cold." He said, bringing her fingers up to his lips and blowing; the heat from his breath blatantly obvious as dew formed on her palms. Oda finally collapsed at her master's feet, panting and exhausted.
"You grew into the 'Lady of Frost', but there is a less known description you were given. The sage said, that Winter will always be within you." Then he looked up suddenly to a chuckle from behind her, and his hand shot to his sword as she spun around to see an old and crooked man with a hooked nose creep from behind one of the stones.
"Breath of Winter… You come… at last…" he breathed while he shuffled closer, leaning on a thick wooden staff. His eyes were white as the clouds. Oda growled protectively at the stranger.
"Heed these words, before you leave this place." He said, pointing at her and then her brother moved in front of her.
"The Breath of Winter, will meld with bright Fire and dead Stone; and when winter comes again it is the Atronach that will stand in flames and snow!" and then he was gone in a swirl of leaves and wind; Gerald looked around, his sword at the ready. Then the three guards that accompanied them appeared through the trees.
"My lord, my lady? We heard a voice." One said, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The words sang in Claira's head, like they resounded off every one of the stones and a dull ache took hold of the left side of her face. Her hand covered her eye. Gerald turned around and put an arm around her.
"Get the horses, it's time to leave." He ordered, and they made their way through the trees back to the field where they left the horses to graze.
"Well now, that was exciting." He jested, and she chuckled. The sun disappeared across the suddenly dark horizon. It was long dark when the bright torches lighting Pale Haven came into view, fortuitously their journey was uneventful save for the strange little man in the woods. They passed through the portcullis to meet several castle hands in the yard, and their father waiting for them.
"Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked calmly as they came to a halt a few feet from him. Claira cast a nervous glance at Gerald.
"Claira always goes riding with Rhegard; today was my turn to take her out. This may have been the last time that I could." Gerald defended, lord Willmon looked at his daughter.
"Off to bed with you. You need your rest, you'll have considerably less for the next season." He instructed, and as she dismounted she mouthed an appreciation to her brother, then made her way into the castle and to her room with Oda close behind while a stable boy saw to the care of her horse. Lord Willmon waited until she was gone before he turned back to his son, still astride his horse.
"With the time you took, you didn't stay close like I've asked of you." He noted, and Gerald dismounted then.
"I took her to see the standing stones." He said as he approached his father, and his father's face changed.
"You know how I feel about that place, Gerald." He warned while the horse was given off to another stable boy.
"You took her there." Gerald reminded, and his father turned away.
"I did, because I had no other choice. If I didn't, we would have lost her." He defended.
"Nothing happened." Gerald tried to calm, but his father stepped closer still distraught.
"That place, is a place of great magic. Ancient, powerful and terrible. Nothing that is ever done is without cost…" he said softly, and then his son placed a strong yet comforting hand on his shoulder.
"This was the last time she'll ever see that place." He said hopefully, and then Willmon looked up at him and nodded, trying to disrupt a feeling of dread that took hold of him.
"Come, let us feast with our lords." He said, throwing an arm around his son and together they headed into the great hall of Pale Haven castle to join those who have not retired yet. Claira reached her room, and noted that their maester was so kind as to leave a sleeping draught on a table for her. She redressed comfortably for the night, and swallowed the draught gratefully after consuming the pie and greens that was brought to her chambers, and fell down on the bed. She thought of the day, the endless green fields, the wide woodlands, the smiling faces of their people as they passed. Sleep took her then, deeply and blissfully. Her eyes opened to a clearing in the forest, and around her five stones of clear gem raised high as titans. She touched each of them, feeling the glossy surface; and saw in each the face of a man. Four she knew for the lords of her house, and those of her forthcoming house. The jade stones revealed the faces of her father, Lord Willmon Tormont, and her older brother and the heir to Pale Haven, Lord Gerald Tormont. The auburn stones held the faces that would be Lord Rychard Taugere, and her intended husband and heir to the Corridor. One she did not, a mauve stone that stood parallel to the others, completing the circle. She came closer, and examined the face. Long dark hair, striking features and bronzed skin. She touched the stone, unlike the others it was rough and cold as ice.
"The men of your house." A voice explained, and she turned back to see the same strange little man shuffling up behind her.
"I don't understand." She said softly, and again looked at each of the stones.
"Four you know, five you will. Five will die to shield you, one already has." He said, but this was even more unclear than before. As her vision came back to the warrior in the violet stone, his eyes opened; clear but unseeing; the colour of blood.
"The Breath of Winter, will meld with bright Fire and dead Stone; and when winter comes again it is the Atronach that will stand in flames and snow!" he repeated.
"You're not making any sense!" she said, her mind aching to understand.
"THE BREATH OF WINTER, WILL MELD WITH BRIGHT FIRE AND DEAD STONE; AND WHEN WINTER COMES AGAIN IT IS THE ATRONACH THAT WILL STAND IN FLAMES AND SNOW!" It echoed off the stones, so violently that they shuddered and collapsed; and she was left standing in a frozen field amidst dead trees.
"It's just a dream. This is just a dream." She tried to convince herself; and started walking forward through the flakes that dropped from the clouded sky.
"This is just a dream…" she looked up at a high wall, dead and broken. Then she turned, and looked into eyes blue as deep ice, cold, hard and lifeless. White hands reached up to wrap around her throat, and as she moved back a great beast of blue flame flew across grabbing the creature that stood before her in hard grey talons and carried it away, devouring it as it turned in the sky. It came back and landed on the snow next to her, and stared at her, one eye blue and clear and light; and the other, bright and red and burning. She reached up to touch it before the world dissolved into a brilliant white as its wings unfurled, and her eyes stared at an open window where the sun beamed through. She slept well into the day. She raised herself from the bed, her long hair falling about her face and wiped the lingering lethargy from her eyes.
"It was a dream." She said, and then scanned the room and gasped. In the corner, her wedding dress awaited her on a wood-frame figure. Deep green velvet fell down to the floor in waves and spread out a link of feet behind the frame, long open sleeves lined with black and gold joined the train, gold needlecraft flowed over the shoulders, lined the low set neck and ran down the front length of the dress. It was finer than she'd imagined. A soft knock drew her attention.
"Enter." She gave permission, and her mother stepped through followed by a crowd of castle hands.
"Good morning. I trust you had a restful evening." She greeted. Two muscled men carried a deep copper bath inside and placed it close to the chamber fireplace.
"This is the last day that you will spend under our care, and you've slept in quite a bit. Your afternoon will be spent here, in preparation for this evening." Her mother said, and put a hand gently to her face.
"You're a woman now, and soon you will be someone's wife…" tears formed in her eyes despite her formality, and Claira took her hand in hers.
"It will be al right." She comforted, and her mother smiled at her.
"We will miss you terribly. But I know you will honour your house. Both of them." She wiped a tear from her cheek.
"My daughter… my Lady of Frost." They embraced one another in a tender moment, and then they heard another voice behind them.
"If it would be appropriate, mother. Carissa and I would like to present our gifts to Claira; as Gerald has already given his." Rhegard asked as he indicated the overgenerous dress. He was already finely dressed.
"A bit early, isn't it?" Claira asked as her mother stepped aside.
"I was charged with the lords' entertainment, I won't have time to redress for the ceremony." He said, as Carissa came forward holding a decorated box.
"I asked Maester Kenard to make it for you." She said, handing the box to her older sister.
"Thank you, little minx." Claira always called her this, and then opened the container. Inside lay a beautiful woven gold chain with an emerald set in the centre, earrings of matching gold and green glinted from each side of the untainted stone.
"It's marvellous, thank you." She said with a hug; and then Rhegard stepped forward.
"I didn't find a box to put my present in." he said, holding out his hand. In his palm lay a gold and jewelled jaw pin for her hair. She took it in her hands, and examined the colours. Ocean opals and emeralds formed the likeness of a prancing peacock, and she laughed.
"Thank you, so much." She looked up at him, he was smiling.
"I look forward to seeing you tonight; and of course the look on your groom's face." He said, and her hand grabbed his.
"You've met him. What's he like?" she asked, and Rhegard looked around the room, searching for a word.
"He's quiet, so far he's been modest. Nothing like his father, that man scares me." He said.
"Why? Have they been ill to anyone?" she asked.
"No, not at all. In fact, most of the northern lords seem to enjoy their company. I can't explain it, I just want to keep my distance from him for now." He said, and then their mother came forward again.
"That's enough of that. Go on now, the two of you. There's work to be done here." She hurried them off. One of the kitchen maids came in, bearing a tray with fresh fruit, flamed sausages, a heel of bread, a slice of cheese and a goblet of honeyed milk, which she sat down on one of the tables before turning to leave again.
"How is the water?" Lady Alyssa asked as she whisked past, and the maid turned back in an instant on her heel.
"Almost done, my lady." She reported.
"Good. Have it brought up at the earliest." She ordered, and the maid bowed before rushing off again. Claira broke her fast slowly on what would now be their mid-day meal, in her mother's company; willing time to linger, which it would not. She'd barely touched the fruit when a knock at the door had her mother standing.
"Enter." She called to them, and several castle hands shuffled inside carrying buckets of warm water that they dumped into the copper bath. The remainder of the day was spent on her physical care, occasionally she would nibble on the leftover fruit from the bath where she lounged while three of their handmaidens saw to it that her body and hair was effectively cleansed. She sat on a cushioned chair in front of the fireplace while the same handmaidens bickered about who would brush out her hair; which in the end all three did by taking turns. They scented her skin with violet, sweet pea and winter rose garlands, running the petals across the skin of her back, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach and thighs, she chewed mint berries. Then they slipped the soft velvet across her, seeing that everything was in place. They brushed her hair again, folding and holding and styling the long strands, and finally the peacock pin held everything perfectly together. They fit the necklace around her throat, it hung low enough to cover the open skin between her breasts, and the earrings barely touched her shoulders. Her mother stepped back, and examined her; the sudden beauty of her. Then she reached inside a wide sleeve as she walked closer again.
"I too, have a gift for you." She said as her hands raised up, and she fit a delicate circlet of gold and jade around her brow before stepping back again.
"And now you are complete, and the sun has set." She announced, and Claira's pulse suddenly raced. This was too sudden, the day passed too quickly. A soft knock sounded at the door and made her heart jump. Her mother took the liberty of opening the door, to see Gerald standing in the hallway, dressed formally in leathers and the colours of their house.
"I have come to accompany our lady to the gods grove." He announced, and her mother looked back.
"Be bold, sweetling. I will see you as you walk the way to your future." She said, and then disappeared out the door and down the hallway. Gerald stepped inside, staring at his sister.
"You look gorgeous." He complimented after a moment of silence, and she smiled and smoothed down the front of her dress.
"I feel odd." She said, and he held out his hand, in his palm lay a tiny blood-red seed.
"It will calm you enough not to run." He said, then she took it and swallowed it. He turned, and held his arm for her; her hand slid around his elbow
"Back straight, chin up, sure steps." he instructed, and her fingers tightened around his arm.
"Don't let me fall." and he smiled.
"Never." and they made their way together to the grove. The castle was quiet, everyone retreated to the gods grove. Gentle candle light showed the way to where they met their father, waiting to present her to her husband.
"Thank you, Gerald." he said, and he bowed his head before looking at his sister and brought her hand to his lips before proceeding to take his place with the rest of her family. Lord Tormont examined her.
"I'm sure everyone has told you how wonderful you look." he said, and took a step closer to her.
"I want you to know, that I'm proud of you. And have the assurance that you will be cared for, and protected by your new house. They're strong, proud and much respected people whose name is known very well, far and wide. I believe that you will be very happy there." he held a veil of white needlework in his hand, that he took to spread over her.
"And remember always, that we love you." then he brought the veil around her shoulders.
"Are you ready?" she breathed in.
"I'm as ready as I ever will be, I suppose." then he draped the fabric across her, but before he closed her face, her hand shot to his arm.
"Wait, what's his name again?" she asked, almost desperate; but her father smiled.
"Raeghun." he said, and she looked up.
"Raeghun..." she repeated, and then he closed the veil over her; and together they walked the path up to the ancient heart tree that stood in the centre of the gods grove, torches lit the small valley. Through the spaces she could make out the faces of people, the king and his golden haired queen, lords, ladies and castle hands alike waiting on them. Lord Walder Frey displayed a wife barely a season older than herself; Lord Eddard Stark and lady Catelyn, with a lively three year old Robb on her hip. Even Oda was adorned with a collar of bright flowers. They approached the tree where he waited for her. The lords Taugere were dressed in leather, and the colours of their house, the ladies waited patiently off to one side, both in brilliant orange.
*FOR TRADITIONAL PURPOSES, THE TORMONT AND TAUGERE FAMILIES COMBINED THE CUSTOMS OF BOTH RELIGIONS
Lord Rychard Taugere stepped forward.
"Who comes before the old gods this night?" His voice carried far over the grove, for all to hear.
Lord Willmon Tormont looked up to face him, and Claira thought he was a giant.
"Claira, of the House Tormont, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, true-born and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" She shuddered, and understood what Rhegard meant. The very energy he gave off was immense. Raeghun stepped forward towards her.
"Raeghun, of House Taugere, heir to Mount Ardor and the gold fields of the Corridor, claims her as his bride. Who gives her?" He was shorter than his father by perhaps a foot, and thankfully less intense.
"The Grey Tom, Lord Willmon of the House Tormont, who is her father. Whom oversees her before succession?" her father asked.
"Lord Rychard of House Taugere, takes her as his daughter and will watch over her." The enormous man assured, and then turned to her with a caring smile.
"Lady Claira, will you take this man?" he asked, milder than before.
"I take this man." She agreed, and a tiny little man – the Septon that accompanied them for this ceremony stepped forward while her father then removed the veil that shielded her from curious eyes. She could hear gasps and murmurs from the horde behind them. Her groom stared at her as they took hands, his face was indifferent; but she couldn't decide whether she saw shock or surprise in his eyes... blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky. A scar lined his jaw from under the right side of his mouth to his throat, and another over the left side of his brow.
"I hope that I will please you, my lord." she said softly, he stared at her for a moment longer, and then bowed and kissed her fingertips, but said nothing. The little man dressed in a simple robe of ivory and gold thread opened his hands to them.
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Raeghun took off a black cloak with their sigil decorated in magnificent colours of bright fires and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders, symbolically bringing her under his protection and into his family.
The septon then proclaims,
"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." They hold hands as they stood side by side under the crimson leaves of the weirwood. The septon proceeds to tie a ribbon in a knot around their joined hands, symbolising their union. While tying the ribbon the septon says,
"Let it be known that Raeghun of House Taugere, and Claira of House Tormont are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The septon then announces,
"In the sight of the Seven, and the old beyond count, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." he looked at each of them.
"Look upon each other and say the words", at which thy turned to face each other, and recite their vows. His words were calm and even.
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." they started
"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," she could feel herself say, in the same breath
"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." his left hand gently caressed her cheek.
"With this kiss, I pledge my love." he announced, and leaned forward, touching her lips with his, softly like the touch of a feather; it lingered a moment longer than a peck. A sure touch, not something feigned and it left a tingling down her throat. The sound of a crowd of cheering people drew them; and they could meet their guest in the great hall for the feast. The Taugere and Tormont families shared a table with their honoured guests the royals and the northern wardens in the centre top near the hearth while others piled in at long tables set before them. They dined on roasts, breads, cheeses, fruits, buttered and spiced potatoes and greens, and consumed the best spiced wine shipped from Dorne. Lords Taugere and Tormont sat together, discussing various topics from which crops grew best in the cold of the north to matters of state, the ladies discussed fine fabrics, quilting and embroidery; the young ones kept busy with what they knew, and finally she could spend a few moments talking with her husband, and found that he was at age with her brother Gerald. Robert Baratheon himself, along with several lords approached them to offer their compliments, and congratulate them on this wondrous occasion. At a point, Raeghun excused himself to acquaint himself more with her brothers; and her sister came to join her.
"He's very handsome." she said, and Claira acknowledged that the initial fear had subsided and she could appreciate his shyness, and it started to grow late. Lord Willmon sighed then.
"I understand that you have a tradition you celebrate fervently at wedding ceremonies, closer to the border?" he enquired, and Rychard smiled foxily.
"Oh yes, the bedding ceremony. It's a highly prized rite of passage." Willmon looked troubled, but his brother by bond tried to ease him.
"It's tradition, Willmon; but it's not a strict requirement. We will not force anything before she is ready." he assured, and Willmon nodded appearing relieved.
"She is wed; she is ready. If it is tradition, we will respect it." he agreed, and felt the pressure of a very strong hand on his shoulder.
"My son will treat her kindly, I promise." he said. Her husband returned to her then, she looked to where their fathers sat in deep conversation. Her father nodded, and his stood with a goblet raised in his hand.
"My lords, my ladies!" his voice travelled across the hall in a wave. Despite the clamouring it was impossible not to hear him.
"The hour is late; most have had their fill, some have not. While some beds lay empty, cold or broken, one awaits that has yet to be warmed!" he announced. 'oh gods, this is it' her mind cried, and then she felt fingers on her hand, warm and comforting. She looked back at her husband, calm blue eyes regarding her. Unknown in her start, her hand shut around his fingers harshly, and she didn't even realize that lord Rychard addressed the king; who had stood up and faced the crowd around him.
"Let us bed them!" the words were more clear now. Men rushed up and took her, raising her off the floor and marched down the hall towards their waiting nuptial chamber; everything was a daze then. She could make out the lights of torches as they passed, at some point her brother appeared and halted the laughing horde parading her down the castle halls.
"Al right, that's enough of that. I'll escort her the rest of the way." he said, and they surrendered her dolefully. He led her down a long corridor to an isolated wing of the castle, and opened a door for her to step through. The room was beautifully decorated, a warm fire burning in the hearth. The bed was made with soft silks and furs, a table was stocked with wine and fruits; flowers were strewn across the floor.
"You're supposed to be naked, when your lord husband arrives; so I am to deliver your dress back to the hall. But I've snatched this for you." he said softly handing a fox pelt shawl to her.
"I'll wait outside. Now hurry, he'll be shoved in here any moment." Gerald said, and left the room. She breathed in deeply, and then stripped the dress off along with the jewellery. She covered what she could, and then handed the heavy velvet dress through a crack of the door; and then heard the giggling of women coming down the hall.
"Thank you..." she whispered at her brother, he nodded reluctantly and then vanished. She glanced at the bed, but didn't feel comfortable to take her expected place there, and resolved to stand before the fire to warm her cool skin, listening to the oncoming group. The door behind her opened, and closed before light footsteps rushed off giggling; and faded into the distance. Soft footsteps came to her then, and she could feel warm breath on her shoulder; her hands crumpled the fox skin shawl. Warm hands touched her arms, gently caressing the skin, and then careful lips branded a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck and then her cheek; and then he breathed in, taking in her scent. She turned to look at him. He was bare. His skin was marred with scars. His arms, his shoulders, his chest, his sides. Blemishes that resembled claw marks.
"I'm sorry I was so quiet." he spoke then, playing with her hair.
"I couldn't think of anything to say to you; I didn't know what you'd think of me." he said.
"What happened to you?" was the only thing she could think of at that point; and he looked down to notice the scars.
"I picked a fight with a lion. It didn't end well." he said, smiling modestly. Her left hand's fingertips touched him, making him gasp slightly as she traced several of the scars.
"It must have been terrifying." she thought, he took her hand and brought it to his lips.
"My wounds healed. His, I'm afraid, did not. My father took his pelt for a rug., and his head for a trophy." they laughed together, for the first time. He rubbed her hand.
"You're cold." he said, stroking his cheek affectionately against the back of her hand.
"I hear that a lot." she said, his hand went around her waist and pulled her closer to him, he placed her hand against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat and then his hand moved up to remove the pin from her hair, and it dropped naturally down her back. He ran his fingers through the long strands.
"Your hair…" he observed.
"It's always been that way." she told, and his eyes ran the length from her scalp down to the tips, marvelling at two completely opposite colours so harmonious together.
"It's lovely. My father said, that Lord Tormont's daughter was a fair maiden, and I imagined a pretty bride..." he started, and then brought his hand to her face so she would look at him.
"But nothing as beautiful as you." he smiled again, genuinely.
"You flatter me, my lord." she said, trying to look away from him; but he brought her face back to his.
"It's Raeghun, Claira." their eyes met, surely and deeply. He leaned forward slowly to capture her lips, but suddenly she looked away from him.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, looking at her.
"Yes…" she whispered, even her voice was reserved. But he sighed relieved, and his fingers stroked her cheek.
"Me, too." he confessed, and she looked back at him. The fear vanished, knowing she was not alone. Both hands took her face, he leaned forward and kissed her. Then again, longer; and again, deeper and he breathed her into him. Her arms wound around his neck and shoulders as she yielded to him, the fox skin shawl forgotten. He took her from the warmth of the fire, and lay her down on the bed; his hands sliding over the skin of her throat, her breast, her stomach and her thighs. Then his hands brought her knees past him, and he lowered himself on her, his mouth dancing on her chest. Her heartbeat intensified, and her lips parted in sweet sighs. She felt him against her then, and her sighs changed to sharp breaths, and into cries; first of pain and finally intense pleasure as her husband claimed her, and made her his.
