A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It was a hard chapter to write and your support was greatly needed and appreciated.
The perspectives in this chapter will probably overlap so don't expect them to be entirely chronological. Thanks for understanding.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
64: Taste of Glory
Theon:
The flayed man looked down at all within the Riverrun hall.
What a sight it is, Theon mocked. He sat at one of the lower tables for the wedding feast. He drank from his tankard till it was empty. He put it down, and hoped the servants weren't too distracted or busy.
How can anyone eat with that? His thoughts drummed louder than the voices at the table where he had been placed. The Bolton banner hung at a place of pride and power where it did not belong. And speaking of not belonging, he could not believe the Bastard was given a seat at the high table and he was not.
Looking up, he could see him, even at a place of honor, the bastard was quiet. He sat at a table with the rest of the Stark siblings. Theon ignored the pang he felt. Beside Snow was his betrothed, the Lady Dacey Mormont, heir to Bear Island. She looked prettier out of her armor, he thought, and that dress fit her nicely.
A servant had come forward and refilled his glass. He turned, hoping it to be the shy, comely maid, he caught sight earlier, but to his disappointment, it was a pocked face boy. He thanked him with a mumble and grabbed his tankard and drank. His attention went back to the Bolton standard where it was nestled beside the direwolf of House Stark.
In his mind's eye, he saw a golden kraken on a black field instead, and he thought it a worthy sight. As well as the conjuring of him sitting at the table of honor with his Stark bride. He saw himself looking down at all the guests, all of whom were impressed by his deeds. They all saw his worth, none more so than the lady beside him. She simpered about how excited she was to marry into a Great House like the Greyjoys. There were only a few Great Houses, she'd say, and he smiled and nodded, telling her she spoke true. He'd put his arm around her, and she'd like that, kissing his cheek.
It was enough to make him smile.
A great cheer went up and his perfectly crafted image shattered into a thousand pieces as brittle as glass. The cause for the noise was spotted when the bride and groom took to the dancing. He felt his smile curdle at how they looked at each other.
To be with a Stark, he drank, To be a Stark. He frowned into his tankard, I can prove my worth to them. He was the heir to the Iron Islands which meant he'd command the Iron Fleet. And King Stannis would need all the help he could get if he wished to oust the Lannisters and Tyrells.
I'll show them all the importance of a kraken. He saw himself upon one of the ships, leading some daring raid or wading into battle against their foes. The golden kraken of his family's house flickering in the breeze, making it seem as if its tendrils were writhing and reaching out to grab and strangle their enemies.
They'd get their victory. His men would cheer for him. They'd be thankful at the return of Balon's heir, and the glory and gold he'd given them by leading them into the Reach and Westerlands which were teeming with riches.
They're just waiting to be plucked, he thought, My people haven't seen better plunder since the days of my ancestors, Dalton and Dagon Greyjoy.
He found his appetite suddenly and dug into his food with new enthusiasm. His eyes watching the red headed bride, dancing with her husband. A pretty maid wrapped in such an ugly thing. Still not even the sight of the flayed man could temper his taste, at what lay ahead of him in this war-Glory.
"How was your dance with the Frey?"
Theon looked up at the grey eyes of Arya Stark. "I could ask you the same thing." He smirked when she responded predictably with a scowl.
His mood improved, Theon had taken to dancing, and had no problem finding willing partners including a particular Frey. Fair Walda, she was well named, he begrudged Walder's get that. Though he had no intention of marrying any of that brood, it did not mean he'd ignore her entirely. During their dance, he had given her a suggestion, one that she was receptive to. His spirits further boosted during this dreadful wedding upon knowing what was waiting for him afterwards.
I'll slip out before the bedding, he had decided. He was in no mood to participate in it despite the temptation that arose if he stayed. What good is unwrapping the gift if its not for you? With that in mind, he made his choice, and felt all the better for it when he spied Fair Walda at another table, and the smile she gave him when their eyes met. Mayhaps, I can leave now…
"Don't ask me," Arya's growl brought him back to the young Stark standing in front of him. Her arms were bare in her dress, and were crossed against her chest. As if to block others from seeing her in such a way.
"I would never think on it," He assured her.
That seemed to please her. "At least you're not moping."
"Moping?" He repeated which only made her roll her eyes. "No, I wasn't."
She wasn't fooled. "For most of the feast you were glaring at your plate or muttering into your tankard."
"Have you been watching me?" He grinned, and was pleased at the reaction it elicited from her. She frowned at him, but she had not been quick enough to hide what came before it.
"Don't be stupid," she warned him, "Just wondering why you're mad. I'm the one in the dress."
"That's true, but it looks better on you than me," He couldn't help himself.
She ducked her head when she sat across from him. "I know why you were moping."
"Do you?"
"I do," A confident look passed over her face that complimented her for more than she knew. "You're mad that you're down here."
He hid how correct she was by taking a long sip from his tankard while making sure he conveyed that she was nowhere near the mark.
"You shouldn't be," she continued, "It was boring up there," she jerked her head in the direction of where she and her siblings had been sitting.
You belong up there. He wanted to tell her, but she wouldn't understand the value of such a thing that seemed so simple and uninteresting to her. She knew where she belonged, but him. Where do I belong? He did not know and the taste of ale could not wash away the bitterness.
You belong where I tell you. The voice of his father was hard and clear. Following his words, Balon Greyjoy waved his fist threateningly, an attempt to insure that he would allow no insult or disrespect.
What I do makes you harder and stronger. His father told him when Theon's cheeks were swollen and his ribs were sore. His father's eyes showed no remorse. Do not come to me again blubbering of what your brothers did. You're an Ironborn not some thrall, a Greyjoy, not a Greenlander.
"Theon?"
"Yes?" The memory of his father's lesson had soured his stomach. He hid the discomfort that tried to settle on his face behind a smile. "A maid caught my eye and," He stopped with his lie and tried to sell it further with a show of confidence that was so easy for him to muster, but so difficult to actually feel.
Arya turned her head as if to try to find this maid that had distracted him. After a few seconds of not spotting this fictional girl, she turned back to face him with an unreadable look. "You're one of us, you know." She told him, going back to their earlier topic, upon deciding his previous words were a lie. "You're the sea wolf!"
The words stirred within his chest. The smile that came to his lips was real and sincere. Something welled inside at her declaration. It helped to banish the lingering traces of his father's threats and his half forgotten memories of Pyke.
"A sea wolf," He repeated, liking the name far more than he should. You're a kraken not a wolf. The reprimand from Balon Greyjoy went ignored.
"Dance with me."
"What?" Theon's new name all forgotten at the unexpected request from the girl sitting across from him.
"Frey," She wrinkled her nose. "He'll want another dance." Her tone did not hide what she thought of that predicament. "He won't bother me if I'm dancing with someone else," She was quick to add in order to justify her sudden demand.
At another time it would've been tempting for him to smirk at her discomfort, or at the offer, but seeing her in front of him, he didn't.
"Don't make me repeat it," She warned, but her pleading grey eyes belayed the mean tone. "And if anyone asks, you begged me."
This time he did smile. "Very well," He stood from his seat and offered her his hand which she took, a look of relief passed over her face. She did look nice in her dress, he led her to where the other guests were dancing. He felt the eyes of several on his back and did not need to turn to confirm to know the most deadliest of those glares was coming from Snow.
"I'll stamp on your feet at your first jape."
Theon chuckled. "I would not think of it, my lady." He finished by bowing his head to her in mocking deference and was pleased at the sound of her laughter.
"You dance well," He remarked a bit loudly to carry over the tune and voice of the minstrels.
His compliment earned him a sore foot when she stepped on it.
"That was no jape," He wasn't sure whether to laugh or curse.
"Oh," She sounded sheepish, "I'm sorry," she chewed on her lower lip.
He acknowledged her apology with a nod. He couldn't keep his eyes on her, so his gaze wandered to the high table where the honored families sat. He met Lord Stark's grey eyes that betrayed nothing. Lady Stark did not hide her thoughts on him being her daughter's dance partner.
Theon turned back to Arya. While her father's grey eyes were cold and distant, hers were awash with warmth and her bright smile made him forget all about her long face.
"Greyjoy."
"Snow," Theon turned to face the bastard who was standing before them. For a brief ale induced second he thought it was Lord Stark and not Jon Snow who had interrupted them. "Care for a dance?" He smirked, ignoring the annoyance he felt in his belly at the Bastard stopping them.
"With my sister," Jon's eyes softened when they met Arya's.
Theon shrugged, "She's all yours," His hand was still holding hers when he guided it to Jon's. Something stopped him from turning to see how Arya had reacted to her brother's sudden arrival. He took a step back from the siblings, but found himself winking at Arya when the bastard wasn't looking. How she received it only made him want to smile, but he did not let that satisfaction linger.
Moving away, he looked around the guests until he spotted who he was looking for-his much needed distraction in the enticing form of the willing Fair Walda Frey.
All thoughts of Starks and weddings and brides were left behind when he left the Riverrun hall a few heartbeats after watching her depart.
Jon:
Where was I a year ago?
At Winterfell attending a royal feast, he remembered. Looking up at my siblings as they feasted with the royal family.
How things have changed, he mused, finding himself now sitting at the same table with his brothers and sister. Here he sat above the lords of the north and riverlands for Sansa's wedding to Domeric. He knew his presence was not welcomed by all, but that did not dim his smiles or stem his happiness.
I'll just make sure not to smile at Lady Stark's glare, he thought, despite the temptation.
When they first arrived, they had assigned seats for their table, but that did not even last a course. They had gotten up and moved several times to talk and laugh with one another, and where Jon started was not where he was currently sitting between Robb and Rickon. On the other side of the youngest Stark sat Arya who was speaking with the other attendant at their table, his betrothed, Dacey Mormont.
A year ago I thought my future was at the Wall. A mistake he did not mind admitting to. How ready I was to take my vows, believing it the only path to prove myself.
Now, he found a better path one far brighter than he ever dared hope which included a different set of vows, he glanced across his sister to where Dacey was sitting, talking with Arya. She must have felt his eyes since she looked up and flashed him a smile before winking at him. She was a difficult sight to pull his attention from.
It was the cold press of Ghost's nose that had him look over his shoulder to where his direwolf's red eyes were looking at him expectantly. Jon chuckled, petting his wolf's head, and with his other hand, he scooped up what was left of his chicken to give to him. Ghost's sharp jaws were gentle when pulling it away, and Jon could hear the cracking of bones as his direwolf tore into it from behind his chair.
Some protested the presence of the direwolves, but Father would not hear of it. The direwolves stay, he had firmly said, They are a gift from the Old Gods to my children and represent my house and my family. That had been enough to quiet any further complaints.
So far only Shaggydog had bared his teeth, which had prompted a chastising growl from Grey Wind. It had been the only slip from the otherwise well behaved direwolves.
Nymeria was sitting at the end of their table, watching the conversation between Arya and Dacey with an alertness that signaled she understood what was being discussed. Lady was lounging in front of the table of honor where Domeric and Sansa were sitting, looking regal in her pose. Shaggydog had settled for laying behind their table, the slight twitch of his paws the only showing of any agitation. Grey Wind was sitting at the other end. Robb's hand casually resting on the direwolf's head while the wolf's eyes flicked back between the disgruntled Shaggydog, and Robb.
Shaggydog had raised his head at the sound of the crunching chicken bones, but was smart enough not to quarrel with Ghost, who remained the largest of the litter.
"You brooding, Jon?"
"Thinking," Jon smiled at his brother's tease. "I'm aware its a challenging concept for you to grasp."
Robb laughed. Unoffended by the jape, "When shall we be attending your feast, Redstark?"
"Redstark," Rickon repeated it with a giggle, "I like it!"
"Nothing's been decided," Jon told the youngest, before looking back at Robb, who was grinning.
"Rickon Redstark," He declared happily.
"You're still a Stark, Rickon," Robb reached over to tousle Rickon's hair while his brother protested with a groan, whether it was for his brother's words or his gesture, it was hard to say.
Jon was pleased to see Robb in a joyful mood. The past few days had been difficult for him. The truth of Myrcella's parentage had upset him despite his attempts to hide it. It seemed strange to Jon, that for the first time since he could remember his life was set in a way Robb's wasn't. I'm the one who cannot stop smiling while Robb frowns.
Robb's demeanor only worsened when the news began trickling in at what their future good brother was doing to the sellswords in the Riverlands.
They say he pulled out Vargo's entrails with his own hands. The gossip and stories painted a brutal and bleak picture of their friend's actions. He nailed them to crosses without hesitation, without remorse.
It was a difficult thing for Jon to imagine his friend doing especially in seeing him now with Sansa.
Domeric had eyes only for his wife, and was smiling as they shared a goblet between them. Their faces flushed by adoration and wine. She said something to him and he responded with a chuckle before taking a sip from the offered glass.
"Have you made a decision?" Robb's question pulling Jon back to their table.
"We haven't." He and Dacey had discussed it several times, but we're still uncertain on how to proceed in regards to their future. He felt an arm around him and a familiar scent filled his senses with an intoxicating feeling that ale could never match.
"It was a generous offer," Dacey had lifted Rickon from his seat so that she could sit beside Jon. A squirming Rickon was mollified by Arya.
"It is," Jon confirmed. He had been surprised by it-The lordship of Sea Dragon Point. The name wasn't lost on him, nor was the importance of such a holdfast. He had been content going back to Bear Island with Dacey. She was the heir and it did not seem right to rob her of that.
"I think we should accept."
Jon had been sipping from his tankard and nearly coughed the ale back up at her unexpected declaration. It earned him a swift hit on the back by a helpful Dacey.
"I take his breath away," She grinned, upon knowing that he was fine, allowing her to jest instead of worry.
"Aye," Jon hiccuped, over the laughter of the others. He then put down the tankard to look at her, but before he could speak, a loud roar went up in the hall. All eyes turned to see Domeric was leading Sansa into a dance. The musicians began an upbeat song, while others clapped, whistled, stamped their feet to the beat.
"Come on, Arya," Robb said soon after. He stood from his seat, sensing Jon needed to finish his conversation with Dacey. "You owe me a dance."
Arya scrunched up her face at the offer.
Robb turned to face the guests down below, scratching his chin, when he added, "Are those the Freys?"
Arya growled, and got to her feet in an instant, and grabbed Robb's hand, who was laughing. He had enough time to turn to them and wave. Rickon followed after them not wanting to be left behind. Jon watched as Sansa intercepted her youngest brother who was delighted at the attention while Domeric had moved to invite his Aunt, the Lady Dustin for the next dance.
Jon took his eyes off his family and back to Dacey. "What's this about accepting?"
"Sea Dragon Point is a good seat."
"It's a ruined castle."
She waved her hand away, swatting the fact like it was a fly. "We can make it a great seat."
"What about Bear Island?"
"I was expected to take over after my mother," she shrugged, "but I have plenty of sisters who can admirably replace me."
"You underestimate yourself," Jon told her. "You can be its Lady and I'll be your husband."
She smiled, "That is tempting," Her fingers went through his hair. "I like the idea of being the first, Jon."
"The first?"
"Yes, the first new house to rule Sea Dragon Point in centuries," she smiled, clearly pleased at the concept she painted. "It is not often one is given such a chance, and I think we should take it."
"What about your name? Your seat? Your title?"
"We'll make a new name, a new seat, a new title," She countered.
Her words stirred in him. She chose me. She wants me. It made him smile to know how fortunate he was in finding her. I'm no longer the shadow. I'm no longer the interloper. I'm wanted. I belong somewhere.
"If we take the seat," Images passed before him of their new castle and of that promising future. "We will rule it as equals." He'd hear nothing else. "I'll not have you give up your rights as ruler of Bear Island to just be the lady of the castle. We'll lead it together. In all things."
"You are a good man, Jon Snow."
There is something else, He wanted to say, needing to tell her about his parents, but the idea to speak of it left him when he felt her calloused hand on his, pulling him out of his seat.
"Are you as good a dancer as you are a knight, Snow?"
He did not resist being led to where the others had gathered to dance. "I'm better," He lied, hiding it behind a smile which he hoped look confident.
I will tell her tonight. He was determined to do so, but at the moment he was more determined to enjoy her company.
"What is this, Jon?"
He did not answer her right away.
The two walked past a servant before they entered the Godswood. It was so eerily quiet and empty now. It was difficult to think that just hours ago, it was filled to the brim with the nobility of the North and the Riverlands to witness Sansa's marriage to Domeric.
He looked around as they took the path quietly. Jon saw no sign of anyone, but still he wished he had brought Ghost out with them, but his direwolf was content in the hall with his littermates so Jon left him be. He had decided it was smarter to go to the godswood while the feast was still raging. It would be easier for them to speak with everyone else distracted by the revelry going on inside.
"What are you up to, Jon Snow?"
Jon was pleased that he did not stumble over either his feet or his words when he replied to her very suggestive tone. "I wished to speak with you."
"Oh?" Dacey was curious, but also patient, since she did not press him further.
He was satisfied at the sight of the weirwood tree. Its blood colored smile greeting them in silent friendliness.
Now that he was here with her and alone, the words suddenly stuck in his throat. The resolve to reveal the truth of his parents' was crumbling now that the moment had come. The sudden unease unfurled itself inside him, and did not seem willing to relinquish its newly made grip.
"Jon?" The gentleness of how she said his name made him look to face her, and he saw concern in her green eyes.
"I have something I need to say," He steeled himself. In his head, when he played it out, it seemed such a simple matter, a few words that needed to be said. Now, the weight of those words were heavy and threatening to crush him.
"Say it," She encouraged.
"I know who my mother is."
"Your father told you?" Dacey's smile was all for him, thinking he had found peace in newly knowing the mystery of his parentage.
My uncle told me, Jon thought dryly, but regardless of his newfound truth, Lord Stark was his father. Arya, Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, those were my brothers and sisters, not cousins. He refused to think otherwise.
"My parents were Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen."
Dacey's eyes widened in disbelief. That quickly gave way to a smirk that played on her lips, deciding that this was some jape, but the longer she stared at him, it faded in realizing that he spoke truly, and those sudden words grounded her. "You're serious."
"I am."
She let out a soft whistle.
He felt her gaze on him a second time, but this time it was different. Her eyes searching his face as if to try to find the elusive features of his father. "It's so simple," she finally said, chuckling to herself. "You look just like them."
"Who?"
"A Stark," She clarified, "Your father, I mean your mother." She shook her head, "Now with the truth, it's so obvious you take after her. It's such a simple, but brilliant deception." She smiled, "Lord Stark plays it well."
"He does."
"Do they know?"
"No," Jon knew who she was referring to, but had stopped herself from saying siblings. An awkward and abrupt halt in her question, but he did not blame her. "I will tell them." He did not know when, but he would.
She stayed quiet. Perhaps she was thinking of her own sisters and how she were to react one day if it was known they were not siblings but cousins. "It won't change," She finally said, "They'll never stop being your brothers and sisters."
"I know," He did not know how long he had thought of it himself, but he had come to that conclusion too. It would change nothing because we'd make sure it wouldn't.
"So Rhaegar and-" For the first time he could remember, she seemed unsure of what to say.
"She did not want to marry, Robert," He remembered Lord Stark's pained face when he told the story to Jon, all those months ago. "I do not think she wanted to marry at all." Jon thought of Arya with that. "The Prince offered her protection and a chance for her to keep her freedom."
"Her freedom?" Dacey frowned, "But she was taken away."
"It is complicated," Jon sighed. "He gave her something she always wanted, a choice," he would not forget the guilt on his father's face when he relayed the story. The Prince listened to her when we didn't.
"I don't understand," Dacey's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why would the Prince do any of this?"
"Rhaegar needed a third child, but his wife could not give him any more."
"Why?" She looked even more confused, "He had an heir and a daughter."
"Father did not know," Jon was frustrated at the lack of information. "The knights guarding her did not divulge it to him. The servants were loyal, but ignorant of what plans their crown prince had. Father thinks that with my mother giving birth to me, a bastard, that few would want her."
"She thought, she'd be free to raise me and not have to worry about Robert or any other husband trying to pursue her."
It was all his guessing, Jon remembered, He had found his sister, but no answers.
She was only a little younger than Sansa is now. That was a disquieting truth, an unpleasant reminder of how young she was when she died. When she had me.
She was even younger when she made her choices and her plans.
Lord Stark's grey eyes shone with unshed tears when he retold Jon the events of that day:
She was dying, Jon. She did not have much strength. She was plagued by fever and sickness. Her words were fleeting. She told me: 'I wanted my life to be my own, but not at the cost of Father, Brandon, so many…' A sob went through her, and when her eyes met mine, I could see the last of her strength was waning, but her grip on you was so strong.
'Promise me, Ned.' She implored me, to keep you safe, and when I did, that seemed to give her some final comfort. She smiled, and closed her eyes, but not before they fell on you one last time…
Suddenly, Dacey was hugging him. He held her fiercely while his thoughts stayed on his mother. He felt a cold strum go through him, but in being with Dacey, the pain lessened. She knew it all now, and she was still with him.
"You're a prince," Her words were softly spoken, breaking the peaceful silence that had fallen on them during their embrace.
"I'm a bastard." He corrected bluntly. "He was already married to another."
"He would not have been the first Targaryen to take a second wife." Dacey's face conveying what she thought of such an arrangement.
"The last Targaryen to try had a dragon," Jon remembered the story of Maegor Targaryen, "And he was still exiled for it."
Dacey did not look to pity the Prince for his punishment, if anything it seemed she thought he got off lightly. "You were guarded by three knights of the kingsguard."
"I know," Jon was not sure if that spoke to Rhaegar's wisdom or his madness. And what of my siblings left behind? He wondered what did the prince think of them, of his wife. They became ghosts, but I lived.
He felt guilt pressing down on him at how the princess and prince were butchered. They were my brother and sister. And for one cruel heartbeat, he saw Robb and Arya as the ones who were killed by the Mountain and his men, and his chest squeezed tightly in pain.
"I do not think it is possible," Jon did not want to think about it because he thought nothing good could come from it.
It's not worth worrying over, He had already decided. The Seven Kingdoms didn't accept it then so why would they accept it now, when the Targaryens had lost their dragons. The more he thought about it, the less likely he thought it could be true. No one would believe or accept it. A growing part of him didn't want them to. It would bring me nothing but misery.
"And if you were?" She asked quietly. Her green eyes were soft and unease touched her face. "A Mormont is too lowly for a Targaryen."
"Curse all those who say that," Jon growled angrily. "I do not want it. I will not seek it." He emphasized his stance by taking and then squeezing her hand. "I'd renounce all right to it." His eyes met hers, "I'd follow my ancestor, the Crown Prince Duncan," His other hand went to her cheek. "I choose you over any crown, over any throne. You are what I want more than anything."
Jon was sitting at one of the low tables.
He was taking a much needed reprieve from the dancing. He shared several with Dacey, and was then given over to her sisters and mother much to their delighted amusement. He then danced with his own sisters.
Jon sipped from his tankard spotting one of his sisters coming his way.
Arya all but stomped her way over to him.
"You look upset."
"I am," She slumped into the seat beside him. "I hate this."
"It's almost over," He consoled her, knowing she was trying her best to stem off the insistent Freys. He knew Father was having troubles with them too. They were incensed that Colmar was not given a seat at the table like Dacey was. Father's stony silence stymied their protests.
Father was currently sitting at one of the tables on the dais with Lady Stark and Ser Brynden. The former looked disappointed, and he couldn't help but suspect that it appeared Father too needed a break from all the dancing.
It made him smile. Realizing that they were not being watched, emboldened him with a sudden idea. "Here," he slid his tankard over to her. "Just a sip," he warned her. His lips twitching at her reaction to the offer.
It was true back at Winterfell, during special feasts they were allowed a cup of wine, but this wasn't wine. And he was certain she already had her one cup at their table and maybe a little more.
She nodded, her small hands wrapping themselves around the tankard.
Jon glanced over to the dais a second time and saw that neither Lord or Lady Stark were looking in their direction, "Now."
Arya didn't need to be told twice, grinning she raised it and drank.
"Enough," Jon gently took the tankard and put it back on the table.
She coughed. She then smacked her lips and made a face. "It's bitter."
"Like you?" He teased and then tousled her hair causing her protest to burst into a laugh.
"Thanks."
"Anything for you, little sister," Jon meant every word of it. Her reaction warmed him better than any of the fires that were going in the hall.
"No willowy woman for me!" Further down their table sat Smalljon Umber who was speaking rather eloquently for a man who probably consumed a barrel of ale. "I need some meat. The winters are cold and I like to be warm." His loud rumbling words brought cheers of agreement to those around him who seemed equally drunk.
Jon felt Arya stiffen beside him. At first, he thought she was reacting to Smalljon's lewd words, but he turned to see her attention wasn't on them, but ahead of her. He followed her line of sight and saw the reason for her reaction. Colmar Frey, her betrothed had spotted her and was making his way to them.
Before Jon could think or act in a way to help her, he watched as the Frey was stopped by Sansa, who was walking arm in arm with Jeyne Poole. Colmar smiled at the pair and they exchanged a few words. He did not know what was being said, but he was certain Sansa was guiding the conversation. Then Colmar smiled to Jeyne and offered her his hand which she took, and he led her to where the dancing was.
Impressed at Sansa's deft interference, Jon looked over to see the plain relief written on Arya's face at being saved from having to dance again with her betrothed. Jon's eyes went back to Sansa who rejoined her husband, Domeric. She embraced him, the two were all smiles, and speaking quietly, but neither seemed inclined on anymore dancing.
They're plotting their escape, Jon suspected.
The second verse of a jaunty tune had just begun when a fist thumped against the table. A few more followed, while some used their tankards instead. The noise was so loud and sudden, it brought a stop to the music.
"BED THEM!" Someone in the crowd shouted. It was met with cheers. The chorus ensued.
The chant grew louder- "BED THEM!" "BED THEM!" "BED THEM!"
The din was carried by men and women, who looked equally drunk and excited. Their eyes settling on the bride and groom.
The guests were only encouraged, when the musicians struck up the familiar tune-The Queen took off her sandal, the king took off his crown.
Some had even begun to advance towards them.
Jon did not like the looks of some of the men. His fingers clenched into a fist, frowning. He knew it was a tradition, but the idea of these drunken louts stripping his sister did not sit well with him...
A growl went up through the crowd that muted the frenzied guests. To everyone's astonishment, the direwolves had moved from their places on the dais and had put themselves between the bride and groom and the wedding guests.
It did not escape Jon's notice that circling Domeric was Lady and Nymeria while Ghost, Grey Wind, and Shaggydog had surrounded Sansa. He looked to their table to see Rickon was standing on his chair, looking down at everyone. Robb was standing near their youngest brother, his arms crossed. He looked as upset as Jon probably did at what was about to happen to their sister. Beside him, Arya was smirking at their direwolves unplanned interference.
"Call off the wolves!" Someone shouted.
Someone who didn't want their hand ripped off for pawing at my sister, he glowered, and Ghost let out a silent growl towards the crowd.
An angry stirring came from the guests, mumbling and protesting that their rights were being denied.
"The wolves are partaking in the tradition," Father announced, his lips did not quirk, but Jon could see he was amused. "You are welcome to join them," He raised his tankard to where Domeric and Sansa were standing, surrounded by direwolves, "Let the bedding begin!"
Despite the drunkenness no guest seemed bold enough to attempt to near either bride or groom. The men were more open in showing their disappointment that their fun had been stopped.
Jon had no doubt that they had been looking forward to stripping his sister with lingering touches and bawdy jokes. Grey Wind in that moment growled when someone stumbled forward. He looked like a Frey, and his weasel face paled at the possible confrontation with a direwolf and immediately backed away.
Sansa had her arm looped with Domeric's. She was smiling and whispering something to him, who looked equally amused as they moved forward. The wolves stayed around them.
The band continued to play- The Queen took off her sandal, the king took off his crown to the shocked and sullen silence of the guests.
The bride and groom left the hall unharassed and it was all Jon could do not to laugh.
A/N: Just for the record, how I choose to write something or portray someone in this story or any story, does not mean that is what I actually think/believe of that particular plot, character, pairing, theory, etc, its just what I decided to go with in that given story.
We're in AU territory so some characters may appear OOC from their book/show counterparts, because of the new events playing out. That being said, I still try to maintain the spirit of those characters. Hopefully, I'm succeeding.
-Spectre4hire