The day of her wedding, Cerelle wakes to Lalia opening her window.
"Gods, Lalia! It's freezing out there, close it!" she says as she buries herself deeper in her furs.
"It's snowing!"
"What?!" Suddenly, she's wide awake. It is freezing, but it doesn't really matter as she leaps from the warmth of her furs to cling to window, looking outside.
Everything is covered in a white, thin layer of snow. The roofs of the towers of Winterfell, the ground of the courtyards. From the sky, little snowflakes fall.
"The godswood will look beautiful tonight," Lalia breathes. Even with all their time in the North, both still feel amazed with their summer snows.
"Supposing the snow will stick." Cerelle frowns, looking back at Lalia.
"Maester Luwin says it might be snowing the whole day."
"We have to take Tommen and Myrcella outside!"
Their mother is not as happy as Cerelle with the snow. She says it will only make things worse, a mess when it mixes with the mud. That they could get sick, that she should be taking care of herself the very day of the wedding—if she wanted to get married, because if she only said the word, they could call the whole thing off.
Cerelle did not listen to her. She took her siblings outside along with the Stark children and made them feel their age. She watched as they played not as princess and prince, but just as children.
Cerelle wishes she had memories like that, she thinks as she watches Bran throw a snowball at Myrcella. With no Septas or older ladies watching over her, tutting and worrying and hovering.
She never felt like just a child. She was always a princess.
Rickon comes to her, tugging on her dress and begging her to come play with them. She can't really refuse him.
She has lunch in her chambers with her siblings and Lalia, not able to see Robb until the moment of the wedding. A servant comes to whisk Myrcella and Tommen away the moment they finish eating, and Lalia leaves to get ready herself.
Lalia's mother had not come with the court, but her brother Tyrek had. She had wanted to spend time with him, even though they were to travel together back South.
Cerelle understood. Just like her, Lalia was closer to her brother than her other family.
Eline draws her a bath and readies her dress. Despite being her handmaid, Cerelle doesn't call for her often. Mostly to bring her food and draw her baths, and Eline always worked for her with a smile on her face.
"I didn't ask before," Cerelle says as she dips into the water, Eline having her back turned towards her.
"What, Your Grace?"
"You're still being my handmaid after today, right? You can turn around." she says once the water has covered her.
"Yes, Your Grace," Eline says as she turns around.
"Good! I trust you, Eline. I wouldn't feel this comfortable with another person." Cerelle smiles at the girl and the beam she receives back lets her know Eline likes her just as much.
Eline washes her hair and covers her in scented oils, helping her into her smallclothes before taking out her dress.
It's ivory white, with a high neck and long sleeves to ward off the night's chill. Black buttons run down her spine, making it impossible to put on by herself. It hugs her chest closely, fanning out at her waist. It does wonders to her figure.
Eline puts a towel on her shoulders before she starts to brush her hair, so it does not get her dress wet. She cuts the tips of her hair, no more than three fingers, an old tradition from Storm's End she had found once in a book and had since wanted to follow. Eline leaves to fetch her shoes as Cerelle waits for her hair to dry, sitting close to the fire.
She realizes suddenly, she's not coming back to these chambers. From that night on, she was to share a bed with Robb.
While it does make her nervous, it also makes her giddy. Robb was a great young man, not only handsome but also honorable, gentle and, even better, she had had a year with him before having to marry.
Between lessons and training, their year had been littered with time together. Rides to the woods, trips to the Winter Town, walks around the godswood. While they were usually followed closely by a chaperone, sometimes an adult, sometimes the children, it had not stopped them. They talked and laughed and talked some more every time. She had, even, once or twice, been part of the boy's plans.
By the time her hair is dry, her stomach is a ball of nerves. Eline brings, along with her shoes, a cup of calming tea, but even that does little to soothe her.
A knock in the door makes Eline stop braiding her hair for a moment.
"Come in," she calls before her handmaid can drop her hair and have to start again.
Her mother comes in and, as soon as she senses Eline wants to drop her hair and run away, she puts a hand on hers.
"You can continue, Eline. Don't want to ruin all your hard work." She tries to calm the girl. In the back of her mind, she knows she's doing this because she doesn't want to be left alone with Cersei.
"Yes, Your Grace," the girl says, starting to work again. Her hair is being braided up, with grey ribbons between her locks.
"You look beautiful, child," her mother says. Her long blonde hair is up, her dress a deep red with golden accents. Despite being married to the King, her mother had never left behind her House.
"You too, Mother," Cerelle says.
"Are you feeling alright?"
"Most wonderful." She smiles and hopes it's enough to convince her mother.
"It's ready, Your Grace," Eline says from behind her.
"Go fetch the King, then," her mother tells Eline, coldly.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Eline!" She calls for her handmaid seconds before she leaves. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Your Grace."
"Are you completely sure about this, Cerelle? You still have time to regret this. Once you go down—"
"I want this, Mother. I like it here, and I like the Starks." She tries to put her foot down. It's not something she's used to do regarding her mother, but she guesses it's time she starts to.
"You're too much like your father," Cersei says then, and Cerelle can't help but think that she doesn't mean it in a good way.
Before either of them can say anything else, the door opens, and her father comes in.
"Ah, my child! You look beautiful!" he yells, walking closer to her. In his arms, he carries her maiden cloak. He has his crown on, just as her mother has her own, but she knows he's not going to be officiating the wedding. Like the customs dictate, Lord Stark, being the groom's father, will stand with them under the Heart Tree.
Cerelle knows, then, that they're only using their crowns because of how many Lords there are. Back in King's Landing, her father only used his crown in the Throne Room.
The crowns identify them as King and Queen. They need to stand above the others, they need to be seen as people worthy of respect, otherwise they would hold no real power. To be seen as equals by other Lords could easily become a rebellion.
And yet, she wishes they could be just a little warmer, just a little kinder to the rest, so they would inspire real respect.
"Thank you, Father." She smiles.
"Your sister sent this," he says as he stands behind her and helps fastening it around her neck. "I had forgotten all about the bloody thing, but Myrcella remembered to bug Renly to bring it from Storm's End the last time he was there."
"Is Uncle Renly here?" she asks. Her youngest uncle, far closer to her age than any other, had been one of the kindest people in her life. He was one of the few that actually paid attention to her.
When she was younger, her uncle had taken her to spend a month in Storm's End twice. He had devoted himself to her, spending time with her every day, eating their meals together, riding to the closest town.
"Aye. He and Stannis. Now, are you ready?"
She takes a deep breath before saying yes.
Her mother goes down before them to take her place in the crowd in the godswoods. Despite her wedding is a big affair, only the most important Lords and Ladies have place in the woods, as it cannot hold too many people.
The rest of them would have to wait for the feast. And since Northern weddings take place in the early night, all around Winterfell tables and fires had been set, so people could feast not only inside but also outside.
As she goes to the godswood, she can see many lords and ladies she does not know. In the last days, many new faces had been given a name, but for the love of the gods, she could not remember them all.
The godswoods' grounds are stark white, covered in a layer of snow. She can see what she can only guess are Dornish lords, shivering in their boots. The faces of the people around her are only dimly lighted by torchs that mark the way she is to walk. The heat that comes from her father's arm keeps her grounded, and the shadows dancing across the guests' faces help soothe her nerves.
She can distinguish her family standing in the front, her three siblings and Mother and all her Uncles. It's a bit hard not to notice her Uncle Jaime, with his golden armor and white cloak, or her Uncle Tyrion, with his...stature. Her Uncle Renly can be seen too, with clothes in the latest fashion, whispering to her cousin Shireen.
On the other side, she can see the Starks and she smiles when young Rickon waves to her, almost jumping in his place. His mother puts a hand on his head to keep him in place. Jon is standing there, at the end of the line beside his uncle Benjen, who she had met a few days before, but there.
By the time she stops walking, she's standing in front of Lord Stark and Robb.
He's clean shaved, just like the day when her parents had arrived, his dark auburn hair combed back. He's dressed in a dark tunic with direwolves embroidered in his chest, most likely by Sansa herself. Behind him, Lord Stark is standing, a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.
"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Lord Stark starts.
"Cerelle, of House Baratheon, comes here to be wed," her father answers. For a moment, she's surprised he knows how it goes. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
Robb takes a step forward, standing before father and daughter.
"Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell," he answers in what he hopes is an assured voice. "Who gives her?"
"King Robert of House Baratheon, who is her father."
"Princess Cerelle, do you take this man?" Lord Stark asks.
"I take this man," she answers. Her father takes her hand and places it upon Robb's.
Robb then takes her other hand, guiding her under the heart tree. They kneel, and giving the other one look and a smile, start saying:
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."
"I am his and he is mine," Cerelle says, as Robb says the same for her, "from this day, until the end of my days."
They then rise, and she turns around so Robb can take off her cloak and put on the one that Sansa offers him.
Cerelle can see Ned, surprised but happy. They hadn't told anyone of the changes they would make, but as she looks around, she can see that no one looks angry. They both had liked the reassurance, the vow of being each other's. It was romantic, and it was a promise. It was a beginning.
Robb then taps her on the arm, and she turns, taking his hand and facing the crowd. They explode in applauses, yet not the loud type, but a respectful one, seeing as they are in a sacred place.
She looks at Robb and he looks at her, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a kiss on it.