At the crack of dawn, Lyarra groggily dragged herself from her bed to the high window. It was the day of her wedding. Breathing deeply, Lyarra pulled the black, velvet curtains – decorated with petite golden stags, much to her distaste – away and stared outside, expecting to see the bright, warm sun creeping from the long horizon to announce a glorious day.
Lyarra frowned.
It was raining.
Not sprinkling or drizzling or even a light shower; it was pouring. Everywhere in the wide sky Lyarra examined, she saw large, grey, thunderous clouds banding together. The yellow sun was nowhere to be seen. Is this a sign? Lyarra wondered, pulling the curtains over the window. Is this a sign from the old and new gods that I'm not meant to marry Prince Orys Baratheon? From what she heard, her parents were married sometime in spring and the weather was perfect; sunny, the sky as azure as sparkling sapphires without a speck of grey cloud in sight. The sun even smiled benevolently upon everyone in Lord Renly and Lady Margaery's wedding in Highgarden, and their wedding was in autumn.
Why must it rain on my wedding?
The door opened before Lyarra could contemplate further on the rainy omen. Mother bustled in with Father and they were followed in by a yawning Arya and an excited Bran. Lyarra forced herself to smile. "Father, Mother, Arya, Bran. Good to see you here so early."
"You'll be married in a few hours," said Mother, embracing her. "Soon you will be a princess. Remember when you were a child and pretending to be a princess in those games you played with your brothers? You'll be a princess in truth when you wed Prince Orys Baratheon."
"I played the part of princess because the boys wanted to play knights and you know Arya will refuse to play princess. I never wanted…I never thought…"
"You never wanted to leave the North?" guessed Arya hopefully.
"You never thought you'd marry a prince?" suggested Bran.
Lyarra laughed and smiled at her brother and sister. Arya would hold onto her northern roots forever; Bran was on the road to knighthood and was happy here in King's Landing. At least I will have family near me after the wedding. It'd be nice to spend some more time with Bran. It felt like years since she had last given him a hug and inquired about his day. Father and Mother would also remain at court, but they would be extremely busy with their own duties. And Arya? She was also a welcome sight.
"You have a busy day today," remarked Mother, striding to the window. With a swift movement, she had pulled the curtains away. She stared at the thousands of rain shards drumming down on the window. "It looks like the jousting and melee will have to wait."
"The tournament is tomorrow anyway," Lyarra pointed out.
Mother nodded. "Indeed. Hopefully the weather will be better tomorrow. Half the young men here are intending to prove themselves in the joust or the melee, I believe. It will be a disappointment to all if the tournament is postponed due to a heavy downpour of rain." She shook her head. "No use wishing for a sunny day at this time." She looked at Lyarra. "You have a busy day today," she said again.
"I know Mother." Lyarra was aware that many Great Houses carried a number of wedding traditions with them throughout the centuries. She did not know that the day of her own wedding would be filled with traditional ceremonies of House Baratheon and House Stark. "I think I will bathe."
"Yes. Would you like us to wait for you?"
"Can…can Arya stay?"
"What?" said Mother and Arya in unison. "Of course," said Mother, recovering first. "I've already had the maidservants fetching hot water. We will come back in an hour Lyarra." She paused and looked at Arya. "We will come back with a dress for you too," she promised. Arya made a face.
"Why do you want me here?" said Arya curiously, following Lyarra to another room where there was a huge wooden tub in the middle.
"You are the most truthful," answered Lyarra, pulling her white shift over her head before she climbed into the big wooden tub.
"I see…"
"I also want your company. All Mother will talk about is how lovely the south is and I will love it here and will be a good princess to the realm."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Of course she will. You know I won't lie, Lyarra. It's been two days and I still hate it here. The queen is kind to me. She lets me sing or read instead of sew like all her other ladies." Her brief grin disappeared. "It's not at all like home though. No Syrio, no sneaking around…no Nymeria." She blinked. "Oh I shouldn't talk like that. It's your wedding day after all."
Lyarra sank deeper into the tub, allowing the hot water to wash over her body, arms and legs. "Keep complaining," she said with a smile. "That is another reason I want you here."
"To hear me complain?"
"I'm receiving new ladies and companions today. None of them are going to be brave enough to complain aloud. Besides, they won't. They are all southroners. It is home to them here. Anything else you want to complain about?"
Arya looked suspicious. "What about you? I hardly hear you complain. Who do you complain to? Do you complain at all?" She narrowed her eyes. "You know it'll feel much better after you complain."
"I don't think I will ever be happy here," said Lyarra quietly, finally giving in to her mixed emotions. "You are right, Arya. King's Landing isn't home. At least you will be able to return to Winterfell one day when the king decides we've all been punished enough for Robb's crime. I'll be stuck here forever. I'll have to deal with liars, deceivers, lickspittles and tricksters my entire life."
"I'll be married."
Lyarra and Arya looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"I'll insist on being married in pants," Arya declared. "I will not marry wearing a tight, constricting gown."
"I look forward to seeing that," giggled Lyarra, rising from the wooden tub. "It will be a memorable wedding, you in pants." One of her new handmaids (she had received three from the queen yesterday) Cara, gently dried her with a towel. She was rather shy, Cara. She had a mass of curly brown hair and big brown doe eyes that reminded Lyarra of Lady Margaery Baratheon's eyes. Out of the three – Cara, Janysse and Merielle – Lyarra currently liked Cara the best.
"Which gown will you be wearing my lady?" said Cara softly.
Lyarra frowned in thought. She had a busy schedule in front of her. First came breakfast with her family and Prince Orys's (a Stark custom), followed by the gift giving ceremony and then the wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor at midday. The day would end with a grand feast in the Great Hall with entertainment including singers, jugglers and mummers said to be the finest in all of Westeros and maybe even Essos. Well, technically the day would end with the bedding ceremony…
Lyarra didn't want to think about that.
"My lady?"
"The new one," said Lyarra quickly. "The grey one with dots of silver that look like stars." It wasn't exactly a new gown. When Mother was in Dorne, she'd been given a bolt of grey satin decorated with dots of silver. A gift of some sort from an old friend apparently. Whatever the case, Mother had it made into a gown and on her return, gave it to Lyarra. The pattern on the gown was much fancier than the patterns used in the North but wasn't as common as the patterns in Dorne. Up to now, Lyarra liked to think the gown a sort of Northern-Dornish dress. She was to be married soon – what better opportunity to wear the gown symbolising both of her northern and Dornish heritages?
Cara was putting a string of pearls around Lyarra's neck when Father, Mother, Bran returned. "Come Arya," said Mother, beckoning to Arya. "I found a couple of new gowns I had made for you bundled near the bottom of your trunk. You know it would make your dresses wrinkly, Arya?" She shook her head. "Thank the gods I found a few that are still unwrinkled."
Arya groaned. "Must I wear it?"
Mother frowned. "Yes. Now come, I want you to try out the blue gown." Lyarra couldn't help but laugh as Arya grumbled to herself. Mother glanced at Lyarra. "It is good to hear you laugh again," she murmured. Regret momentarily crossed her expression. "I know you love Domeric," she said quietly, "but I believe you'll soon love Prince Orys too." She reached out and squeezed Lyarra's hand. "You'll be the first Stark to wed into the royal House Lyarra. You will do us all proud."
Breakfast was held in the Queen's Ballroom. It was a family affair and the table had been set out in a circle like it was at supper on the night of her arrival. Lyarra entered the Queen's Ballroom behind her parents and curtsied when Prince Orys was presented to her.
"Shall we eat my lady?" said Prince Orys politely, taking her hand. "I heard the honeycakes are a favourite of yours. I insisted the cooks make the best for you. It is a pity that it is raining is it not? I'd hoped that we'd have a moment alone in the godswood before breakfast." He helped her to her seat. Lyarra glanced at Mother and Father. They were both smiling benignly at her and the prince. "It is sweet of you to remember my love for honeycakes my prince," Lyarra said, smiling at her betrothed. "It is a treat for us children at Winterfell. Sometimes when we recover from bouts of illness, we would receive honeycakes as a treat."
"There will be no lack of honeycakes here," promised Prince Orys.
Lyarra beamed and he smiled shyly back. Prince Orys was more like his uncle than his father: stern and solemn. Suddenly spying the plate of fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs in front of her, Lyarra pushed it towards Prince Orys. "I believe it is a favourite of yours, my prince?"
"Please, call me Orys. Not many remember my favourite breakfast my lady."
"If you insist upon me calling you Orys, I must insist for you calling me Lyarra, Orys. We are to be married…" It was too late to call it 'soon'.'
"At midday?" supplied Orys. Lyarra nodded.
"Lady Lyarra?" Lyarra looked around and saw Princess Minisa staring shyly at her. "Princess?" said Lyarra gently.
"Mother said this is a Stark tradition," said Princess Minisa, gesturing to all the other family members breaking their fast and talking amicably to each other. "My mother told me many Tully traditions before. How is this a Stark custom my lady Lyarra? Isn't it our families dining together?"
Lyarra smiled at her. She glanced at Father for a second – he was seated to her immediate left – and he nodded. Tell her the story, his eyes told her. "It is indeed a normal breakfast with both our families dining together," Lyarra said to Princess Minisa. "There is always a tale behind a tradition, Princess. This one's the story of King Rickard Stark, the Laughing Wolf. Have you heard about him?"
Princess Minisa shook her head. "Is he a great hero Lady Lyarra?"
"A good king. He defeated the last of the Marsh Kings and annexed the Neck to the North. He took the last Marsh King's daughter, Jyanna, as his wife. He wanted to assure the crannogmen that he will not impose his customs on them. To prove it, he celebrated his wedding with both Stark and crannogmen tradition. When a Marsh King marries, his wedding is a private affair celebrated at home, the guest list consisting of only his family and his bride's. King Rickard Stark couldn't have a wedding like that. It'll infuriate all his bannermen. To compromise, he declared that his family and Jyanna's family will break bread together after prayers on the morning of their wedding. It is a sign of peace and unity. I am certain other Great Houses do the same thing too."
"I heard you will receive presents. I like presents. Uncle Renly likes to give me presents." Princess Minisa smiled happily. "Is that another Stark custom?"
"A common custom in Westeros, Princess. In the time of the Kings of Winter, a ceremony of gift-giving at a wedding usually consists of a new husband and wife receiving a large supply of wool, or pelts, or fur, or even preserved food. They are considered good, useful presents."
Princess Minisa nodded slowly. She looked worried.
"What is it Sister?" asked Orys, concerned.
"My gift to you," Princess Minisa whispered. "It isn't fur, pelts or food."
Lyarra laughed. "Oh Princess! These days gifts don't have to be of wool, fur or pelts or even food anymore. That was back then. A tale of tradition."
"Minisa," the queen called. "Come here and sit next to Lyanna. Orys might wish for some time to speak to Lady Lyarra over breakfast." Princess Minisa gave Orys and Lyarra a sheepish grin before gracefully darting to her seat next to Lyanna.
"She insisted on making us presents," Orys told Lyarra. "I don't know what she had made us. Lyanna wouldn't tell me either. Whatever it is, she is excited for us to receive it soon."
"That is sweet of her," said Lyarra sincerely. She turned her attention to all the platters of food in front of her. There were a combination of both northern dishes and southron dishes, some familiar to her and some not. Apart from the plates of honeycakes and fingerfish, there were succulent gammon steaks, a huge plate of bacon, little tubs of well-churned butter, small bowls of jams, a towering stack of fried bread, wedges of different types of cheese, over a dozen hard-boiled eggs, at least three loaves of fresh white bread, black pudding and a bowl of well-stewed apples all atop the groaning round table.
If that wasn't all, there were flagons of milk – plain and honey – and mead, tea and ale and even light sweet golden wine.
It was more of a feast than a breakfast between two families.
By the time breakfast ended and Lyarra slowly walked to her chambers in the company of Mother and Arya, she couldn't help but wonder if she could still fit in her wedding dress.
"You are beautiful Lyarra," Father said quietly, surveying Lyarra as she turned around, the skirt of her wedding gown swishing softly with her.
"Thank you Father," said Lyarra, gazing at herself in the great mirror. Staring back at her was a young woman garbed in a grey satin gown embroidered with a dozen or more specks of silver. The inner skirt and the panel covered by the deep vee were of cloth-of-silver, heavily embroidered too. The satin grey sleeves were so long that when the arms were lowered, touched the ground. Nestled on top of her head was a silver tiara embedded with pearls – a gift given to her by the king and queen yesterday. "I can't believe that I'm getting married," murmured Lyarra, attempting another twirl in front of the mirror.
Father smiled, but his grey eyes remained solemn. "Unless you planned to join the motherhouse, your path was always to matrimony."
"In the North, not the south."
"We northerners never forget, but it will best if we forget Domeric."
Lyarra sighed. "It's difficult," she admitted, relieved Mother was busy in Arya's chamber, fussing over Arya's new gown. "Mother thinks that it's so easy to forget one's former betrothed in favour of a prince. It's not. I still miss Domeric, Father." She bowed her head. It was shameful to think of Domeric half an hour before her own wedding to Prince Orys. It felt almost sinful.
Father nodded. "Your mother was born in the south," he reminded her. "Lords and ladies of the south are less honourable when it comes to betrothals." He took a deep breath. "You must know, Lyarra, that I had absolutely no delight breaking your betrothal to Domeric. He is a good lad, an honourable and kind one and very different to his ruthless ancestors." He shook his head. "We lost so much."
"Not to the king though."
"We Northerners play for peace; southroners play for power. Their games are much more complicated than ours." He stopped talking. "I almost forgot," he then said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small weirwood box etched with a number of runes around the borders. In the middle of the lid were the black iron studs of House Royce of Runestone. Father opened it gently and cautiously pulled out the most beautiful necklace Lyarra had ever seen. Wrought from silver, it was a string of shiny pearls, the largest one in the centre surrounded by tiny pearls of its own too. Upon closer examination, Lyarra saw that all of the white stones had been carefully polished.
"It was my mother's," said Father fondly, putting the necklace around Lyarra's neck. He clasped it together and stood back, nodding approvingly. "You see all of the runes here? It was an heirloom from House Royce but it became our House's when Lady Lorra Royce married Lord Beron Stark. Beron and Lorra Royce had a great litter of children which included two daughters. Both died before their lady mother sadly and left no children of their own. Her good-daughters, the wives of her elder sons, vied for this necklace. Before Lady Lorra died, she gave it to Lady Arya Flint, her youngest good-daughter and the wife of Rodrik Stark, youngest of Beron and Lady Lorra's brood. When Arya Flint died, she passed this necklace to her eldest daughter, who happened to be your grandmother and namesake. Now it will be yours."
"It will leave House Stark forever," murmured Lyarra. "I cannot…"
"It was meant to leave House Stark, Lyarra," Father insisted. "Who knows? If it comes to it, the necklace may return to House Stark one day." He paused. "Even if Robb did not marry Daenerys, I believe this necklace would've been in Baratheon hands anyway. Through your late aunt Lyanna."
The sun didn't peek out from the heavy clouds when it was midday. Though it was still raining (lighter than before though), masses of people have appeared on the streets of King's Landing between the Red Keep atop of Aegon's High Hill and the Great Sept of Baelor situated on top of Visenya's Hill.
When the royal wheelhouse arrived, Lyarra smiled and waved at the people as she carefully walked on the long roll of red carpet leading from the white marble steps into the entrance hall. Father was already waiting for her there. Suspended globes of coloured leaded glass dangling from the ceiling watched Lyarra accept her father's arm before they slowly headed to the double doors. The doors then swung open on cue and Lyarra and Father entered. Lyarra's soft and comfortable grey doeskin slippers tapped the marble floor as she and Father approached the marriage altar positioned between two towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother. Orys and the squat, fat High Septon were waiting for her.
Silently, Father removed Lyarra's maiden's cloak – an old, shabby one that had been worn by all the eldest daughters of Stark lords and even the Kings of Winter – and stepped back to join Mother, Arya and Bran. Quietly, Prince Orys swept the Baratheon cloak over Lyarra's shoulders and fastened the clasp that'd been made out of obsidian in the shape of a prancing stag. Lyarra was too nervous to roll her eyes impatiently when the High Septon fumbled as he tied the silk ribbon around her hand and Orys's hand. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," the plump High Septon said at last. "Look upon one another and say the words."
Lyarra turned and stared into the prince's bright blue eyes. He gazed back, not a trace of nervousness, hatred or even deep love in sight. Lyarra examined Orys's face for even the smallest sign of affection – no such luck. Yet. "Father, Smith and Warrior," she said in unison with Orys. She was surprised her words came out as confident and not perturbed. "Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days." Lyarra caught her breath as Orys – now her husband – leant forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Slightly dazed, Lyarra automatically faced the wedding guests, still holding her husband's hand. She pasted a smile on her face as the guests burst into applause. Lyarra glanced at Orys again. He saw her look and smiled warmly back. I will try and love you if you'll allow me, his blue eyes said.
Lyarra dipped her head slightly.
I will.
The gift giving ceremony, the guests and other parts of the wedding will be mentioned in the next Stark chapter in the south. The next chapter is in Daenerys's POV.
BigStevie, I like your idea of the potential Free Folk/Northern alliance in the future. I don't actually remember Jon and Val flirting in the books, but then again, my least favourite parts of the books are the Wall and Meereen scenes :) Jon paired with Arianne is also interesting, but it might cause another scandal like the Robb and Dany one. Yes Oberyn is probably aware of Jon's true parentage, but most people will think it strange and scandalous for a Dornish princess to marry a Northern bastard.
