Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident found himself nervously standing outside the solarium of Riverrun like the little boy who had stolen oatcakes from Old Nan and spoiled his dinner. He felt all of his sixteen years at the moment, instead of the battle-hardened commander, but he took a breath and opened the door walking into the well-lit room. Margaery's face exploded into a smile, and he felt himself grinning back at her despite himself.
"Good morning, Your Grace." She murmured, putting her sewing aside. They were finishing up the maiden cloak for Nyssa now that Margaery's was complete, but Margaery was still insisting on keeping things formal between them in areas where others might join them who were unaware of their plans.
"Good morning, Margaery." He answered, with a nod to Nyssa sitting beside her. "I have something I wished to speak to you about."
"Of course." Margaery said, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. "Please, join us."
Robb sat down beside her, taking the opportunity to brush a chaste kiss to her forehead as he did so. He paused for a moment. "I don't want you to be upset."
Margaery took a deep breath, worry making her gut clench. "You can tell me anything, Robb."
Robb took a deep breath, marshalling his courage. "I've been thinking over the wedding, and as much as I want things to go the way you've planned, I think for the good of the kingdom…" He stopped as Margaery's face crumpled and she let out a sob.
He immediately reached out, taking her face in his hands. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
"That's what ladies do when their lovers break their engagements, Your Grace." Margaery said, taking a deep breath.
"Break their…" Robb repeated eyes widening. "No! Gods, Margaery, after everything it took me to get you to say yes?" He wiped away a tear with his thumb. "No, not that, never that." He leaned down, and despite the impropriety, kissed her hard.
Margaery blinked and melted into the searing kiss, trying to get a handle on her emotions despite herself. She was usually so in control of her feelings but Robb always broke through what control she had, and his kiss was no different, it ran through her veins like fire and all she wanted to do was keep kissing him, but it was over as quickly as it started and she shook her head slightly to clear the fog from her mind. "What then?"
Robb let out a sigh of relief, and pressed his forehead to hers. "I only decided that we need to have two weddings. I know you had your set on a Northern wedding, and I liked the idea too, but half of our kingdom, including your House, follows the New Gods."
Margaery frowned, despite the relief she felt that it was only about logistics and not about him marrying someone else. "The Faith considers us rebels and is backing Joffrey, though." She said slowly.
"We won't ask them to recognise us as king and queen." Robb said, running his thumb over her cheek comfortingly. "We're only asking the septon to marry us. I don't want the Faith or anyone else to be able to question the validity of our marriage...or the legitimacy of any children we might have."
Margaery considered that, and nodded her assent. "It's not a bad plan. If we can find a septon willing to marry us."
"The septon here at Riverrun married my parents and my Aunt Lysa to Jon Arryn." Robb said softly. "He's loyal to my grandfather, and as long as we don't ask him to contravene the declaration of the High Septon regarding kingship, he will do it."
"Good then." Margaery said softly. "My cloak is finished, when you are ready."
Robb's lips quirked up in a smile. "I've been ready to marry you since I saw you strapping on armour to lead your men." He confessed. "I realised in that moment that if you were killed, I didn't know what I would do."
Margaery smiled in response. "I think I'd been fighting my feelings since the first time I met you." She confessed. "I didn't know who you were at first, but the way you smiled at me...and then to find out that you were this great battle commander and king, and yet still kind enough to help me from the wagon, without an ounce of superiority...you were so unlike every other lordling I had ever met."
"We'll make the announcement tonight." Robb said quietly. "And marry tomorrow, so that we have a few days together before I leave."
"I should like that." Margaery admitted, forcing herself to pull away and end the moment. "I must talk to Loras about our changes and prepare for the announcement."
"Of course." Robb said with a nod. He released her with a smile. "Tomorrow, though...tomorrow you're mine."
The announcement happened at dinner, though not everyone was present, many were, including most of their new southern allies from the Tyrells. "Before we end this meal," he said, standing from the table at the front of the mess tent that spilled out into the field. He spoke loudly, trying to ensure his voice projected, which was helped along by the fact that when he stood the chattering had slowed to a stop. "I have an announcement. Firstly, Ser Loras Tyrell will be taking over the leadership of House Tyrell of Rillwater Crossing."
Loras stood, now garbed in white, with his tunic edged in blue, but he was still wearing golden armour with a stag's head on it, and Robb knew better than to ask him to change it or say anything. Loras bowed slightly to the assemblage in respect and retook his seat when Robb resumed speaking.
"This is because Lady Margaery Tyrell has agreed, after much discussion, to be my wife and queen. Due to the different religious beliefs of The North and The Trident, there will be a ceremony in the Sept where my parents were married at a quarter to midday, for those who hold to the Faith of the Seven, and afterwards, at sunset, a ceremony before the heart-tree in the Godswood." Robb barely resisted the urge to take a deep breath as the area filled with chatter. He didn't know what he would say at first, because there were so many strains of conversation he couldn't make out any of the individual words.
At least until he heard someone yell: "It is so my day, you owe me five golden dragons!"
Relaxing, he reached for his cup of ale, and took a deep drink of it, glad that his stomach had stopped churning. He had managed to eat very little, worried about the reaction of his men. While a few months ago he might have been fooled by the joviality, now he was slightly more jaded. He knew not everyone was pleased and that things would be strange and strained for awhile yet, but he had hope. He had to have hope, or he would grab Margaery, throw her on the back of his horse, and ride back to Winterfell without looking back. He had to have hope in order to be a king. Hope that his sisters would be returned, hope that his choice of queen would be accepted, hope that they could win...and most of all, hope that he could be as much a honourable, good, and just king as his father had been a lord.
When Margaery had thought about her wedding in the past, she had never really spent too much time considering the groom. She was the only daughter of a noble house, and she really didn't think her husband would be a choice for her to make. Grandmother Olenna held that men in general were foolish things, and it was unlikely that she would find one that 'could think with the head on his shoulders.' So, when she planned, her bridegroom had always been a faceless silhouette. Instead, she thought over dresses and jewels and what her father would wear as he walked her to the Septon in her green and gold maiden's cloak. She thought about what the sun would look like in the stained glass windows. She dreamed about light pastries on golden plates and peaches so juicy her chin was sticky with it at her wedding breakfast in her extravagant bedroom in Highgarden - and the dress, the dress she had dreamed about, the kind of dress everyone would try to emulate, shot through with golden thread and crafted silk roses, and the finest Myrish lace, secure in the fact that she was a catch, daughter of one of the strongest houses of Westeros.
Instead, on her wedding day, she was sitting in her tent in a war camp, her wedding breakfast was on a wooden plate was roasted trout and one bruised peach Olenna had given her with a comment about those old dreams. Instead of a fine dress, she sat in her smallclothes, as Lynette and Nyssa worked with flying fingers, trying to make one of her two blue and white dresses somehow grand enough for a wedding, let alone a royal wedding. Instead of the Tyrell maiden cloak that had been waiting in her hope chest at Highgarden since she was a girl, passed down from the last Tyrell bride, she had something that she had created with her ladies and poured every dream and hope into it. Instead of her father in gleaming gold and green, it will be dear Loras standing at her side, wearing the armour of his own ill-advised love. Instead of imagining how the stained glass will play upon the Sept, Margaery was dreading it, on just how different it will make half of the people look at her and her influence on her groom. Instead of secure in the fact that she was a good catch, she was well aware that there were people who would rather have her exiled back to Highgarden than saying vows. And yet...with all that, she couldn't help but smile, because unlike that dream of girlhood, her bridegroom has a face, and she cares more about him than the ceremony. Robb Stark was a groom she had chosen, a groom she had fought with and for, and by the end of the day she wouldn't be calling herself Lady Margaery Tyrell anymore.
"This is not quite the wedding I had in mind for you, Margaery." Olenna said, standing behind her granddaughter at her mirror. "But I bought these for your wedding, and perhaps they'll remind you not to forget who you are." With that, the venerable matriarch of the Tyrell family draped a rope of pearls around Margaery's neck and kissed her cheek with her thin, papery lips. "I wish you every happiness, my dear."
Robb was sure he had gone to a wedding in the Faith at some point, but he couldn't really remember it. Luckily for him, his uncles were all too happy to walk him through it, while Theon took the piss out of him every chance he could get. Desmera Redwyne had shown up at his door at dawn with breakfast and gifts from the Tyrells and Margaery herself, assuring him that it was a Reach tradition.
That hadn't helped his nerves. Neither had rehearsing the vows. Now, standing in the light of the Sept facing the priest, with his back to the door and listening to the man drone on out of The Seven Pointed Star , he wondered how after all of this, his father had felt married.
He stiffened as the door opened, barely resisting the urge to turn around. The Septon had warned him against it, and Robb was glad he had, because the urge to turn and watch was almost overwhelming. He twitched slightly but was able to stand still until he felt Margaery standing beside him, and turned slightly to see her out of the corner of his eye.
The aged Septon smiled at the nervous bridegroom. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
Robb turned, and his breath caught for a moment, to see Margaery smiling at him from under the cloak she and her maidens had been working at so diligently. She turned and let Loras remove it, and then turned her back to him.
Robb swallowed hard, and removed his white cloak, edged in fur, and placed it over her shoulders. He ran his hands gently down her back as if to smooth it, but really just to take a moment to touch the grey direwolf sigil that was now on her back. He then turned back, He reached out and took Margaery's hand as she turned back to face the Septon, hoping that his wasn't too terribly clammy, with the irrational thought that if it was, maybe she might change her mind and run away from him, go back to declaring a spinsterhood or a political match, that she would be his queen of thorns, but not his queen.
"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
Thus began the long and drawn out seven blessings and seven vows. Robb had worked hard to memorise them, though he was sure he would mess them up, he still wanted to try and get them right. After they had repeated vows of all seven gods, and the blessings were finally finished the Septon tied a white ribbon around their hands.
The Septon was smiling to himself, glad that he got to enjoy the responsibility of another wedding, and that this one was as much for love as it was for duty. It was especially poignant as he had overseen Robb's parent's wedding, and blessed the babe in the Light of the Seven at his birth. "Let it be known that Robb of House Stark and Margaery of House Tyrell of Rillwater Crossing are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He cracked a smile. "Now, look upon each other and say the words."
Robb had been practicing the final vow, saying the Seven in the right order, with an amused Edmure and a beside herself Catelyn who had declared Robb to utterly be his father's son no matter how he looked the third time he mixed it up. As amusing as it was, he wanted at least this one to be perfect. He had already flubbed some of the others, but it was slightly more difficult with Margaery smiling at him, her hair up in an intricate pattern that showed the pale line of her throat and wearing his cloak, but he managed.
"I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days." He said strongly, staring right into Margaery's brown eyes.
"I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." Margaery answered in unison, unable to keep from smiling at him and the stubborn little auburn curl in the middle of his forehead.
The Septon smiled and gestured, untying the ribbon around their hands. "With this kiss…" Robb said, everything lost to him but Margaery at that moment. "I pledge my love." It felt as though he had been waiting forever to do this, to publicly be able to call her his own, to kiss her without worrying about propriety, and he lost himself in it.
Margaery had been expecting the chaste kisses of every wedding she had attended in The Reach, even Garlan hadn't done more than given Leonette the briefest of pecks, but Robb either didn't know or care, and she couldn't bring herself to break away. Robb was King of Winter, but his kiss was anything but cold, and she melted into him despite herself, returning it with all the fervor she could muster, everything but his lips on hers and his hands cradling her face as if she was some precious thing forgotten in the scorching heat that made the Highgarden sun seem like the bitterest Riverlands winds she had felt.
Mace Tyrell's humph was drowned out by the cheering of the Northern lords who had deigned to attend the first service cheering and laughing at the sight.
After the first wedding was the marriage feast. Lord Edmure, sitting beside Margaery, formally apologised.
"I'm sorry that the feast could not be grander." He said, flushing. "So much of the Riverlands has been burned out, even with the support of supplies from the Reach, we just couldn't put together more."
Margaery smiled, and put a hand on his arm. "Peace, Lord Edmure, I understand. I would prefer the camps and the smallfolk be feed than a fancier feast."
Edmure shook his head. "It's a rare woman that would say such a thing on her wedding day, nephew. You're very lucky."
"I know it." Robb said, looking at Margaery with admiration.
Feeling nervous and a little of something else from the look in her husband's eyes - and he was truly her husband now - made her stomach flip and her skin flush with something other than embarrassment. "Oh look, the pie!"
"I'm afraid it's only fish pie, Your Graces," The serving girl said, looking down. "We tried to find pigeon, but there just weren't enough of 'em."
"I'd rather fish pie from the Riverlands than pigeon pie from the Crownlands any day." Robb assured her.
Margaery took his hand and beamed, taking a sip of her wine and smiling. "Try the wine, Husband." She murmured to him quietly, feeling a strange sort of elation in being able to say that aloud, even if it was said meant for only his ears, as she took a forkful of pie. "It's a gift from Father."
Robb barely heard the request, mostly because he was listening to everything else going on, worried that their traitor might choose to somehow ruin their wedding. Still, he gave Margaery a smile and took a sip of the wine, which turned out to be warm hippocras. The spices took him by surprise, but the wine went down better than any wine he had drank since the night he had decided to drink away his sorrows. "It's good. What is it?"
"Highgarden's best hippocras." Margaery admitted. "Grandmother wanted to serve a cask of Arbor Gold, but hippocras is said to incite passions, so Father insisted."
That statement made Robb choke on the spiced wine. Eyes wide, he turned to stare at her. "He... what? "
Margaery laughed despite herself at his expression. "I could say he merely wishes to ensure that the consummation goes well, but if I am honest, he is showing his ambition yet again. We were both born while our fathers were at war, he wishes to see me birth you a prince sooner rather than later, for the security of your throne and mine, and your promises of a Tyrell monarchy in the Reach."
Robb ran a hand over his forehead. "Does the man ever stop?"
"When he's feasting." Margaery said placidly.
After the feast, Margaery found herself dreading the fact that she had to give back the warm cloak that Robb had spread over her shoulders. When the time came, she spent a moment, holding the top of it close to her throat, before slowly removing it and holding it out to Theon.
"Next time this is taken off you won't be complaining." Theon said, a bit lewdly.
Mira giggled at the jape from behind her hand, even as she retrieved the maiden cloak from Loras and spread it back over Margaery's shoulders. "Just once more, Margaery." She said, comfortingly. "And no one will doubt your marriage."
Margaery sighed and nodded. "Once more." She agreed, watching as Theon left the room. "I have sworn before the new gods, now to swear before the old."
Mira worked with deft fingers, pulling down the complicated curling updo that Desmera had put in that morning, weaving it into a less complicated and purely Northern style that flowed around her shoulders in gentle waves. "I know your gown isn't as grand as those you had in the Reach, even for feasts, but I think you look like the most beautiful bride."
"I only hope Robb feels the same way." Margaery admitted. She no longer worried that he would change his mind, not after the first ceremony, but she was sorry she couldn't have been a finer bride. At the same time, however, she worried that had she arrived in the kind of Tyrell richness that her family would have preferred, that she would be put off the Northerners, who seemed to care so much less about appearance and so much more about other things.
Dacey, standing in a corner, gave a snort. "After that kiss? Really? I think half the women in the camp dampened their smallclothes at that kiss."
Margaery smiled dreamily at that. "It was a very good kiss." She admitted.
Dacey cackled at the expression on her face. "Come on, Margaery, let's get you wedded proper and off to the bedding you're obviously daydreaming about."
Margaery didn't argue, and took her brother's arm again as he lead her through Riverrun to the Godswood. She had been spending more time there as of late, enjoying the gardens, but also trying to get closer to the gods of the North. She still was not overly religious, she didn't know what she even believed, if she believed in anything, but the Godswood was calming and a place where she could think, for at least awhile.
Now though, as they approach, the Godswood is full and spilling out into the surrounding areas, too many who want to see this ceremony, this wedding. She holds herself taller, even as Dacey and Mira leave her side to find their families and the rest of her maidens fall into the line of Tyrells, blue and golden roses alike. She holds herself a little taller, reminding herself that she is a queen , and she must show these people her strength. Sweet Loras beside her seems both happy and sad, and she doesn't need to ask why. She gives him a smile as they approach Robb, now looking like a king, crown and all, and she is awed, once again, that this man should want her. Margaery, who had never been the prettiest, never as fair as Alerie, or as beautiful as Olenna her youth.
"Who comes?" Theon asked, He and Catelyn standing on one side of Robb, Grey Wind at the other, watching with yellow eyes. "Who comes before the Gods?"
Loras's voice wavered slightly, but Margaery thought that only she had noticed it. "Margaery of House Tyrell of Rillwater Crossing, 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?"
Robb, if it was possible, stood straighter. "Me, Robb of House Stark, King in the North, King of the Trident, Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?"
Loras swallowed. "Ser Loras of House Tyrell of Rillwater Crossing, her trueborn brother." He turned to look at her, his eyes meeting hers. "Lady Margaery, will you take this man?"
Margaery knew that if she said no, Loras would disregard everything else, even the wedding before the Seven, and cut his way out of the Northern camp if she said no. He loved her that much. She however, had no desire to say no. "I take this man." She said strongly.
Robb took a step towards her and offered her his hand, and she took it willingly. Together they knelt before the tree and bowed their heads to pray. She didn't know the right words or the rites, the way she did with the Seven, but she prayed anyway.
Protect him, I beg of you . She prayed silently. Protect him, and our people, and the smallfolk who look to us. Save us from the machinations of traitors, the raids of the Ironborn, and the claws of the Lannisters. Let me be a good wife and queen, and let me live up to the faith he places in me. Let us end this war, so that he can return home, and let me bear him good strong sons and daughters, as my mother did for my father. He says winter is coming, but let us also grow strong and thrive boldly. So focused was she on her desperate prayers, more wishes than anything else, that she lost herself, until Robb tugged on her hand, and she rose with him, turning to face the great crowd. Robb moved over and removed the maiden cloak, handing it to Loras, before removing his own for the second time that day, placing it over her shoulders. She held it close, breathing in the scent of leather, wolf, and wind that was her husband, when he surprised her and nodded to Theon.
Theon came forward then, and opened a wooden chest she had not seen before, offering it to Robb.
Robb took a deep breath, and from the chest he removed a crown, with swords like his, smaller, but no more delicate, save for the pearls that ran along the band, bearing the same swords as his own. Her heart caught in her throat as he reached up and placed it on her head. He turned to look back at the crowd. "My Lords, my Ladies, I give you Margaery Tyrell, Queen in the North!"
"No." Margaery said, holding his hand tightly, but her voice did not waver. "Stark, my Lord."
The Northmen went wild, cheering and stomping, chanting "STARK! STARK! STARK!"
Robb turned to her in amazement. "Are you sure?" He asked, quietly. "Neither Cersei, nor any of the Targaryen queens ever took their husband's names."
Margaery smiled at him. "None of them are queens I particularly wish to emulate, husband." She reminded him. "I am your wife. I will be your wife in all things."
Robb, overwhelmed, kissed her hard, ignoring the hooting as he took out his gratitude out on the rosebud lips of hers, and thanked the gods, again, that she had dared to come to him, because he would not have known what he was missing.
Breaking the kiss again, he announced. "My lords and my ladies, I give you Margaery Stark, the Queen in the North!"
"The Queen in the North!" Someone shouted, and the chanting began again, calls of 'Stark!' and 'The Queen in the North' eddied around them, intermixed with with 'The King in the North'
At their feet, Grey Wind loosed a great howl, that made some of the more Southron men shudder, and from somewhere in the distance came an answering chorus of howls that joined the cheers in the air.