Narella

The ground was littered with pine needles and blown leaves, a carpet of white still damp from the recent snowfall. It squished beneath their feet. Huge bare oaks, tall sentinels, and hosts of soldier pines stood all around them. On a hill above them stood the weirwood tree, ancient and ominous, thick green moss crawling up its sides.

The wedding was to be the same day they've met. It had been faster than she anticipated as the day crept. She knew of her wedding before they've met though it had been far too rushed for her to properly come to reality.

After Jon Snow and Sansa Stark departed Ravenwood with no alliance, her father came to her of news of a possible betrothal. She knew her father seen the reward he would gain though he'd been apologizing to her. What do you need I forgive father? You've given me a betrothal with a Great House. I am honored, she remembered saying. Other than the thoughts of her true feeling. I'm frightened.

Before the ceremony they held word with each other in the midst of preparations. "Do you remember the training pen? And I got my arrow below the mark? You laughed so much at me! Rob was there..." reminiscing of her brother. Show him you're lively, her mother's voice echoed. "And you told me girls shouldn't have a bow if they couldn't use it. Well now, someday we should have a challenge."

He whipped his head toward Narella, smiling widely. "You missed the mark and you were boasting, so I laughed. Your challenge shall be met." He laughed as he told. I could get used to that laugh. His smile. Eyes.

Starting with the procession from the Gift to the heart tree nearest. As custom, Lord Firestone escorted his daughter down to her betrothed. The groom waiting under the heart tree asks, "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?"

"Lady Narella Firestone of House Firestone comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"I, Jon Snow of House Stark. Claim her. Who gives her?"

His voice strong and boisterous, her father spoke clearly. "Lord Almont Firestone of House Firestone, father of the bride," her father turned to her, and asked, "Lady Narella Firestone, will you take this man?"

Timidly, "I take this man."

A kiss to the cheek, her father's hand replaced to Jon's. Joining hands the pair knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads in submission to the Gods. Spending a few moments in silent prayer.

Now standing, the groom replaced the maiden cloak of white fur trim, red field with a stone warrior enveloped in flames. Cloaking her under his protection he clasped the white trimmed fur on white field with a grey direwolf onto her shoulders. The vows sealed with a kiss.

Narella avoided his gaze sheepishly. Focusing on the cold hands that held hers, the lips that met hers.

Hand in hand, the solemn party moved back to the Gift. Immediately being showered with cheers and snow.

Under the manse set up before the trees, they broke their fast on honey cakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. The wedding party was a joyous occasion. Full of dancing, laughter, overall good will, and mirth. Father certainly had brought much entertainment and happiness to the wedding. She had seen the tear that ran down his face during the ceremony. Yet he was very happy drinking ale and telling his war stories to Jon, beside him.

Torches were lit as dusk crept in. Her mother's singer played "The Vows spoken" and "Seasons of My Love" and "Two Hearts that Beat as One." Lively tunes created from such a silk tongue. Several younger knights even asked Lady Sansa to dance. Her refusal well defined on her features. In grace did she accept in deceiving happiness.

Hesitantly, Jon grinned and grasped his bride's hand where he pulled her to dance. Striking up a waltz alongside the rest of the dancers, their happiness almost contagious. Please be happy with me.

"Do you enjoy yourself?" The proximity of their bodies inches apart. Hard did she triumph over the fawning adoration of such a man before her. Late in her reactions of answering did he notice her stare. Blushing madly she focused elsewhere. Anywhere.

"Immensely. It has been long seeing such joy in the North. I say it is much needed in the upcoming battle." A small smile adorn her features. "Do you husband?"

From a smirk to a solemn stare. Jon told nothing upon his expression. How will I read such a man? "Immensely," he repeated back.

After the dance, the couple settled back toward the trestle table. Her northman husband raised a hand to a passing servant who nodded and curtsied before she went off, returning with a goblet of ale. Emptying with two deep gulps he set the goblet aside. His wife couldn't help, but grin at him over the rim of her chalice.

"The bedding!" A soldier yelled. The crowd took up the cry in lively shouts. Surrounding them amongst the table, the men took ahold of her. Before they could rip her garments, her husband forcefully shoved a Ravenwood soldier from his prying hands.

"Do not touch her." Jon ordered. Offering his hand, they walked down to his tent in silence. Silence that compelled her to look to the man before her. Clasped hands that made her blush so heatedly she felt her palms sweat again. He is handsome.

The more she observed him, the more she came to admire his looks. His beautiful grey eyes focused on the unknown as they stared in the distance to his tent. Their tent.

Please, Gods let me know of love. If you're so cruel, make my womb quicken with his seed for I can dote on our child. I'll give him many and strong, and he'll be proud. Would he?