Here we are, finally, the wedding. Well, enjoy, I really don't have much to say.


VII

ROBB

MARRIAGE had been an expectation since birth, for Robb Stark. He was to marry a woman of high birth, someone to help him control Winterfell after his father passed on. There had never been much discussion of what type of woman, whether she'd be a hard woman from the North or a soft Southern lady like his mother. A Dothraki warrior had not been a woman ever considered, as they were so far removed from the North and Westeros that never had they crossed his mind. But there he was, standing in front of mirrored glass.

No one had told him what to wear, but he did not expect the finery of a Southern wedding. He was told to expect entertainment and a feast, some of the Dothraki men had gone out of their way to congratulate him in accented Common Tongue and hoped he would be pleased. Robb pushed a finger through his auburn curls that had darkened with age, they hung just below his collar bone and bounced back up when they were tugged down. Robb's blue eyes studied himself and he bent, pulling his long, leather coat around his shoulders – it was his finest piece of clothing.

Exiting his room, he peered over at Dacey who wore a dress. Dacey was the type of woman who appeared comfortable in armour or dress, neither bothered her as it had Arya. Her hair was left loose and she still wore a sword strapped to her belt that hung around her waist. Beside her Smalljon was dressed nicely, or as nice as he could be. His hair was combed and his beard shaven which was rather amusing to Robb as his friend had vowed to never shave. Robb touched his own smooth skin that he had not shaved for a long while either.

"Your Grace," Dacey straightened her shoulders back.

"I told you to call me Robb," he smiled at her. "You look lovely, Dacey."

"Thank you," she nodded her head toward him.

"Och," Smalljon clicked his tongue together, moving to slap his large hand on Robb's shoulders. "Ye clean up well lad."

"Now you sound very much like your father," Robb snickered. "I'm surprised to see you have a face under all that beard."

"Dacey got to me," Smalljon grunted, rubbing his jaw roughly with the back of his hand.

"If he had his way he'd go to the wedding scruffy," was all Dacey said.

"And you're pretending the bloody Dothraki aren't going to go scruffy!" Smalljon threw his hands in the air, "Father out right refused to shave. They're going to think we're a bunch of bloody cunts."

Dacey suddenly elbowed Smalljon in the stomach and he doubled over. "Come now, Robb, it is time for your wedding."

"Hm," he pursed his lips. "I wish I could see my Mother raging by the time she receives my letter."

"I'm sure it would be most entertaining," Dacey agreed. "But we do not want to be late, insulting our hosts and your new wife."

"Good idea," Robb rolled back his shoulders. "I guess we should be going then."

The ceremony was to take place in the city centre for the people of Meereen to gaze upon the foreign King. Many were invited, Robb was a little surprised Queen Daenerys held it open for so many. But she said that she would not deny her people the right to witness a wedding, something she believed was a happy day. Robb assumed it was because she had found so much happiness with her husband, the Khal Drogo who was a mountain of silent support behind her at all times.

Robb and his entourage walked through the streets, the crowds staring at him curiously as he passed. Robb did not feel nervous, though he should have as he made his way to the city centre. Dacey and Smalljon flanked him, Arya and Greatjon were already at the centre and they had been for a while. Robb turned the last corner and was surprised at the great scene before him. It was early in the morning and two men already seemed to be fighting, another man was taking a woman against the hard ground.

"King Robb," he turned his head as he made his way toward the centre. Most watched him and Queen Daenerys as she stepped off her podium. "You will join us," she motioned to two seats that sat empty. "You will sit with us."

"Thank you," Robb made his way up the steps.

"You are welcome," she smiled at him warmly and he noticed how her husband watched her. "You will enjoy this wedding, it is nothing you have ever seen."

For that Robb was sure as he sat down slowly, his eyes flickered toward his sister who he could see standing beside Greatjon at the end of the podium. Half of Arya's hair was tied back and she wore breeches and a tunic, sword at her belt. Some Dothraki men appraised her but she seemed to straighten her shoulders, holding her sword handle as if trying to threaten them off. Greatjon was her protector also and Dacey and Smalljon the same as they joined the two of them at the end of the podium.

"The men fight," Queen Daenerys explained as she noticed him watching two men. "They fuck and they feast." She said it so casually, "A Dothraki wedding is considered a dull affair without three deaths."

Robb watched as a man was cut down where he stood, blood squirting out of his chest and the crowd cheering. "Is it a good omen?" Robb asked suddenly, "For deaths at a wedding?"

"I am unsure," she appeared puzzled. "I believe it is just the concept of a good time to the Dothraki."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "Will there be vows?"

"No," Queen Daenerys shook her head. "You will both be given gifts and when the sun is down you will consummate your marriage."

"Ah," Robb attempted to understand.

But their customs were so foreign, so removed from what Robb had known his entire life. When he returned to Winterfell he would marry his wife traditionally, before the Old Gods. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that he would also need to marry his wife in the Sept for his mother. Robb's eyes studied the people who danced, fucked and fought before he looked up. It was his wife, coming to him dressed in a burnt orange garb, some of it was translucent as it blew, caught in the wind.

Her dark brown hair was left loose, blowing in the wind. There was dark kohl that lined her eyes. She made her way to the podium, nodding at Queen Daenerys and Khal Drogo. She then turned to him, making her way up the steps and Robb stepped back, legs hitting the edge of his chair and he only sat when she did. Robb watched as Dacey was suddenly tugged at by one of the Dothraki men. She was led to the group that were in the middle and she danced, in the strange movements of the Dothraki which were foreign to Robb.

"Here," he heard someone grunt and he turned his head. Khal Drogo was standing near him and Robb looked down at the goblet he was holding. "You will drink this."

"Thank you," Robb took the goblet, sipping it and pulling a face. It was strong, a lot stronger than what he was used to.

Another man was suddenly stabbed through the neck by Dacey who sneered at him and then another man. Robb leaned forward and felt someone place a hand on his arm, he turned and looked down at the dark, slim fingers that sat on top his leather coat. His eyes travelled up the arm to meet his wife's eyes, she shook her head at him and he settled back in his seat, drinking the ale Khal Drogo had given him. Zhalli removed her hand from his arm and Robb watched as the first of the bride gifts were held by the Dothraki who made their way up the stairs.

A whip was held out by two men, they offered it to Zhalli who leaned forward and said something in Dothraki. Robb watched as the men suddenly turned to him, holding out the whip even further. He was hesitant, looking to his wife who suddenly nodded at him and he leaned forward. Wrapping his hands around the whip, he pulled it toward him, placing it beside him. The two men then moved down the stairs, turning their back to him.

"Good," he heard Zhalli say. "They will offer the gifts to me and I will reject them, they will then offer them to you."

"Right," Robb nodded his head.

"The woman you brought with you," Zhalli leaned forward. "The one who killed the man. She is fierce, is she your lover?"

"Dacey?" Robb snorted, "No, definitely not."

"Oh," she appeared not to understand. "Why not? She is lovely."

"Dacey deserves more than being the mistress of a King," he shrugged his shoulders. "And we always knew one day I would have a duty to marry for an allegiance. And Dacey was never an option, whilst she is a beautiful woman I do not think I would be enough for her."

"Hm," Zhalli hummed under her breath.

"Do you have a lover?" Robb asked her suddenly.

"No," she frowned, "I come to you pure." She shifted, "There was no lover."

"Right," Robb watched as Dacey began to dance with another man. "I think you'll get along with Dacey, I don't know about my sister Arya. But I can never tell, we have not seen each other in a very long time."

Zhalli studied him, "Why?"

"Because I left and so did she," he rubbed his hands together. "Our family… we all left our home. There are no Starks left in Winterfell."

"What is Winterfell?"

"My home," Robb sipped the strong ale Khal Drogo had given him. "Thank you," he suddenly said. "You agreed to marry me and I appreciate it, without Queen Daenerys and her dragons I believe it will be difficult to take back the North."

"You also agreed to marry me," Zhalli looked over at something and Robb followed her gaze. It was the large man that had skin a shade or two darker than his but still paler than Zhalli's warm, light brown skin. "It is my father who is unhappy with this match."

"Why?" Robb asked, "I heard he was not born a Dothraki as well."

"Yes," Zhalli looked down at her hands. "But my Father is a man of great pride and he believes in the Dothraki. He wanted me to marry a bloodrider, to stay close to our people."

"He is protective of his only child," Robb found himself looking at Zhalli, truly looking at her.

Her face was small with a pointed chin but her cheekbones were not prominent, which probably had something to do with her age. But she was no child and had she been nobility in Westeros she would already be married quite a few years. Her eyes were wide and round, framed with long, thick lashes and the colour of burnt leaves after summer ended and before winter truly began. Her hair was long and curly, left loose to fall to the middle of her back, it was also a deep brown colour, almost black if not for the way the sun hit it.

More men made their way to the podium, there were two again and in their hands they carried a large bow. They looked at each other before presenting the gift to Zhalli. Once again they spoke in unfamiliar words and Zhalli nodded at them, before holding out her hand and the men turned to Robb. They held out the bow even further and Robb reached out to take it, nodding at them as he wrapped his hands around the wood and the men turned to step off the podium.

"You are doing well," Zhalli complimented. "There is only one more gift you shall receive."

The sun was high in the sky and Robb was a little drunk, the ale was strong and he'd only had three glasses. Greatjon was laughing and boasting with a few of the Dothraki men, showing off his sword. Smalljon was already flirting with a few of the Dothraki women who watched him with awe and Dacey had managed to kill another man. No one seemed to stop her, they all seemed quite impressed with her skill. Arya still stood off to the side, watching them all suspiciously.

"Khal Robb," he blinked as two women stood before him, offering a platter of food.

"Thank you," he smiled at them, a lopsided grin that had the two of them giggling.

Zhalli leaned forward, "It is for both of us." She motioned to a table that was set before them, "They want us to feast well so we have energy for consummating our marriage later tonight."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head. "Would you like to hear more traditions of my people?"

"Yes," Zhalli had delight in her brown eyes as he looked down at her.

"Well," Robb compared a marriage in Westeros to one in the Dothraki. "Once we were wed we would have a feast much like this one but there would be no death, there would be more music and dancing."

"Why no death?"

"It's not the respectable thing to do in Westeros," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "And you would violate the guest right by killing your host. And that would not go over well, there would be too many deaths. I hardly think the bride and groom would survive."

"Oh," Zhalli pulled some meat toward her and chewed on it.

"After we were married it would be time for the bedding, someone would announce it," Robb pressed his lips together. "And we would be separated from each other."

"Separated," Zhalli frowned up at him. "Then how would we consummate the marriage?"

"I would be taken by young women and stripped of my clothing," he then studied her. "And men would do that to you. And then we would be placed together in a room. Some would watch or they would be sent out, I would send them out."

"Strange," Zhalli then paused. "Yet we do not mind when we have an audience." She motioned to a woman and man not too far from them that were rutting like beasts.

"I see that," Robb pressed his lips together. "Yet I would not like an audience."

"Oh," Zhalli sucked her cheeks in. "What does that mean?"

"I would request we go somewhere private," he then fanned himself.

"That is strange," Zhalli leaned forward to eat some more food. "Are you hungry?" She then offered him a strange fruit he had never seen before, "It is very good food."

"Thank you," Robb took the fruit from her and bit into the sticky sweetness.

It dribbled down his chin and he used the back of his hand to wipe it up. The fruit was nice, unlike anything he had tried before and quickly he finished it. Zhalli smiled at him appreciatively, and Robb felt that he was off to a good start with his new wife. His mother would not like her and he suspected a lot of people would have problems with his wife being a savage beast from Essos. But Robb liked her even if she was strange, well, her customs were strange.

"It's good," he then agreed.

"I know," Zhalli smiled. "It is from the Summer Isles."

"You know about geography?"

"Not really," she shrugged her shoulders. "One of the Khaleesi's people told me when they brought the food."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head slowly. "Do you like sweet things?"

"Yes," Zhalli admitted. "Most of my life we had food that was gifted to us by the Great Stallion. Now we are in Meereen our food is much different. Father doesn't like it, he says we will get fat and round like the old Masters and not be able to do much."

"Our old King was fat," Robb admitted. "He was Father's old friend and my Father once said he was a great warrior and a great man. But I did not see that when I laid eyes on him. All I saw was a fat, whoring man."

"How strange," Zhalli pushed her curls back from her face. "A King is a Khal, correct?"

"Yes…" Robb shrugged his shoulders. "A King is a leader and so is a Khal."

"I am to be a Khaleesi," Zhalli looked pleased by the fact. "You have large land and many people that follow you?"

"The North is large," Robb decided to tell her all about it. "But it's a cold and harsh land, it's the largest in Westeros but I would not say it is the most populated." He shrugged his shoulders, "Not many people can handle the cold, and it is very cold. It is why the words of my house is Winter is Coming because we know of the cold and we can survive it." He then looked sympathetically at Zhalli and was surprised at the look of wonder on her face, "I don't think you'll be able to handle it."

"I can handle anything," Zhalli suddenly straightened herself, puffing out her chest.

Robb found her amusing, "I am sure you can." He didn't want to be patronising but he was sure she would grow to resent being married to him. "So when is the next gift that will be given?"

"I am not sure," Zhalli suddenly studied the crowd of people. "Perhaps when we have finished eating," she then looked up at the sun in the sky. "It is still early in the afternoon, there is a long time until the bedding yet. But perhaps you should stop drinking, you have a duty to perform."

Zhalli wouldn't have been the first to tell him that he had a duty, it was something he had heard from his father, mother and everyone else after them. Duty, everything was a duty when you were born the heir to the throne or a large seat in nobility. Robb combed his fingers through his thick, auburn curls and watched as two women danced, drums beating loudly as the two of them moved. Dothraki culture was fascinating, unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life.

"Look," Zhalli pointed at his sister. "She has killed a man. They are impressed and they are impressed by Dacey. Some men might come to you and ask if they can marry one of them."

Robb blinked slowly, "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck, "That would be their decision if they want to entertain the men."

"Oh," Zhalli leaned backward. "So you would not force them to marry?"

"No," Robb shook his head. "Not Dacey because she's not family, she's one of my council members and one of my soldiers. I trust her and I would not want to break that trust by forcing her to marry someone." He then glanced over at his sister, "And I think Arya would sooner stick a sword through me than marry someone, especially if I forced her."

Zhalli looked up at him in wonder, a smile on her face and Robb shifted uncomfortably. It was good that their marriage was getting off to a better start than he thought it would. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him and his culture which was a good thing. Robb imagined having to wed a proper lady, most of the time they would be too nervous to even look at him. He imagined marrying a Frey girl and found that he got a better deal with Queen Daenerys.

"It is getting late," Zhalli looked up at the sky suddenly. "Our last gift will be given and then we will consummate the marriage."

Robb did look at the sky, the sun that was beginning to disappear behind the great pyramid structure that had become Queen Daenerys's palace. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked down at the Dothraki people, two women seemed to be kissing which was something he thought was kept to brothels. Shaking his head, he turned to look at Zhalli who had leaned forward and was finishing off the plate of food they had been given.

She was very beautiful, long, delicate fingers and skin a warm, light brown. Very, very beautiful in a way so foreign to Westeros that he thought a lot of men would compliment him on his choice of bride. Robb pushed his thick, brown-red curls from his brow but they only managed to fall back again. He should've tied his hair back but he had not thought it through. Leaning back in his seat, he turned his head to look over at Khal Drogo and Queen Daenerys who sat closer now, the two of them gazing up at one another with love.

"They come," Zhalli distracted him.

Robb turned and two more men came, this time with a curved blade. Robb was struck by the beauty of the sword. He breathed in deeply as the two men came toward him but turned immediately to Zhalli as others had done before. They spoke deeply in a language that Robb assumed was Dothraki and Zhalli answered. They stopped talking and the two men turned to Robb, holding the curved sword out to him. How would he wield such a fine blade?

One hand clasped around the wrapped hilt of the blade and Robb licked his lips. Before he could thank the two of them the men suddenly turned and stepped off the podium. Robb ran his hand over the steal of the blade, pressing his lips together before turning to place the blade beside his other gifts. He then turned to Zhalli who straightened her shoulders and pulled her face together. Robb closed his eyes briefly before meeting the eyes of a person over her head.

Ifakko, her father, was a tall, bearded man with a long braid and many beads sewn into his braid. His eyes were a strange, steel, grey that were stark against his light brown skin. He glowered at Robb and there was a clear message that if Robb was to hurt Zhalli he would taste blood. Robb was not nervous, as he would have been had it been a decade earlier. He was a man grown, he had lived a life on the high seas and had faced worse foes than his dangerous goodfather who very well was dangerous – Robb had seen him fighting.

"The sun is down," Zhalli stood suddenly and turned to him. "We must go."

"Right," Robb stood up.

Their arms brushed against each other but they did not hold hands. Many stopped to watch as the two of them moved to the edge of the celebrations. Zhalli suddenly turned to him, "Will you take me here?"

Robb blinked down at her before looking around at the prying eyes, "No." He suddenly placed a large, pale hand on her brown arm. There was a difference in their skin tone, "We'll go somewhere more private."

"Private?" She echoed.

It was a long walk to Robb's chambers in the great pyramid palace. But there was no way he was going to take his new bride out in the open like some sort of animal. He then blanched, her people were used to such a custom but he was not. Robb liked to fuck but he also liked a soft bed and wine. He liked to woo the women he was going to bed. But this woman was his wife and had customs that were so far removed from what Robb knew that he wanted to make her feel comfortable, to introduce her to his own customs.

To make her comfortable.

The room Robb had been provided with was grand but not half as large as chambers he was used to. There was a large bed that was low to the ground with four posters, pressed against the wall opposite the doors that opened. It was covered in thin, golden fabric fit for a King. There was a rug beside the bed and a chaise lounge near a hole in the wall suitable for a fire. There was a large window that overlooked Meereen, billowing curtains that touched the floor and were almost sheer.

"A bed," Zhalli blinked at him. "Only recently I have come to sleeping in a bed. I still prefer furs."

"This will be more comfortable," Robb explained.

"Oh," Zhalli then reached up to her neck.

Her dress loosened and Robb reacted, "Wait." But he was too late as her dress fell to the ground, revealing her nude body.

"What is it?" Zhalli blinked up at him, unashamed of her nakedness. Inappropriately, Robb was reminded of the confidence of whores he had been with. Which was not a nice thought when it was his wife standing in front of him, with a different confidence.

"Never mind," he muttered and pulled off his coat. He let it fall to the floor and then yanked off his tunic. His chest was scattered with scars and there was a little hair on the top of his chest. A necklace hung from his neck, fashioned with a wolf and a trout almost chasing each other and held together by a thick, black band.

Keeping his trousers on, he did kick off his boots and his thick, woollen socks. Robb then looked down at his wife and found himself looking at her body. He was appreciative, her breasts were not too large but was enough that he was satisfied. Her skin was a warm brown all over and she was lean, though her hips flared out in a round curve. Robb took a deep breath, he could not be rough with her though it was what she might expect if she thought he'd mount her like a stallion.

"Come," he then held out his hand and she blinked at him.

"What?" She blinked up at him with big eyes.

"Come," she then placed her hand in his and he tugged her toward the bed.

He sat down on the end of it and looked at the place beside him, slowly she lowered herself to the bed and Robb reached out. His hand cupped her cheek, so pale compared to the lovely colour that was her skin. She blinked at him slowly, large lashes framing her eyes as she looked up at him. Robb leaned forward, they were yet to kiss and he wondered if she had ever kissed anyone before. He got his answer as his lips pressed against her lips and she pulled back, blinking up at him in surprise.

"What is that?" She demanded.

"Kissing," Robb answered, "It is what a man does to his wife in my culture."

"Oh," she paused. "I have seen the Khal and Khaleesi do it. I have seen others." She studied him, "But you are supposed to mount me."

"No," he then leaned forward to press a kiss against her cheek bone. "We married in your customs and we will bed in my customs."

"And what are your customs?" She lifted her chin, challenging him.

"I will teach you," Robb then leaned forward, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth.

"So you will not mount me?"

"I will in another way."

"Oh."

Robb's lips brushed Zhalli's and it was painfully awkward as she was hesitant in copying the movements of his lips. But Robb noticed she was a quick learner as their lips brushed together, softly and she straightened as if to get closer to her. Their kisses grew into more, into something frantic. Robb's hands came to cup the side of her head as he leaned over her, Zhalli panting as he pulled away from her suddenly. She gazed up at him in wonder and Robb leaned forward again, kissing her and burying his hands in her thick curls.

Soon they were laying down on the soft bed, still only kissing but the sky was darkening even further. Soon Zhalli lay beneath Robb, gazing up at him and his hands ran up her sides. They gazed into each other's eyes, still trying to work each other out with soft touches and wandering gazes. But they were still foreign to one another, something a marriage could not fix though many hoped it would. Robb reached out, cupping the side of her face lightly and she breathed in deeply, chest expanding as Robb leaned down to kiss again.

What could have been a very rushed consummation became a slow seduction. Something Robb was familiar with as he had been with many different women over the course of his life on the seas. Robb's touches seemed to have Zhalli gasping for breath, staring up at him in wonder whenever he did something she did not expect. Robb smiled down at her, he liked the way she moved against him and the way she looked at him for guidance of what to do next. Soon it was off with his trousers and the two of them were together, holding to each other tightly.

In the aftermath of their consummation, Zhalli rested on his chest and stared out at the night sky. Robb was looking up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as his fingers ran up and down her spine. He'd had better, there were more practiced whores but Zhalli was his wife and he could not tell her that. Instead Robb would teach her, if they were going to have any sort of marriage he was not going to keep from the marriage bed. He would not stray, he would not dishonour her like his father had dishonoured his mother.

Robb, as he blinked slowly, realised a wife was much more responsibility than he had intended.