Part I: Arriving for the Festivities (Late)

Manfryd Teague was not supposed to be there - or at least, he wasn't on the official guest list. Though who's to say that the ironborn even checked that dreaded old document, all withered away and crossed with black marks? He was wealthy, dressed nicely, spoke even nicer, all of the pieces started to fit in place. It maybe wouldn't have worked at a true royal castle - Highgarden, Storm's End, Casterly Rock probably would have caught him before he made it to the door.

But Manfryd wouldn't have been that dumb to approach a castle like that without an invite. He simply gave a pressed smile to the guard, wearing an elaborate blue doublet with lace on the inside and his brown hair was slicked back nicely. "Name?" The guard barked, already having sent his horse off to the right where the stables were.

"Manfryd," There was no need to lie in this instance, there were Manfryds all over the Seven Kingdoms - from Oldtown to White Harbor, the name was more common than one would think.

The man had a disgusting look to him - blemishes all over his face, and the light mist wasn't helping anything with his hair either. Greasy look to it, like the ironborn had on good days. His hat, if you could even call it that, was floppy and bent over one side - surely wet as well. That wasn't the only thing wrong with his hair either - but Manfryd didn't see the point (or more importantly, the fun) in mocking it in his head any longer.

"The doors are to the left," The ironborn grumbled and stumbled out of his way, the toe of his boot squelching in the mud and kicking some of it up onto Manfryd's trousers. His lips pressed into a tight line and he gave a nod, rather careful with his own feet placement and trying not to get mud all over himself. It was bad enough that he had to show up this late - Lord Darklyn had insisted upon that so they didn't make too many waves, but now he had mud on his attire.

The mist didn't bother Manfryd, hardly noticing it as he glanced up at the overcast sky. Harrenhal seemed to be cursed, and was cursing the rest of the Riverlands along with it. Hardly a week went by and there weren't storms somewhere in the Riverlands. Often it happened multiple times a week. Manfryd found all of that dreadfully dreary and had always been glad that his wealth flowed out of the southern portions of the Riverlands and to the east. The weather was milder, the sun was brighter, and the business was more profitable.

The entrance to the castle was unguarded, curiously enough. The ironborn weren't worried about any tricks then, Manfryd supposed. In the distance he could hear horses whinnying, as though they were coming from a set of stables to the left, which his horse hadn't gone that way. Manfryd opened the door himself and slipped in. A warmth passed over him, the torches and hearths lit in the hall clearly doing their work. He bent down and scrubbed at the mud on his trousers with the edge of his jacket and hand.

It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was better. Imbeciles, he thought to himself as he took a step forward on the stone steps. The entrance hall was filled with people - more than he'd thought. People were chattering together and laughing, pointing towards two large closed doors ahead. The doors were mostly made of a kind of glass he'd seen in Myr - you couldn't see through them, but you could see the colors inside. More opaque than plain glass.

While most of the people who were laughing and chatting were from other kingdoms, the majority of those in the entrance hall were ironborn. Manfryd slid into the crowd quietly, his slim gait making it easier for him to make it through. Soon enough he made it to the doors. His finger pressed against the glass, feeling the familiar rough edges of it. He'd sold quite an amount of this kind of glass to a wealthy lord from Pinkmaiden not too many years earlier. Probably didn't make it there, Manfryd thought to himself dully.

"You didn't make it in time either?" A blonde haired girl was leaning against a stone column behind her.

"I made it when I meant to," Manfryd said breezily.

She snorted, her green dress fluttering down to the ground when she stood up more properly. "I'm sure." She couldn't stop a second noise of disagreement, a small hmph. "Or are you the carver of this door who had to see it in action?"

"Not the carver, the seller," Manfryd folded his arms over his chest. "And most ladies wouldn't presume to tell a lord that he was a carver."

The girl simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the column, a torch flickering dangerously to her left - giving her hair a glowing golden color. "A seller isn't usually a lord, either. Though, maybe that isn't what you were going for." She began to pick lightly at her nails.

Manfryd couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in return. The girl was smarter than she seemed - or higher up and knew how to pick out who was a lord and who was not. "I'm guessing a princess, then," He mused, looking at her and working it out aloud. "Not a Durrandon. Not a Stark either. Gardener or Lannister, it would seem. The Lannisters are tight-knit enough, and I've heard the daughter is pleasant. So, that means you're a Gardener." An impish smile played at the edge of his lips.

"Am I not pleasant?" She feigned as she gave a playful curtsy.

"Not the right choice of words," Manfryd assured her and gave a kiss to the back of her hand. "Sometimes, pleasantry and idiocy go hand in hand. I don't believe that is the case with you."

"Ah, a compliment in there somewhere," Her eyes glittered. "So, you're a seller, not a lord, but you dress like a lord and act like one. Unlike you, I don't have a limited number of people to work with, so I beg of you to tell me your name."

Manfryd chuckled and held out his arm for her, the Gardener princess taking it. Kathryn smiled and the two walked away from the door. "I'll tell you the name if you tell me how to get involved in part of the ceremony?"

Kathryn nodded. "A fair trade," She smiled and pointed out the doors. "The proceeding begins in the castle, and is going on right now. What's going on is the changing of the cloaks, that sort of thing. It covers the Mooton bases and the Riverland ones - part of a Faith of the Seven ceremony. After, they'll go down to the water by the God's Eye for the more ironborn approach. There will be a large procession heading down that way once it is time."

Manfryd smiled. "That sounds perfect. Manfryd Teague," He squeezed her hand lightly - the name rang a bell to her assuredly, but she didn't betray much on her face. He focused on what was upcoming, as all good businessmen would. The ironborn part of the ceremony intrigued him, but not nearly as much as the girl on his arm. Getting this close to a princess already was a godsend, not only for his aspirations, but for his business as well. Lord Darklyn had probably only accomplished getting through a plate of pork by then. He didn't need him anymore, anyway.

Part II: A Step Back

Everything seemed to have moved quickly once Jeyne had stepped off that ship. It was like a blur, she could hardly believe that she was at her wedding day already. She had woken up in a cold spell that morning, sweat like ice dripping down her back. Her nightgown was thin, and the covers were naturally rather bulky, but it was a nervous sweat. She hardly knew who was going to be her husband - and that wasn't even the biggest of her worries heading into this unknown.

The morning, on the other hand, took forever. The ironborn's finest seamstresses came to work with her on fitting into the gown (in reality, they were Riverlanders, all of them). In order to help placate the rivermen, the first part of the festival would be held in Harrenhal with a septon and comprise bits of their usual marriage customs - the changing of the cloaks, a prayer to the Seven, and a pact to bind them. It would not be held in a sept, as the ironborn ruled that it would contrast too much with a traditional ironborn ceremony. The second part was due to be held by the God's Eye, where that part of the festivities would take place.

"You've shrunk," One of the ladies whispered to her as she did up the dress in the back. Her wispy grey hair hung around her face, and her lips were pressed tightly. A few candles flickered on the wall, but most natural light was coming through a window. "The dress will need to be adjusted to fit."

Jeyne said nothing, her eyes looking ahead. She felt nothing either. She had always imagined one day she would marry some gallant lord or another, a good riverman and tend to his castle while he was gone and sire his children. She couldn't even picture a face of a riverlord anymore that would fit that dream. Darrick Hoare's blocky, square-like head always took that place.

"Are you okay, my dear?" The old woman whispered to her, her hands shaking a little as she sewed the dress tighter in the back to hold onto the girl's waist. "I-I mean, well, you know what I mean."

Jeyne nodded without saying a word. She couldn't trust her voice anymore. More importantly, she couldn't trust the walls, the women, none of it. Word would get back to the ironborn one way or another. The castle lived to torment her.

"You're beautiful," The woman said, pushing Jeyne's dark hair behind her shoulders and adding a few white flowers to it. They hung in the thick, glossy hair. It fell down in sheets, the cream colored gown twisted with white. It was a simple gown in and of itself, but the coloring had been a subject of discontent between what was left of Lady Mooton's allies and the ironborn. Ironborn weddings had no typical color, but since the women were, naturally, all ironborn, they usually wore dark colors. That didn't happen with Faith weddings. Eventually, the ironborn dropped the problem when they no longer cared, and everything proceeded. "You'll fit well here." The woman mumbled.

Jeyne fidgeted with her hands and tears welled up in her eyes for the first time outside of her room. "I hate this place," She whispered. "I hate the creaks at night that sound like someone's coming into my room. I hate the rain that drips down the cracked windows. I hate the maze of rooms and floors that make me lost and stumbling into some brute or another. I just want to go home."

"I know, dear," The woman gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But this is how it will go."

Jeyne swiped away the tears with the back of her hand. Whether anyone else saw them, she had no idea. It was probably already too late. The bruises on her cheeks had finally faded - gifts from Hoares, gifts from their men, did it matter? She stopped seeing them as separate people. It was all against one.

"Is the future Crown Princess ready?" She heard a slightly-mocking, slightly-serious voice come from the doorway. She didn't even have to turn. She knew this one.

"Greyjoy," Jeyne said, crossing her arms over her chest. "My father isn't here."

Lorcan Greyjoy was dressed in finer clothes than most of the other ironborn, but still, all black. His boots were of an ironborn type, however, and his eyes were watching her inquisitively. "Your father isn't coming, it seems." He stepped slowly closer to her, stopping just behind her right shoulder. "Besides, it was me that took you here, and not your father. That being as it is, King Harrik has seen it fit for me to give you to your husband."

"You?" Jeyne couldn't help the revulsion as she took a step back. "You - you have no right, you, you're just a - a bully."

Lorcan rolled his eyes and didn't move from the spot he was in the first place. "Let's not get too upset before the big day, should we? Besides, it's not as though it matters. You'll be given to your husband one way or another, who cares if it's me, your father, or some random lord out in the crowd. No one."

"The riverlords care," Jeyne said bravely, crossing her arms over her chest. "If they see that I'm upset, they-they'll…"

"They'll what?" Lorcan whispered, quirking an eyebrow at her as he waited for an answer. None came, and she clamped her mouth shut defiantly. He sighed. "You'll learn someday, little fish, but today probably isn't that day. We all know something's coming. You think Alaric Stark sneaking out to the forest to meet with the Blackwood went unnoticed? Cerelle Lannister's blushing cheeks near the Bracken boy? All that and more. Remember whose castle this is, and you'll make it through. I have faith."

Jeyne bit her lip and turned to him finally. She took a long shuddering breath and reached for his arm. Lorcan accepted it, pausing to wait as the Mooton cloak was wrapped around her shoulder. The red salmon was a rich crimson, the white a soft kind of down. The doors opened from her private chambers and they began to walk.

The walk was short, or at least seemed to be of the whole ordeal. Strangely, the Greyjoy's presence at her side became more comforting the more eyes that focused on her. Another person to take the pressure off of herself at the very least. Her shoes clicked along the stone floor. Murmurs could be heard up ahead, but when they saw the pair coming closer, they stilled. It was all she could do to keep her breathing steady and focused, and not give way to hyperventilating.

She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead of her, but every now and then she would stray them to the onlookers. Most from the other kingdoms were curious, and easy to make contact with. The ironborn, she naturally avoided. The rivermen too, for their eyes were all filled with sadness as they watched her pass. She swore she saw a tear or two in some of their eyes.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw a man in black, with black hair like her own. He was seated towards the front of the long hall, a red salmon on his chest. She had an idea to stop Lorcan right there and demand to be escorted by her brother, but she knew she'd pay for it dearly later. Willam was not their father, though. The two siblings had never been close, and certainly wouldn't be now. He was more interested in playing games with people than knowing them.

She took a quiet breath as they ascended the stairs towards the dais. A septon stood there, balding and watching her make her ascent. Darrick wouldn't make his vows to the septon, for they would be empty words. Jeyne would, though.

People shuffled around behind them, and she heard the closing of doors. The septon licked his lips and stepped forward with the Seven Pointed Star in his hands. He began with a brief prayer on the sanctity and power of marriage, and how the Seven would keep the couple safe. It was short and to the point - Jeyne knew it had likely been a request of the King's. Somewhere behind her, his black eyes were looking at her for any sign of restraint or hesitation. Any sign of a weakness that would need to be purged. She wouldn't fail.

She felt Lorcan move behind her, and take the cloak off of her shoulders. A cold wind passed through her after the warm garment was removed, only to be replaced by strong hands fastening a new one to her. The Hoare cloak. Darrick was taller than Lorcan, with jet black hair like those of his house. When they both turned, she could see the Hoare family lined in the first row to the right. The King, his salt wife, and children, Lorcan returning to take a seat alongside them.

She stole a glance back up at her husband-to-be. Maybe she could make it work. He was handsome enough, wearing dark steel over his broad chest. His hair was neat for the first time since she'd met him, and a calm expression was on his face. A pretty face can hide all sorts of things underneath, she knew. She hoped she could.

Jeyne had been coached the next lines - she would be the only one saying them, after all. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." Her voice was scarcely stronger than a whisper. She turned to the Hoare, and luckily he bent down to receive her lips. They were cold and strange to her, but she didn't pull away until she felt he was. "And take you for my lord...and my husband."

It was a strange feeling in her heart, after the kiss. In one way, she felt empty and cold, like the kiss had been. Was that what her whole life would be like? In another, strangely feeling a sort of anticipation. He didn't seem as brutal as his father, but not as soft as his brother and sister. All mysteries had some anticipation to them, Jeyne decided.

In normal weddings, it would be accompanied by him replying that he would take her as his lady and wife, and the septon would pronounce them lord and wife. The ironborn had been firm that the septon would not announce them as lord and wife, but the drowned priest by the water, and that was where Darrick would make his own vows.

"To the water," King Hoare rose to his feet, and with him, the room. His eyes met hers for a second before he made a move to go. A warning, maybe. A chill went through her spine. Had she done something wrong? Was she not loud enough? As the room turned to go, she allowed herself the shaky breath she had been holding for a long while. It wasn't over, but it was getting closer.

Part III: Discoveries

Ravos was one of the last to file out of the castle. There was no part in ironborn ceremonies for siblings or even family members like there was in Faith weddings. The halls were empty when he finally reached the doors that led outside. A narrow, rocky trail led south to the water by the God's Eye. A long procession was already on the way there, but some of the guests were instead making for the stables. Ravos figured he couldn't blame them, if they were only interested in the actual ceremony itself. No elaborate feast was planned for that night, and the guests were expected to be either out of Harrenhal that night or the next morning.

Ravos held his sister's hand in his own as they made their way down together. Astrid was a slip of a woman, years his junior at six-and-ten, and much more frail inside and out. She was more like him, though. She wore dresses and jewels like other riverwomen, and even had a sapphire ring on her hand. That morning he had found her talking with one of the Durrandon princesses like it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd tried to shield her over the years from the harsher aspects of ironborn ways, but it inevitably was pierced each time.

"We can see well enough from here," Ravos found where a hill rose above the water's edge, people crammed down by the shore. They could sit on the edge and see the whole ceremony.

"Is this where we stand?" A lady asked beside them, not sitting on the wet grass like the two Hoare siblings.

She had a fit body, but not in the way that would make you think bulky or overly strong. She simply filled out the dress well, and it wasn't because she was buxom either. It was hard to describe for Ravos, but she had a handsome look to her. The lady had soft brown hair, and her dress was a royal blue color. Only a scar marred her face, like a half moon that stretched down towards her lips.

"If you want to be out of the way." Ravos shrugged as he sat beside his sister, turning his focus back onto what was going on ahead of them.

The bride and crown prince were led to the water, where a drowned priest awaited them. Ravos had never found much wrong with the drowned priests themselves - he felt bad for them since they had no real home. Home was important, even if Ravos found a lot wrong with his own.

His brother's hand was in his future wife's, and they put them down together into the water. Salt was dripped into the water slowly, and onto their lips as well. A few grains into each of their hair. A small clam filled with water was drizzled over the two's heads as well - a way to mark the joining of the sea with the prince and princess. The water had been taken from Ironman's Bay, the closest place that touched natural waters of the ironborn. That part was important as well.

There were vows as well that the husband had to say, but they were much shorter than what the Faith said. In the end, salt wives were allowed as well, which made those vows...a bit looser than they were supposed to be in the other places in Westeros. That's why Ravos always found long vows in the ironborn culture unnecessary - and many arrived at the same conclusion.

The two shared another kiss, the salt on their lips showing that they were joining the life of the sea and not just living with one another. Rope was draped over the both of them, and the drowned priest led them further into the water, soaking the clothing of both of them. He symbolically tied the knot together, the end laid into the water. It sank slowly off the both of them and into the murky blue-green water. Some nights it could even take on a black sheen.

The ceremony was done faster than it had begun. Ironborn had traditions, but in regards with their mentality, it was short and to the point. The crowd hurried back towards the castle, leaving the poor shivering bride at her husband's side. None offered any extra clothes to aid with the cold, and Ravos wondered if they would even be allowed. The bedding would follow - something Ravos was entirely uninterested in. Rivermen came to Jeyne Mooton's aid, lifting her onto their shoulders and towards the palace. Since the ironborn didn't practice the same - bedding was natural, but it wasn't for others to be involved in. Only, really if it was a lord or king. A Crown Prince, on the other hand, wouldn't do the same as a young sailor, whose wife would be more open with the captain of the ship or royal family.

"Not going yet, Prince?" The lady to his side said, still standing up and watching as the procession headed inside.

"Not quite." Ravos got to his feet alongside his sister, holding onto her arm. "I have no interest in what's going on with my brother. And you would be?" He brushed pebbles off his trousers, taking in a breath of the purest water in the world - the water by the sea.

"Surprised," The lady replied calmly and glanced at him. "Lady Jayda Mallister, Lady of Seagard."

"You're surprised?" Ravos chuckled. "I wouldn't have expected Seagard to show their face after what happened just down from your castle's doorstep."

Lady Jayda gave a thin smile and stepped onto the pathway that led back towards Harrenhal, her eyes glancing back up towards the grey overcast sky. "We had no part in it." She said clearly.

"Admitting as much makes me think that you had knowledge," Ravos prodded, an arm around his sister as they followed.

"I didn't, I would admit it if I did," Jayda said to him. "If your father knew I had a part in it, then I would be dead already. He doesn't, and even if I did participate and he did kill me, there would be nothing more to make riverlords even angrier. So you can keep your accusations to yourself, Prince Ravos, for they will do you no good if you swing them around needlessly." She continued on the path ahead of them, soon leaving Ravos and Astrid behind.

"Where do you think I will end up?" Astrid asked her brother curiously, holding onto his arm as they walked together.

Ravos was quiet for a moment, giving her a glimpse of a smile as they trudged up towards the hulking castle. "I'm not sure," He admitted. It would depend quite a bit on what happened from this moment forth, as the assembled royals, lords, and ladies made their way home. "I'm sure any lord would be extremely happy to have you. They should be."

He didn't know if his sister was convinced by his words, but he didn't try to sell them any more. He excused himself, allowing Astrid to head indoors to return to what little festivities were left. He took a right, Ravos intending to go to the training yard and work some of the frustration out.

It used to be just in the courtyard, but they had moved it a long time ago since the palace accommodated more people. The training yard was in a secluded area of Harrenhal, one had to go down a set of stairs to the right of the castle, and it laid down in a little area, so captains and lords could watch from above without going down the stairs if they wanted. To his surprise, there were quite a few men, all ironborn standing near it.

They were all quiet as Ravos approached. They seemed to turn a bit away, making room for him to go down if he wished. He was used to indifference, but usually someone at least said something to him. Maybe the whole ceremony had sucked a lot of the sociality out of them like it had to Ravos.

He stepped down the stairs, and he had only made it a few steps when he saw. The whole training yard was unusable. Swords, pikes, shields and all sorts of weapons were set out in lines on the ground. There had to be hundreds of each, with only a little bit of walking room through each of the lines of weapons. Ravos stopped immediately - they were all ironborn weapons, from the looks of it. What was going on?

Author's Note: Thank you for all of the kind reviews and helpful comments. I do appreciate them. One note about the chapter - there is nothing in the wiki about ironborn weddings. I mainly tried to do what I thought was reasonable, while adding some things that made it similar to Faith of the Seven weddings where applicable. We are now at a very big crossing point of the story, which I am extremely excited about going into the next couple chapters. Thank you all.