"Who comes before the gods?"
Lord Blackwood answered, "Betha of House Blackwood comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, of noble birth and blood, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods." He paused, his eyes staring at Egg intently, his gaze sharper than a sword. Finally, he asked, "Who comes to claim her?"
"I do," Egg replied, eagerly and a shade too early, his 'I' almost colliding with Lord Blackwood's 'her.'
Patience, lad, Dunk sounded him out, sending the message to the groom with a raised eyebrow and a slight shake of the head. She is not going anywhere. The bride's face was hidden under her veil, but Dunk was almost certain she was giggling, or at least trying to suppress a giggle. He looked away quickly. Lady Betha's laughter was catching, he knew this well enough from past experience. It would be most improper for Prince Aegon's sworn sword to show any expression other than solemness on this very solemn occasion.
Egg took a deep breath, before continuing, "Aegon of House Targaryen. I claim her. Who gives her?"
I give myself to matrimony. No one claims me, or gives me away, Dunk could almost hear Lady Betha proclaiming this in her heart. But as willful and headstrong as she was often accused of being, she knew that there were certain rituals and customs that had to be observed, for the eyes of the world.
"I give her. Lucas of House Blackwood. Her father." Lord Blackwood turned to Betha, raising the veil covering her face. "Daughter, will you take this man?"
"I take this man," Betha replied, in a voice strong and clear, devoid of any hesitation or shyness, pretend or otherwise.
Lord Blackwood joined the hands of the bride and the groom, before stepping back, leaving them alone facing the heart tree. He was almost as tall as Dunk, but leaner in build. His sunken black eyes gave him a gaunt look that belied his physical strength. Dunk still fondly recalled Betha's words from long ago, the first time they met. I never thought I would ever meet a man taller than my father, ser.
The bride and the groom knelt before Raventree's heart tree, the ancient and colossal great dead weirwood, with their hands still joined together and their heads bowed in silent prayer. When they rose, their cheeks were flushed and their eyes glittered.
Dunk moved forward to stand beside Egg, the bride's cloak in Targaryen colors held stiffly within his arms. He had argued against this, had repeatedly pointed out to Egg the impropriety of having a mere knight unrelated to the groom by blood performing this honor. At the first wedding ceremony performed before the Seven at the sept in Summerhall, Prince Daeron had been the one entrusted with this honor. Egg had wanted his brother Aemon to hold the bride's cloak, but he was overruled by their father. Prince Maekar did not consider it right and proper for his eldest son to be passed over in favor of a younger brother. Daeron had promised his father that he would not be drunk on Egg's and Betha's wedding day. True to his words, he had remained sober that day, but his hands still visibly and clearly shook when he handed the bride's cloak to Egg.
After the ceremony, Daeron would say to Egg, apologetically, "Sometimes the shaking is worse when I am not drinking." Dunk had seen this in other men before, men who should be pitied more than scorned.
Dunk the Lunk, he scolded himself, who are you to pity a prince?
Aemon could not make it to his brother's wedding before the old gods. The Citadel was not a place where you could come and go as you wish, and he had already been granted leave previously to attend Egg's wedding at Summerhall. Egg had turned to the hedge knight he once squired for, the knight who was now his sworn sword, as important to him as his beloved brother Aemon was. He even recruited his bride to convince that reluctant knight to accept the honor.
"Were it not for you, Ser Duncan, Egg and I would never have met. It was you who first caught my eyes, not your rude squire. And it was you who brought us closer together. Would you deny me this request?"
And so here Dunk stood, holding the Targaryen bride's cloak, waiting for Egg to remove the maiden's cloak from Betha's shoulders and drape her with the bride's cloak. It seemed almost a pity, thought Dunk. The maiden's cloak Betha was wearing was a glorious creation,made entirely of raven feathers. At the ceremony performed at the sept in Summerhall, she had worn a black velvet cloak embroidered with the sigil of House Blackwood. Beautiful, but nowhere near as magnificent and unusual as this one. Though, Dunk amended, perhaps to the Blackwoods, a cloak made entirely of raven feathers was not considered unusual at all.
Dunk waited, and waited, but still Egg did not make a move to remove the maiden's cloak from Betha's shoulders. Egg's eyes were on Lord Blackwood, as if waiting for -
He forgot! Oh, lad. How could you forget?
They had practiced this over and over again, Dunk and Egg. The sequence was different in a wedding ceremony performed before the old gods. It was not the bride's father who would remove the maiden's cloak, as was the case in a wedding ceremony performed before the Seven. The groom himself must undertake this task. Egg was determined not to make a mistake that could embarrass the bride and her family, but clearly nervousness was getting the better of him today.
Dunk leaned over to whisper in Egg's ear. "It's you. You have to do it."
Egg winced, realizing his mistake. He quickly undid the clasp on Betha's throat. Dunk watched, anxiously. If Egg was too hasty, or not careful enough, the raven-feathered cloak could be ruined, or -
Dunk breathed a sigh of relief. Egg had successfully removed the maiden's cloak without a single feather being dislodged. He handed the cloak to Lord Blackwood, who already had his arms out, waiting to receive it.
There were tears in her father's eyes, Betha saw, as he received the maiden's cloak Egg had removed from her shoulders. At Summerhall, he had smiled sardonically and rolled his eyes when the septon went on and on with his public prayer. Prayers are meant to be between you and the gods, not for the ears of others, her father had often remarked. The rituals of the Seven had meant very little to him. This was his daughter's real wedding day, in Lucas Blackwood's eyes.
Ser Duncan looked as solemn and as worried as if he was the father of both the bride and the groom. Betha smiled at him, but he could only manage a relieved nod in response. The sight of him handing the bride's cloak to Egg gladdened her heart. Egg draped the cloak over her shoulders, his hands fumbling slightly. It was the same bride's cloak he had draped over her shoulders during the ceremony at Summerhall.
There was no 'with this kiss I pledge my love' spoken during a wedding ceremony before the old gods. There were fewer words spoken all around, and certainly fewer flowery words, compared to a wedding ceremony before the Seven. The bride and the groom kissed after the maiden's cloak had been exchanged with the bride's cloak, without any word being said to prompt the kiss. Betha leaned over for the kiss immediately, and Egg followed suit.
There were no seven vows to be made, seven blessings to be invoked, or seven promises to be exchanged. There was no septon present to declare Aegon of House Targaryen and Betha of House Blackwood to be one flesh, one heart and one soul, now and forever. But this, Betha felt deeply in her heart, in her bones, was the ceremony that could truly join them as one heart and one soul. (The flesh part she had always thought ridiculous in any case. They would always remain two separate bodies, not one.)
Under this tree, Raventree's heart tree, was where she and Egg kissed for the first time, where they first spoke of marriage, where they began to dream of a life together. And before that, before all that, this was where Egg once found her crying; where she once slapped him; where they pretended and play-acted to be too many colorful characters to count; where they laughed and laughed until they could laugh no more; where they had angered, irritated, mocked, teased, aided, abetted, supported and comforted one another.
As the bride and the groom were kissing, the flock of ravens arrived to roost in their nightly resting place, on the limbs and branches of Raventree's great dead weirwood. Betha sneaked a glance at her mother. They had planned this together, Betha and her mother; had planned, arranged and timed the ceremony carefully to ensure this very occasion, to ensure that the arrival of the ravens, always at dusk, would coincide with the kiss. Lady Blackwood had been most anxious when Egg hesitated before removing Betha's maiden's cloak. The delay could have ruined the plan, but thankfully it did not.
Betha winked at her mother, who tried to look disapproving but failed. She winked back, which made Betha laughed, though to others, it only looked like Lady Blackwood was narrowing her eyes in an effort to hide her tears. In truth, the tears Bethany Blackwood shed would be shed only in the privacy of her bedchamber, not in front of the wedding guests. Here she was full of smiles, only smiles, chattering about how she was gaining a son, not losing a daughter.
Egg whispered in Betha's ear, "Are you certain you'd rather not be married to that tall, gallant knight instead of his rude squire, my lady?"
"My lord, your hair brings out the color of your lovely eyes," Betha replied, grinning. "How could I resist such a man?"
He laughed at this reminder of his first attempt to pay her a gallant compliment, a dismal attempt which had rightfully been met with her scorn. How far they had come, since that day. And how wonderful the journey ahead seemed to him, on this particular day.