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Alys Karstark looked every bit the radiant bride as she wed the wildling, who himself looked every bit the warrior in his bronze armor. The ceremony was fascinating to her, as she had never actually witnessed a wedding of R'hollor, and for such a vicious god it was rather heartfelt. More complicated than wedding in the eyes of the Old Gods, but not more so than the New.
Perhaps that will be my next wedding, she thought, Stannis would probably order it to be so.
There would be another wedding, there had to be. The Asshai'i told her there would be. One for ambition, one for duty, one for love. Another husband, another bedmate. Seven lovers you shall have.
Once the ceremony was finished they all gathered in the hall for the feast, Eddard had thankfully refrained from crying, simply gurgling away in her arms, reaching up to clasp his small hands around the gem of her mother's necklace. A red gem, Melisandre would like that. After taking leave to feed him, he fell soundly asleep, and Taenella offered to put him to put him to bed and ask one of the wet nurses the clans had brought to feed him later that night. Even though she preferred to be the one to nurse her son, she was thankful for the brief reprieve from motherhood.
As soon as the dancing began men had been practically clambering over themselves to ask her. She had obliged them of course, it would not do to offend any of Stannis' men nor the Queen. It had three moons since Eddard's birth and much of her weight had been lost, and though she was slighter than before she still maintained her womanly figure.
Ser Brus was a rather kind man, much more so than the rest of the Queen's Men, and so she did not begrudge to dance with him. Ser Alester was a pompous bore who made thinly veiled hints at his desire to see her wed to one of Stannis' loyal companions. Ser Patrek was an awful man with a severe entitlement complex, not to mention a barely hidden desire for blood and glory.
Though it had become more tolerable after she delved into a few cups of wine.
Willam had followed her lead, and, with encouragement from his uncle, asked the young princess for a dance. Shireen had blushed and giggled as they danced, and Layla was glad that she was happy, even if the older boy was only doing her a kindness. Rickard was less forward, given he was still at an age where girls were of no interest, but did not refuse when she asked, and neither did his uncle.
Once she had done her duty and danced with the knights, she gave Ulmer the honour of taking her on a spin around the dance floor. He was one of the kinder brothers of the Watch, entertaining her with stories of his past as an outlaw. Many of the others set her skin on edge.
As much as she has grown to like Jon's steward, she did not think it wise to dance with him, given how Ser Patrek's murderous gaze followed Satin. Instead, she returned to her place beside the Lord Commander. Even though it may have been perceived as a slight by the Queen, Layla was sure she could curry back into Selyse's favour. She wished to spend the celebrations with people she actually liked.
"Dance with me Jon," she said into his ear, perhaps more seductive than she intended given how his arm tensed where her hand had settled, causing her to remove it
"I couldn't," he started, but she was not going to given in to his empty excuses
"You are Lord Commander, so don't claim you are unworthy." She replied, "Come on, you cannot deny your good-sister this."
Resigned, he rose with her, allowing her to lead him to the dance floor. They were both acutely aware of the stares they were receiving, but Layla could not find it in herself to care. The others, both men of the Night's Watch and those loyal to Stannis, already whispered behind their backs.
Many presumed that Jon had taken his brother's widow to bed. It was not the truth, and they both knew that. Maybe she had held affection for him before, but he was not the boy she knew, and she was not the girl he thought she had been. And she was still Robb's wife to him, and he just as much belonged to his wildling love.
Two dead lovers. Perhaps they were cursed.
He was surprisingly graceful, though she had never actually seen him dance before. Lady Catelyn had always forbidden him from feasts, and even when she insisted on his presence he never seemed to enjoy them. Alys was right, he was sullen.
"Thank you," she said, "For this."
"I know you like to dance." He said, awkwardly, "Did you dance at your wedding?"
"There was no feast when I married Robb, so no dancing." She told him, "Just vows, consummation and praying that the Gods would make Walder Frey forgiving."
If the mention of consummating her marriage had not killed the moment enough, then bringing up Robb's death was the final stab wound. Perhaps that was why the men had stared when she danced, given how her husband had been murdered. Maybe I should have requested the Rains of Castamere, she thought, that would have truly been a spectacle.
"Excuse me," she said, not waiting for the song to end to return to the table to drown herself in wine
Which seemed like a good idea at the time, but perhaps had not been, especially when she giggled whenever spoken to, knocked over two cups of drink, and made vivid remarks to Alys about her own sexual experiences. It was the last part that had Jon suggesting he walk her to her room.
And so she rose, clutching on to his arm to keep herself stable, allowing him to lead her away from the feast. Laughing all the way, she stumbled into her room, Jon watching her with disapproval.
"You find my actions distasteful." She stated, turning to look at him, "I do suppose they are not befitting a lady."
"I do not presume to judge you." He replied, "Was it because of what I said?"
But that was not a question she could acknowledge let alone admit to.
"Do you still miss her?" She asked, "Ygritte?"
The question clearly took him aback, for he did not respond immediately. If he can remind me of Robb then I will remind him of her.
"Yes." He finally answered, "Very much."
"You know," Layla said, with a wistful smile, "I had a forbidden love myself, once." She told him, "We wanted to marry, but his father wouldn't allow it, and he wouldn't run away with me."
"So you know what I did." She continued, leaning towards him with a wicked grin, "I ran away by myself. And I never stopped running."
"That sounds like a hard way to live."
"Surviving's not an easy feat."
Collapsing down on to the bed, rolling over on to her back to stare up him with doe eyes. Her hair was spread across the bed, having allowed the curls their freedom rather than trapping them in a braid. He likes my hair like this, she thought, no, no, no, she reprimanded herself, do not think of him, not now, not ever.
"Do you forgive me Jon?"
"You know I already have."
"No, not for wanting to fuck you." She said, almost absentmindedly, ignoring him averting his gaze from his own, "For killing your brother."
"That wasn't your fault." He assured her, offering her a soft look, "You couldn't have known."
"But I did," she objected, "I knew it would be bad and I did it anyway. Because I'm selfish," she told him, "I'm selfish, just like my parents."
"No you're not." He responded, but she did not care for his false reassurances. She knew herself better than anyone, and she knew what she was. She was selfish and spiteful. She always had been.
"You know, I used to watch my mother weep for my father. A man who I only met once." She suddenly revealed, though she was not sure if she was talking to Jon or herself, "When I was child. The sound woke me, to find him screaming at my mother, breaking what little furniture we had. She never told me his name."
But she would never forget him. That rageful man with golden eyes who had haunted her since childhood.
"I don't think I've ever wept for Robb," she realized, "I killed him, and I've never even cried."
I've had to be strong for so long, she thought, I want to be able to weep.
But then she thought of the Vale, though she had never been there herself, and of the waterfall there. If Alyssa Arryn did not shed a tear than nor would I, she told herself, my tears will freeze on my cheeks, turn to ice, like a true queen of winter.
"You should go back to the feast." She advised, with her usual indifference, "They might be wondering where you are."
"Will you be okay?"
"I'm always okay."