| Chapter Three |

SELENE

She had heard somewhere, from her mother maybe or perhaps her Septa, that rain on one's wedding day was meant to bring good fortune for a marriage. Most likely that the rain represented tears of joy as the Maiden blessed the union of man and wife.

Selene could not help but disagree.

She had been sitting in the small room for hours on end, listening to the rain as it came down in sheets over old building. Somewhere in the corner there was a leak that the innkeeper had remedied with a pot that was now nearing full. Everything was damp and cold and for a brief moment she could forget where she was, as if she had been briefly transported back to her home at Storm's End.

She eyed the hem of her dress with a frown, the gold fabric damp and sullied with the soot from the hearth. She had spent several hours next to it, pacing anxiously, then furiously, when time passed and still Robb Stark had not shown up for his own wedding.

Now the dress was ruined. If she hadn't spent so long having put the damn thing on in the first place, all the tugging and tying, she would not have had any qualms with the mud or the dress at all for that matter. But the hours had passed and still she sat and still she waited, the mud on her hem rising and rising like the temper she could no longer subdue.

Her impatience did not go unnoticed.

Shireen sat by the window, not distracted by the rain or the thunder that rumbled the walls. Her nose was buried in an obnoxiously large book, one that was almost too heavy for the small girl to lift in the first place. Selene watched her, trying to soothe her fury as it rose in her chest. The girl's eyes danced over the pages eagerly with excitement in her smile.

"Listen to this Selene," she announced with cheerfulness that the elder had not known in some time. "'Balerion's fire was used by Aegon the first to forge the Iron Throne. Its black skull,' Balerion's of course, 'was placed on the throne room at the time of its death.' You never mentioned that the giant skull of the Black Dread was in the Red Keep."

Selene felt warmth at her sister's words, as if stories of great beasts of old were the most important things she had to worry about this day. She rose from the edge of the bed where she sat and joined her sister at the window, looking down at the pages, worn and tattered of Shireen's favorite book.

"I only saw the great beast once, though I can hardly remember it now. When Uncle Robert rose to the throne, he had all the skulls removed and brought down into the dungeons. Uncle Renly brought me down there once. I think he had hoped it would frighten me to see such things."

"Does anything actually frighten you?" her sister asked, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear and Selene frowned at the sight of something dark on her right cheek.

"Who struck you?" she asked, feeling her temper rising once again and Shireen tried to pull her hair back over the small bruise.

"No one," she insisted. "Please don't fuss over it. This is supposed to be a happy day."

"This is most assuredly the unhappiest of days," Selene corrected. "Now tell me who hit you, Shireen. Was it mother?"

When Shireen did not immediately answer as she usually did, Selene knew the bruise had come from their mother. She stood quickly but Shireen's small hand wrapped around her own to stop her.

"No don't, please," Shireen begged again, more annoyed than anything at Selene's anger. "You know how she gets. She sees us only as living reminders of her incompetence."

It was true. All their lives their mother made them very aware of her disappointment in their gender. The woman's own inability to produce a male heir had driven her mad with disdain for her own children. As a child, Selene remembered every single one of her mother's miscarriages, all boys that would have been Stannis Baratheon's heirs. And after each was found stillborn, she would look at Selene in disgust.

"Father would not like it," Selene said sternly. "If he knew what she was doing-"

"Father has more to worry over than me," she reminded her older sister who only shook her head in frustration. "I can take care of myself. You may be brave, dear sister, but it is I who knows how to control my Baratheon temper. And I think that makes me brave too."

Shireen was only two and ten but she was already smarter and braver than Selene had ever been. They were different, yet so much alike in their demeanors that Selene often thought she was looking back in time at her own youth. But Shireen was right. Selene had never withheld her temper very well whilst her younger sister often kept it in check, hidden from their parents in a controlled and admirable manner.

She envied her that much.

She thought of Robb Stark and his tardiness and if she feared anything it at all it was what she might do when he finally did show up, if he showed up. She wanted to strangle him for keeping here her, strangle her mother for neglecting Shireen, a child who seemed not so much a child any longer. Selene always tried to mother her, but often times - moments like the present - she felt like Shireen was the one mothering her.

"I worry for you," Selene admitted and the surprise was clear on her sister's features. "Don't look so shocked, I do worry. I worry that when I leave you alone with that woman that she will be cruel to you. That my absence will only bring you pain."

Shireen closed her book then and set it beside her. She gripped both of Selene's hands in hers as she stared up at her sister with a grin that she most definitely had not inherited from their father. It made her wonder if her mother had ever been a happy woman. Even her memories, Selene could not conjure an image of her mother's lips curled back in amusement or joy.

"I will be strong, as you are. And you will write me as much as your duties will allow. Promise me," she insisted and Selene had never been one to deny her sister anything, especially a promise between sisters.

"I promise," was her whispered reply and she kissed her sister on the top of her head.

"And anyways, you will be much too busy to worry," Shireen reminded her. "You will have a husband to look after."

"Of that I am not so sure," Selene replied, allowing herself to laugh slightly in spite of her rage.

"He will take one look at you and fall in love," Shireen fantasized. "Just as Aegon the fifth saw Betha Blackwood and declared he loved her from their first glance."

"You read far too much, my dear sister. And our father would not take too fondly to hearing of your great love for stories of our Targaryen predecessors."

"We are blood relatives," she insisted. "The Targaryen bloodline is what gave our Uncle Robert claim to the throne in the first place."

"Yes but now-," Selene reminded her. "-we are in the Age of the Stag. Baratheon blood rules these lands. Do not forget your name, Shireen. Ours is the Fury, remember that."

Her sister nodded but it was clear she was no longer listening. She was back to her book and her nose buried in tales of heroism and romance. She couldn't fault the younger girl. There were days when Selene too had fantasized about the days of old and the dragons that roamed the skies. She told Shireen that now was the Age of the Stag but they both knew that era would be short-lived. Without a male heir, the Baratheon line would cease to exist. Their bloodline would continue only in the names of their husbands until the Stag was a house long forgotten, written into a book that was more legend than truth.

There was a commotion outside the inn, and Selene leaned over her sister to see a crowd outside in the rain. Off in the distance there were horses, she could barely make out the sigil, a grey banner with the head of a direwolf emblazoned upon it.

The King in the North had arrived.

ROBB

He was late.

So extraordinarily late that he wasn't even surprised when a stout woman with a frazzled expression came out of the inn, wringing her hands, and informed him that Selene Baratheon refused to see him.

Late for his own wedding.

Of course she was angry, he thought. But he wasn't overly pleased either. He shouldn't have to remind some childish girl that he was in the middle of a war. Battles took priority every time. He had men to keep alive and morale to keep from crumbling. She was lucky he was coming at all, he thought during his two day ride through what seemed like a never ending shroud of rain.

He was wet and cold and the first thing he wanted to do was take a hot bath and eat a warm meal. But no, he had to hear about the displeasure of a spoiled princess. He had made it to Pinkmaiden, at the agreed upon day. Sure it was dark by the time he arrived in the small inn on the corner of the village town. But what did that matter now?

He was exhausted and preferred to get the wedding over with as soon as possible. He had rode non stop in the rain for this woman, men laughing at his side, joking about the Baratheon beast he was to bed. They'd told him tales of her greyscale, how it distorted her face. He knew the stories were meant to worry him, which was why he didn't pay much heed in what they said.

But he had also never heard any tales of Selene's exceptional beauty. In fact, he knew very little of his bride-to-be at all. He knew Stannis Baratheon had two daughters, that his eldest one had been born before Robert's Rebellion and survived the Siege of Storm's End. Robb told himself it did not matter. That he had sold himself to the highest bidder and Selene Baratheon would be his wife for all his days to come. What did it matter what she looked like?

But he could not help but feel a twisting in his stomach every time they mentioned her distorted face and her childlike figure. The thought of the wedding night alone was enough to make his anxiety flare. He would vow his fidelity to his wife, he had always known this. But he had always thought his wife would be of his choosing, that despite his status he would find a woman of both beauty and of spirit. Never had he pictured himself here, on the edge of a village about to pledge his soul to a stranger. He wished they were in the North. He thought if he were home, in the comfort of Winterfell that he might feel more at ease than he currently did.

He stood in a room, fairly small, on the second floor of the inn. His only company was Stannis, his wife and Robb's mother. No one spoke as the fire crackled nearby and the thunder continued to roar outside the window. There was only silence as Robb tried to warm himself but his clothes were soaked through, something that was only exacerbating his impatience.

Selyse Florent was not a handsome woman by any means. But something about her demeanor commanded his attention. She eyed him curiously in direct contrast to her husband who seemed more preoccupied in the flames dancing on the hearth rather than the man who was mere moments away from marrying his daughter.

Robb almost spoke, but then thought better of it when he realized he had nothing of interest to say. His mother tried not to shiver as she stood in her wet garments, her dress soaked from hem to the clasp on her neck. But she was cold, as was he, and both were growing tired of waiting for this wedding they had rode two days to attend.

"If you would just let me talk to her-," Selyse began in a hushed mutter. Her voice was too harsh to whisper. "That selfish child-"

"Enough," he scolded in return, his whisper more concealed than hers had been but still loud enough that Robb and Catelyn exchanged silent looks. The woman shifted, impatiently when the door opened and in walked a small girl of rather small stature with her chin held high and half of her face discolored as he had heard it would be.

Shireen.

"Father," she spoke eloquently, her gaze meeting Robb's only briefly before walking up to Stannis with a bit of parchment in her hands. She then turned, and curtsied in Robb's direction.

"What are you doing down here?" her mother questioned, her tone stern and disapproving. "I was told you'd been sent to bed."

"Leave her be, Selyse," Stannis instructed and once again his wife shifted at her husband's scolding.

His eyes traveled quickly over the parchment and Robb watched as he sighed, sounding as frustrated as Robb felt, and then he excused himself from the room. Shireen, however, did not budge, even when her mother gave her a disapproving glare. She just turned and looked across the cramped room at Robb and grinned.

"Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you," she beamed and when she stepped towards him, Selyse placed her wiry fingers on the child's shoulder, pulling her back.

"The honor is mine as well, Princess," he replied, his tone emitting none of the agony he currently felt.

"Can we expect your daughter any time this evening?" Catelyn questioned towards the taller woman. Robb could hear the impatience in his mother's voice. She was reaching her limit.

"Your son, My Lady, has kept us waiting for some time. My daughter has been waiting all day for her groom. I think His Grace can allow her a few moments of her own, to refresh herself," the woman defended. He could not tell if it was kind what the woman was doing for her daughter, or merely her own agitation rising to it's limit as well.

"It might hurry things along if you were to-" the child started looking at Robb with a lifted eyebrow. He tried not to stare at the grey side of her face. "-maybe wash. A bit?" she suggested and Robb was sure he looked quite taken aback. "My sister has been waiting some time, after all, and did put forth the effort to look nice for His Grace."

"Shireen!" her mother scolded, aghast at her daughter's forwardness. "Leave us. Now!"

The girl grinned as she did as her mother asked, eyeing Robb's clothes and giving him a knowing look. He thought of Arya then and her mischevious grin and wondered if her suggestion was meant to be a hint at the reason for his bride's absence.

Catelyn looked at her son, and Robb caught her glancing over his figure and he thought he saw her grin as well a she cocked her head to the side. He looked down at his hands, noting that they were still filthy from battle. He could not see his face, but he assumed, from his mother's expression, that it was even less appealing.

"You know-," she whispered in his ear as she leaned it. "-perhaps the child has a point."

STANNIS

She was defiant and steadfast, a true Baratheon in her stature. Though she had the Baratheon hair and eyes, he had always thought Selene reminded him more of his mother. Though Cassana Estermont was renowned for her patience while Selene was always deterred by her temper. A Baratheon trait he shared, as had Robert.

But she would not falter as she stood there. Not for him, he thought. He leaned back in his chair, the small faded clothed chair that sat in the corner of the room nearest to the fire. When she moved her gaze to the window, Stannis took the opportunity to stare up at Davos who stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for instruction. Convince her, his eyes persuaded and Davos did not need further explanation before he stepped forward.

"Princess," he began. "We are all aware that Robb Stark has insulted you by arriving in the state that he has." It wasn't how Stannis would have gone about it at all. They all knew Selene's anger was not directed towards the Young Wolf's appearance. But it had not helped by any means. However, Selene did not scoff, as she might have to Stannis. Instead she stayed silent and let the man speak. "But we must also take into account that we have asked him to abandon his men, amidst his campaign against the Westerlands, in order to wed you, two days ride from where his army awaits his return."

"I am not a foolish child, Ser Davos," she reminded him, though her glance was directed at her father. "I understand the importance of his war. But had he simply had the forethought to send word, I would not have been sitting around in my wedding garments for an entire day, humiliated when the people announced Robb Stark had left his bride at the altar. And then, when he finally does find it in his interest to arrive, he intends me to wed and bed him while he is covered in filth? I apologize if you think my behavior naive, but I expected better of a man I have only heard described as honorable. Was I foolish to expect him to treat me as though he is marrying the future Queen to the Iron Throne? Instead he treats me like another obstacle for his war. What kind of ally will he be if he can't even be trusted to arrive to his own wedding in a timely matter."

Stannis would have laughed had he known how. His daughter was full of fire, that had always been apparent. But she was not wrong. Robb Stark was marrying the future Queen and his negligence of her had made him simmer with impatience as well. He pitied the boy king, knowing Selene's grudge would not be easily subdued.

"Some advice? If I may?" Davos asked and Selene took in a deep sigh, holding it tightly in her lungs before purging it out and nodding her head slowly. "Forgive him this slight. Start your marriage on a happy note. You and the boy will have many days to argue but your wedding day ought not be one of them." She was watching him now, her eyes focused on his eyes and his words, and Stannis watched as Selene's icy gaze started to thaw, if only slightly.

Davos placed his hands on her shoulders then and kissed her cheek. Stannis felt a pang deep within him somewhere and he glanced away. Davos had always been the only one who could reason with his daughter. Selene's bullheaded ways were always met with his own. And often, even through logic and discussion they would end up in a shouting match, one way or another. But with Davos she allowed his opinion to matter. Just as she would now.

Davos left the room then and Stannis stood so he was standing across from his daughter. Her eyes were lost in thought as she most likely was deciding if she should forgive the Young Wolf or not. But when her eyes finally focused, they met his and he thought the girl in front of him was no longer the stubborn daughter who had grown to be too much like him, but instead she was the child on the steps of the dungeon staircase at Storm's End, her eyes pleading with him to protect her. She was not just angry.

She was scared.

He swallowed as his chest twinged once again and he allowed himself to step closer until he was looking down at her. Slowly, he placed his hands on her arms and then wrapped them around her back, pulling her to him in one soft movement.

They were both stiff, neither moved as they stood there without words, neither used to the contact. He could not remember the last time he'd held her, not like he used to. Shireen still craved his attention, grabbed hold of him with her childlike spirit. But Selene had not been a child for many years. She had seen too much, been entrusted with too much. She had hardly been a child even in her youth.

But then, as if she that child once more, she placed her head against his chest and let her arms snake around him and grip him tightly. Once again she was his firstborn, prized and protected in his grasp. Selyse had spent so much time dwelling in her disappointment at failing to produce him an heir, that she had not realized how proud he was the day Selene was born.

She had been beautiful, pink-faced and wide-eyed and a temper even then. But she was his. Just as she was now. Soon to be no longer.

He placed his lips to the top of her hair, trying his best to memorize this feeling. And then he pulled her back. Her eyes were damp and she tried to avoid his gaze. But they soon sought his out for reassurance and he gave her a small nod. He wiped her eyes and held his hand over her cheek and wished he could smile for her then.

And then she was ready.

ROBB

At some point the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, so soft that it was like a mist that floated down from the clouds. He thought for a moment it was snow, and as he stood beneath the Heart Tree, he found himself smiling and thinking of home.

It had been Selene's suggestion, he'd been told by Ser Davos, when Robb asked why they stood beneath a weirwood. She had insisted that their wedding appease his Northern customs. Robb felt a rush of guilt when he'd heard this but thought perhaps this cold, impatient woman of his would be kinder than he'd initially expected.

He had only seen her briefly, through the rain and through a window at the top of the inn when he'd arrived and he could make out nothing except her disapproving frown. Now as he watched her approach, he was certain it was a different figure he'd seen. She was not at all scarred or afflicted as his men had warned. The closer she stepped, on the arm of her father, the more clearly he saw that there was very little flaw in her complexion at all. In fact, Robb found himself pleasantly surprised at her appearance.

There was enough light, provided by the torches held by his guards, that he could make out most of her as she came closer to his side. She was not an exceptional beauty, but she has many pleasing features. Her eyes were a dark blue, steady like her father's but alight with a spirit he was quickly becoming familiar with. Her lips were a faint pink, like her cheeks though she tried to hide it when she lowered her head.

He wasn't sure why the thought pleased him, that she might be anxious when she saw him. He could see she was surprised as well when their eyes met briefly. She had only seen him covered in mud and filth and now she was seeing him as Robb Stark, a man and not a soldier. He wanted to thank Shireen and so he smiled when he saw her not far from her mother's side and she did not bother to hide her own smile in return.

It was when Stannis and Selene were just before him that the Maester spoke.

"My Lady," the man said, his voice louder than his age might suggest it would be. "Is it true that you come here today under your own free will and accord?"

Robb could not help but look at his bride's reaction as she tightened her lips and nodded.

"Yes, it is true," she replied, her voice strong. Robb found it a welcome sound.

"With whom do you come, and whose blessings do accompany you?"

"It is I, King Stannis, of the House Baratheon, her father. And she is accompanied by the blessings of myself and her family."

The customs were of the North, and she could see the Red Woman standing off to the side with a slightly sour expression at the whole affair. He had heard of Stannis' new religion, a religion Robb knew almost nothing about. But it seemed as though Selene had very little concern for it and in fact from what little he knew of her, he could safely assume she might have chosen a Northern ceremony both for his comfort and to spite her father's new priestess.

"Your Grace," the Maester said then, looking in his direction and Robb took his eyes from his bride and glanced at the man. "Please cloak your bride and bring her under your protection."

Robb did as he was told, turning and looking only briefly at his mother's emotional eyes before reaching around her to where the Greatjon stood, cloak in hand and handed it to Robb. He was glad it was not wet and glad his mother had the forethought to wrap it up neatly when Robb had not even bothered to think of it at all.

Robb stepped towards Selene then, and draped the grey and silver cloak over her shoulders. She did not bother to even glance at him as he did so, simply lowering her head slightly and pushing her hair forward so the fabric would not pin it down.

Stannis moved then, pulling back his daughter's hair in a surprisingly tender motion before taking her hand and placing it in Robb's. Their eyes met, not just king to king, but father to the man his daughter was marrying. The sternness in his eyes was different this time, not quite a warning, but instead full of expectation. Robb nodded to him because it was all he could think to do. And then they glanced back at the Mester who smiled with kindness.

"Today we have come, in the sight of the Old Gods in this holy place, beneath the symbol of this Heart Tree, to bind this man and this woman, two households, in the sacred bond of marriage," he paused and Robb felt himself take a deep breath, aware of the fingers lightly laid across his palm. "Your Grace, is it your wish to take this woman as your wife, as your family and as our blood, and do you vow to the Old Gods to keep her under your protection until death does part you?"

Robb could feel the weight of this moment on his chest. The promise he had broken to Lord Frey, the risk he was taking in his alliance with Stannis. He could feel his mother by his side, supporting him and he wished only for his father, to see him there as well, smiling proudly as he had so many times before. But he was gone. And it was part of that which reminded him why this union was so necessary. He may have not wanted a wife, not in this way at least. Not yet. But with his vows he would be one step closer to avenging his father and protecting his people.

"Yes," he said finally. "It is my wish."

"And My Lady, is it your wish, to take this make as your husband, as your family and as your blood, and do you vow to the Old Gods to keep him and serve him until death does part you?"

Her hesitation was much shorter than his. And he was certain it was not so much her anger in him that gave her pause, but the words in which she was meant to agree to. They were different than his as they were for all women. And he could understand her distaste for them. But there was only a slight flicker of annoyance before she spoke.

"Yes, it is my wish," she answered.

The Maester looked then to Catelyn and then to Stannis who both, after instruction, took out individual lengths of silk. He watched as Stannis wrapped the silk ribbon of black and gold around Selene's hand and then Robb's. His mother followed suit, wrapping a grey silk ribbon over his hand and finally Selene's binding them together.

Robb stared down at her hand then, taking note of the ring on her finger that had once belonged to his mother and was now his gift to her. The jewel sparkled as the light of the fire flickered over it. He wondered off-handedly if she had noticed her dagger on his belt.

"Now, let you both say the words, your vows which will hold as your promise to one another and the gods."

That was the part where they were meant to turn and Robb felt a twisting in his stomach that had been there since he saw her. He had not noticed it until now, as their eyes met and he could see immediately that his apology would be needed before she would let down her wall of indignation.

"Do you know the words?" he whispered so only she would hear and she nodded. He swallowed, harder than he meant to and then he gripped her other hand in his. "I, Robb of the House Stark, King in the North and of the Trident-"

"And I, Selene of the House Baratheon, Princess of the Kingdoms of Westeros,-"

And then in perfect unison, Robb keeping their pace, they spoke together.

"-do take thee as mine own, as my blood and as my bone. Let my body belong to you, my spirit make us one. By the gods, I am yours and your are mine, from this day, until my last."

"Now, let you, this day to your last, remember that it is the gods who sanction this marriage and it is in their name and with their blessing that I do proclaim you man and wife. May your love endure that its flame remains a guiding like until you," the old man smiled fondly at the both of them and then turned towards Robb. "Your Grace, you may kiss your bride."

They were powerful words, words that he had never intended to speak unless he meant them. And therefore he knew he meant them. This woman was his wife and he would no longer see her as the bargaining chip between kings. He had vowed to protect her, to give her his body and his spirit from this day until his last. And it was a promise he would keep.

Her eyes were full of something very different as he leaned in, and he felt as if he was holding his breath as he placed his lips over hers. He meant for it to be quick, a chaste kiss that would not embarrass either of them before the large crowd of nearly fifty. But once he felt her lips pressed against his own, the soft flesh of their mouths bound as one, he knew it would not be such an easy feat.

He was not sure which one of them removed themselves first, or if they had done it at the same time, but soon her eyes moved away from his as the people around them cheered with excitement.

And when the cold mist replaced the warmth of her hand in his, he felt a sinking in his stomach that was foreign and he was certain it was a feeling that would live to plague him the rest of his days.

A/N: I am so pleased by the response I have received on this story already. I am beyond thrilled that you are enjoying reading it and I hope each chapter lives up to your expectations. Thank you and please continue to leave feedback as you see fit! Thanks, Lola.