So, I was told to "Keep the Gary Stu down" and I agree. Torrhen isn't going to be some fix all character. There are still going to be problems, people are going to die, etc... But I wouldn't write this if he didn't change the story in some way. The whole point is that this is an AU. He is going to directly affect the story, who lives, yes, but also who dies. I'm not the best writer, I know this, but I hope you'll stick with me until we can reach that point.
Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Torrhen Stark perched outside of Myrcella's window again, covered in a dark cloak. He had forewent the raven this time in favor of simply showing up at her window. He knocked softly. He saw her small frame move over toward the window sill, blurred through the glass. When she opened it, he stepped in silently, taking a glance to the door as he went. A thick towel lay wedged in the crack, good.
"Tonight won't be a fun conversation I'm afraid." Tor started, getting right to the point.
Myrcella took his hand and guided him toward her bed, they sat on the side, hand in hand, both staring at the wall. Then she turned to face him, a glimmer of worry in her emerald orbs. "What's going on Tor?"
Torrhen Stark paused one beat before exploding. He told her of what he'd been doing for his father, trying to investigate Jon Arryn's death, his final words, how they had been led to the Lannister's. He told her of Baelish's suggestion to his father to visit the blacksmith.
"When I got there, I spoke to a blacksmith's apprentice, about a year older than me. His name was Gendry. When I spoke to him, everything clicked. The first thing I noticed was his looks." Myrcella looked at Tor weirdly, he blushed. "I meant specifically how he resembles, well, your uncle Renly."
"And you think he's Renly's bastard?"
Tor decided to rip the bandage off, "No, he's the King's."
Myrcella froze, stunned. Her face slowly thawed into an odd conflicted expression. "I suppose I can't be too surprised, father acting the way he does." Torrhen flinched at that.
"There's more." Myrcella looked at him scrutinizingly, seeing his hesitance, but motioned for him to go ahead. "When I saw him, everything clicked into place. He looks exactly like your fath- the King." She raised an eyebrow at Tor changing titles halfway through.
"The words Jon Arryn was muttering, 'the seed is strong'. Every Baratheon has been black of hair." Tor locked eyes with her, glancing at her lustrous blonde locks, "Every Baratheon."
Myrcella began paling rapidly. Her hands began shaking. "The seed is strong." She muttered faintly. She grabbed a strand of her hair and held it in front of her face shakily, as if trying to will it to darken. Her eyes seemed to zone out. Tor pulled his significant other into his lap, just holding her. They sat there like that for half an hour, she started crying at one point, and Tor only held her tighter.
When the tears dried out, they remained attached, though they moved onto the bed so that Tor was resting against the headboard, with Myrcella against his side. She spoke up then, voice shaky, eyes shut, "I suppose I should have expected her t-to have her own af-affairs with my fa-" She swallowed lightly, "the King being the way he is." She gave a shaky laugh at that. "Do you know who the father is?"
"No love, but I'll find out." She smiled slightly at the term of endearment, but it slid from her face quickly.
"What does this mean for us? I mean, I'm not a Princess anymore, I'm a bastard." She kept her head on Tor's chest, too afraid to look up at him for an answer. She tensed when he began speaking.
"It changes nothing, Myrcella. I love you, princess or not." Her whole body went almost entirely limp in relief at that, Tor chuckled. "It might even make our dream easier, you, me, and Arya, sailing out of King's Landing." She began laughing at that, he joined her.
They spoke for several minutes, making sure to keep their voices low enough not to wake up the guard in front of her door. When the laughter died, the two began to be uncomfortably aware of the situation they were in. Two attractive teens, betrothed two each other, laying in the girl's bed, alone. She was in her nightdress and Tor had removed his cloak earlier and was just in pants and a shirt. Myrcella broke the uncomfortable silence first by sitting up and moving to a more comfortable position. That that position just happened to be straddling him did not go unnoticed. Myrcella had an intense look in her eye as she stared at the man who would be her husband. She leaned down and kissed him. Tor quickly reciprocated, reaching up his hands and steadying her. The kiss deepened for a second before Myrcella pulled back, Tor whined slightly at that. She just smirked and stood up. She quickly pulled a cloak on before making her way over to pull him off the bed. She tossed his cloak at him before moving to reopen the window.
"Where are we going?" Tor asked wonderingly, still somewhat confused at what was happening.
"We're getting married." Tor's mind froze, but Myrcella continued regardless. "There's a Godswood here and you told me we only need one witness. So let's go, we'll grab your father and Arya and say our vows." She smirked at the still recovering man in front of her. "Then we can get back to what we were doing…" That got Tor's mind back into gear.
They made it down to the hall in record time, snuck into the Hand's apartments and were knocking on his father's chambers in just ten minutes. The door opened much quicker than they expected, Lord Stark looking wide awake despite the late hour. He saw the two hand in hand and smiled.
"I should have known this would happen. Let me grab my cloak." As they made their way to Arya's room, Tor had one question.
"How'd you know?"
"You're an impulsive person, Torrhen. You have a stronger will than most and more courage than all. This seemed like a logical next step, marry while you are still betrothed before they try and split you apart." His smile grew more nostalgic. "I had a love like yours once." Tor stared at his father but didn't interrupt, he never talked about things like this. "It wasn't a love born of duty, like your mother and I. It was just love. When I saw her for the first time, I didn't have the courage to ask her for a dance, so I had my brother ask for me. We had a week together, but it was the happiest week of my life, until you and your siblings were born." His eyes misted slightly. "If I had your courage Tor, I'd have asked her to marry, but I didn't. We ended up split between two sides of a war we didn't want to fight, and that was the end of it. We talked only once after that, when I returned her brother's sword to her after I killed him. She killed herself just a few days later." Tor knew her name then, Ashara Dayne.
"Is Jon hers?" Tor questioned.
His father pursed his lips. "No." He said shortly. Tor decided he would leave that alone and lighten the mood.
"You talk about my courage father, but it was Myrcella who asked." Lord Stark turned his head to her and raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded in confirmation, content to walk hand in hand in silence. The trip was quick from that point on. We grabbed Arya and made our way to the Godswood. Arya was warged into her own raven which flew ahead of us to make sure we weren't seen. She couldn't go semiaware yet, so her father carried her. Tor chose the quickest route he knew and watched their back to make sure they weren't followed.
When they arrived at the Godswood, Myrcella pulled two cloaks from her bag, a Baratheon one, and a Direwolf. She ran her hand along the stag softly before she put it back in her cloak.
"I made these during some of my lessons. I hope you don't mind that I was a bit premature." Tor simply snorted and took the offered cloak.
"If you hadn't been we wouldn't have been able to do this properly."
Arya took that moment to make her presence known. "Can we just get on with it? I want to go back to sleep if they're going to stare at each other all night." They all chuckled at that. Arya went to stand off to the side, Lord Eddard Stark stood beneath the tree, and Myrcella and Torrhen stood before him.
"Who comes before the Old God's this night?" Lord Stark's voice was soft, pride filling his voice. He was officiating the first wedding of one of his children.
"Myrcella of the House Bara-" Myrcella stumbled over her words for a second before regaining her confidence. "Comes here to be wed. A woman grown," she paused again, the practice she had performing these words, though she knew they'd have been wed in a septa she practiced them anyway, that practice was tripping her up now. "She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Torrhen of the House Stark, second son of Lord Eddard Stark. Who gives her?"
"Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Hand of the King." He pauses. "Lady Myrcella, do you take this man?"
"I take this man."
The two knelt before the heart tree in silent prayer. 'Help me to protect her, to protect all of my family' ran through Torrhen's head in several dozen ways. A minute later, the two rose together. Torrhen removed the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. The ceremony was finished at that point, but the two remained there, staring. Torrhen reached out and cupped her cheek, before stepping in to her, just as their lips touched he whispered to her, "With this kiss, I pledge my love." He held her for several more moments, before an annoyed cough brought them back to reality. They blushed slightly at Arya's irritated expression. Then, the two witnesses gave their congratulations, though Arya kept sending kissy faces at Torrhen.
After that, the four of them made their way back inside. Arya and their father split off from them with Arya acting as the warg scout again. When they made it to the hall, Myrcella hopped on Tor's back and he made the climb. It was starting to become easy after all the times he'd done it. When they made it back inside Tor looked hesitantly at Myrcella. She smiled at his sudden bashfulness. The two shed their cloaks leaving them in what they were wearing before they had left the tower, a nightdress and a thin shirt and pants.
Tor was nervous all of a sudden. His hands were sweaty, and his palms were shaking. 'Get it together idiot, we're married now' Myrcella smiled at him and that, more than anything, calmed him down. He smiled back at her. They sat on the edge of the bed together. Myrcella decided it was time to get started because she pushed him back on the bed suddenly and their lips were joined.
Tor's eyes widened at the sudden movement, but quickly decided he'd rather not be thinking at the moment. He grabbed Myrcella by the waist and flipped them over, so he was leaning over her. Tor's eyes met Myrcella's. She spoke softly.
"You said you pledge your love." She smiled, "Now prove it."
Torrhen woke up next to someone that morning. It was a feeling he thought he could get used to, even if he had to leave quickly. Those next few days passed quickly. Myrcella and Torrhen both could not help but smile when they saw each other. Torrhen busied himself with spying on the Queen, practicing for the archery competition, as well as the melee for the Hand's Tourney, and spending time with Myrcella.
Soon, the tourney days arrived. The first day's events would be the jousts. Sansa, Arya, and Torrhen sat in the stands, their father with them. Torrhen had managed to convince their father that he would need to attend the tourney, at least for a while. After all, they were trying not to ruffle too many feathers. So, they sat there and enjoyed the first several rounds of the joust.
The first round was their very own Jory Cassel. The Starks cheered loudly for their Captain of the Guard as he rode out. He made short work of his first opponent, Ser Horas Redwyne, from the Reach. As he rode back to pick up his lance he sent a smile in the Starks direction. After that he beat his second opponent, a member of House Frey, before finally falling short and losing on the third tilt to Lothor Brune.
The bouts went on, notable knights continued to fall as the day progressed. Jamie Lannister took down Ser Barristan Selmy, as well as Ser Andar Royce. Lord Bryce Caron fell to him as well. The stands quieted down when Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain that Rides rode onto the field. He was massive, eight feet tall at the least. Against him, rode Ser Hugh of the Vale, the one that Baelish had spoken of. Lord Stark and Torrhen didn't need him anymore however. They had figured out the secret that Lord Arryn had died for already. So when Gregor Clegane stabbed him through the throat with his lance, they felt pity and outrage at the sight, but not despair.
Torrhen decided there that he hated Gregor Clegane. He'd never given the man much thought beyond "What a monster" but he hated him now. A child murderer, a rapist, a dog for Tywin Lannister. He was quite sure that Ser Hugh's death was no accident. Someone was trying to keep them off the trail, unaware that they had figured out the queen's secret already, or at least part of it.
So when Ser Loras Tyrell rode against Ser Gregor Clegane, Tor knew who he was rooting for. Ser Loras granted Sansa a rose before his match. Torrhen would have gotten angry for him hitting on his sister, but he'd learned quite a bit from flying about as a raven the past few days. Chief among them were that Lord Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell were...intimate. So, Tor supposed, he could let this one slide. Loras Tyrell had no interest in his sister.
As Ser Loras and Clegane stood mounted in front of the King, and Clegane's horse began behaving erratically, Torrhen Stark smiled. He had spent enough time in the stables of Winterfell to recognize what Ser Loras had done. Riding a mare in heat to drive Ser Gregor's horse wild. Ser Loras deserved to win this. He hoped Clegane would get a lance through the throat, as he deserved.
"He's going to die." Sansa muttered from beside Tor. He turned to her and put a hand on her arm. "Don't worry sweet sister, Ser Loras is going to win, easily in fact."
And he did. On the first tilt, Ser Loras drove Clegane to the ground. Baelish began speaking softly to Sansa and Lord Stark, but Tor ignored him for the moment, watching Clegane on the ground.
Clegane got up angrily and called for a sword. Tor's eyes widened as he chopped almost clear through the horse's neck in one go. He then went towards Ser Loras, Tor's eyes widened at the anger Clegane was positively radiating. He fingered a knife, but before he could decide what to do, Clegane knocked Loras to the ground. As Clegane advanced, Tor made his decision. As Clegane raised his greatsword to strike at a downed Loras, Tor stood up and threw his dagger with all the force he could muster. The knife struck true. Ser Gregor Clegane stiffened, a throwing knife, about six inches long, embedded through the back of his neck and just poked out of the front. The Mountain that Rides would ride no more.
The crowd quieted at the body in the dirt. Tor stood there, frozen. 'I killed a man' He didn't know what to think. His fists tightened. 'The Mountain was a monster, and I just saved a man's life, don't feel bad' His breathing slowed, and he slowly relaxed. Then the cheering started. It began in the smallfolk section. They remembered what the Mountain and his ilk had done upon entering King's Landing all those years before. The cheers rose, louder and louder, before even some of the highborn joined in. Gregor Clegane could cast no more shadows. He could inspire no more fear.
"QUIET!" Came the voice of the King. and they did. "Who threw that knife?" The King's voice did not sound angry, and that calmed him down. Tor took a glance at his family. Arya looked at him in awe, his lord father gave him a nod expressing his silent approval, and Sansa stared at him uncomprehendingly, as if she wasn't registering the situation. He took a breath and hopped over the railing. All at once, thousands of eyes were on him. He walked forwards slowly, one step at a time, aware of the dead silence before him, as well as the thumping of his own heartbeat. He took a knee before the King, and knelt his head.
"Look up at me boy." Torrhen raised his eyes to meet the King's gaze. The King blinked once, recognizing him. The Queen began whispering into his ears, but Torrhen's sensitive ears caught the words.
"You must execute him. He has murdered a knight of the realm in cold blood, you must n-"
"Silence woman!" The King said loudly. He stood up and walked towards where Tor knelt. "Sword!" He called. The Hound, who was the nearest to him, quickly handed the King his weapon. Tor lowered his head, expecting it to fall off in a moment. He let out a calming breath. He had saved a man's life and ended a monster. If this was his fate, then so be it. Suddenly, the crowd began a chant, "Knight him" they called "Knight him" they repeated. The chant grew deafening with each smallfolk that joined in. Then the rest joined in. First the guards, then the highborn, finally the King raised his hand to silence the crowd. When the King began speaking, I couldn't believe it.
"This man, Torrhen Stark, son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Hand of the King, has saved the life of his fellow man. He defended someone who was in need of his help. He braved my judgment in silence. IS HE NOT WORTHY?" The King roared out. The crowd roared in response. When they quieted down, the King spoke once more, but these were different words, these were binding words.
"Torrhen Stark, In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Ser Torrhen Stark, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
Torrhen stood then, and the crowd roared. How could a man be so hated, especially a knight, Tor mused, that his death resulted in such adulation.
The tourney got back on track quickly. Ser Sandor Clegane and Ser Loras Tyrell had the final bout. The other Clegane seemed unusually happy and channeled that into a victory over the Knight of Flowers. In the stands, Torrhen had been latched onto by Arya, who was firing rapid questions at him the rest of the joust. He smiled at her and patiently answered them as best as he could. When the joust ended, Ser Loras came up to Torrhen.
"I owe you my life ser." He smiled at Tor. Torrhen shrugged. "I could not stand to see anymore lives ended by that monster. I'm sure many would have done the same."
"Still, if you ever require a favor, I will gladly pay you back." He reached out his arm, Tor grasped it with his own.
The first day of the tourney ended on a high note. On top of his knighting, Myrcella expressed her worry for her secret husband... extensively.
The second day of the tourney was what Torrhen was most looking forward to. He returned to Tobho Mott to receive the helm he had specially crafted. It was a fine piece of work. The helm was of a direwolf snarling. The eyes were empty, as his own would shine through there. The nose pointed down and slightly forwards, and the sides of the helm were stylized fur and ears. It was all black, as was the rest of the armor he had already, for Tor was only replacing the helm.
The archery competition was the first event of the day, and the one that Tor looked forward to the most, as he hoped to prove skills here, and win the ten thousand dragons. His competition was fierce, but as he looked down the line of archers ready to begin the event, he felt confident. He was right to be. Every time they moved a few paces back, more and more failed to hit the target. At eighty-five paces, Torrhen looked at the three competitors stuck with him. Ser Balon Swann, from the Stormlands, Prince Jalabhar Xho, an exile of the Summer Isles, and Anguy of the Dornish Marches. The other two competitors were unknown to him. At ninety paces, the first of the unknown competitors dropped out. At ninety-five, the second unknown competitor dropped out.
The four competitors turned around and moved five more paces back. One hundred paces. Tor sighed to release the tension that had been building up in him. He could shoot this, his enhanced eyesight helped with aiming of course, while his enhanced sense of touch let him get a feel for the wind just from it blowing gently on his face. The order was set, and Tor had the first shot. He judged the wind, the arc of his bow, the strength of his shot, all before lifting his bow, and when he shot, his calculations were correct. Ser Balon Swann was next. He held his arrow for too long, so when it came time to release, he shifted slightly and missed. The exiled Prince shot next, his arm was straight, his form perfect, but he didn't take the slight breeze into account. He missed. Anguy of the Dornish Marches raised his bow and fired. It was perfect.
One hundred and five paces did not seem any longer than a hundred with Tor's senses. Apparently, the same held true for Anguy as well. It was when they reached one hundred and thirty paces that something happened. Anguy missed. Torrhen's breath caught in his throat. This was his shot. If he missed, they would shoot again, but if he hit, then it was over.
He had been told when he was younger that the best archers don't aim, they feel. Archers don't get seconds to aim in battle, they might get one, if they're lucky. Tor had taken that lesson to heart. So when he raised his bow, he didn't think, he felt. The wind blowing softly on his face, the silence of the crowd, the heat of the sun. His eyes locked onto his target, he released the bowstring. The bowstring snapped forwards, the arrow flew off. Tor could swear it was happening in slow motion. He counted two heartbeats before the arrow landed. He'd hit.
Tor's face broke into a smile as the crowd began cheering. He put his bow on his back, turned to Anguy and held out a hand. He took it with a smile.
An hour later, and Tor was suiting up in his armor, Arya was helping him. As she laced up his forearm greaves, Tor raised a question he'd been meaning to ask her all day. "I don't know if this is strictly proper, but now that I'm a knight, I'm allowed a squire…"
"Yes!" Arya cheered happily, pausing her strapping of my armor for a moment. Then she set her face and began working again. "I promise Tor, I'll be the best squire you've ever had!"
He raised an eyebrow, "I've never had another squire."
"So I'm right!" She smirked.
"Sure sister dearest, now hand me my helmet so I can kick some a**." She did so and wished her brother luck. Torrhen stepped out of the tent and began walking to the melee area. When he arrived, it was already half full. He saw Thoros of Myr, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Yohn Royce, Patrek Mallister, and a bunch of Freys. Tor took his place in line and placed his helmet on. Some of the Frey's backed away slightly when they saw his helm. He ran a hand over the hilt of his longsword. Torrhen Stark was no Kingslayer, so he would have to stay away from the better competitors and let them tire each other out first. His armor was of a lighter design, helping to emphasize movement over defense. He carried a longsword, a twelve inch dagger, and a few of his throwing knives, though ranged weapons were forbidden, he could still use them as normal daggers if he lost one of his primary weapons.
All Tor's weapons were blunted of course. This was supposed to be a non-lethal tourney. To incapacitation or yield. He would not have joined if lethal force was authorized as he quite valued his head. He would not lose it for no good reason. As soon as King Robert signaled the start of the Melee, Tor moved away from the mass duel that had erupted next to him. He picked his first target wisely. He was one of the many Freys participating. As Tor approached, the Frey man turned to meet him. Tor held his sword in his left and his dagger in his right. He first tried the move that had gotten Joffrey all those months ago. He blocked the Frey's sword with his own and lashed out with right. Unlike Joffrey however, this Frey had a shield. He blocked the strike and raised his shield to hit Tor under the chin. He moved out of the way of the shield by stepping to the right, and took advantage of the Frey's overextension by lashing out with his right hand, the hand with the dagger as it was furthest away from the sword and shield of his opponent. Tor's dagger hilt slammed into the side of the man's helmet, successfully knocking him to the ground with ringing ears. He was out of the fight.
Tor immediately turned as he heard another knight approaching. It was another Frey, here to avenge his kin, or to prove he was the better Frey, you could never tell with that family. The second one was probably more likely, Tor thought as he dodged another of Frey #2's swings. Tor used his lighter armor and faster armor to keep ahead of his opponent as he waited for an opportunity. Four slashes later, he found one. Frey #2 stabbed forwards at Tor and Tor took his chance. He blocked the blade with his dagger, the sword coming within inches of his hand. He then used the superior length of his longsword to smash the flat end of his blade into Frey #2's hand. He dropped his sword because of the pain. He yielded after that.
Tor looked around for his next opponent. There were a lot less on the field then there were. The field had gone from about eighty competitors down to half that in just a few minutes. These next duels would likely prove to be longer, he thought. He glanced a Frey knight in the corner of his eye and shrugged mentally. 'I suppose I'll be taking Frey #3'.
This Frey proved to be more competent than the last two, attempting to bait me into attacking rather than waiting for his less than stellar swordsmanship to lose the fight for him. Unfortunately, it didn't work. Tor used one of the most useful things running around Wintertown taught him. He had learned it in a brawl. Tor charged straight towards the Frey knight, who had been momentarily stunned in surprise. Tor bat his sword away with his own and slammed his armored shoulder into Frey #3"s shield. Torrhen's enhanced ears heard the snap of his forearm breaking as Tor's 150 pounds plus armor slammed into the man. The screaming Frey yielded a moment later.
Tor did not have much luck in his next bout. Ser Barristan Selmy himself had apparently come to say hello to the newest knight. Tor thought furiously of a way out of his situation. Selmy didn't use a shield as most did so he was being destroyed entirely by skill. As Selmy pressed the attack, Torrhen continued blocking each blow with his left hand, the one holding the sword. He didn't dare try to block Selmy's sword with a dagger as he would likely lose a finger or three. His left hand was straining. His wrist was nearing spraining point. Tor tried one last desperate tactic. Ser Barristan was descending on him with an overhead slash, so Torrhen placed his sword and dagger in an x, his dagger slightly behind his sword, so as to protect his fingers. Barristan's sword clashed against his and Tor lashed out with a kick to Barristan's unprotected midside. Or so he thought. The moment Torrhen had brought his own hands up to block the blade, Ser Barristan had released one of his own hands from his weapon. This left his hand free to grab onto the strap of Tor's calf armor. Barristan the Bold yanked up with his hand and Tor landed back first on the ground with a sword at his neck.
"I yield Ser Barristan." Tor said calmly, though his heart was racing. He grinned up at the older knight. "I'm honored to have dueled you."
The elder swordsman smiled, "You have an unorthodox style, Ser Stark. I feel as if you have yet to find your true weapon."
Torrhen looked surprised for a moment at Selmy's words. "You may just be right Ser Barristan, I thank you for your wisdom." He bowed slightly to the older man, and left the field. When he got off, he took a glance at the remaining competitors. He had made it to the top ten! Torrhen smiled despite his loss. He had assumed he just wasn't as good at swordsmanship as his siblings, but Ser Barristan just said he needed a different type of sword. He knew he wouldn't be any better with a Greatsword, but what about shorter swords? He had always loved daggers, so maybe he'd go the shorter route.
The melee ended soon after. Thoros of Myr won after tiring out the older Ser Barristan Selmy, though he lost with the grace and skill befitting a man like him. Half an hour later, Thoros of Myr, Sandor Clegane, Loras Tyrell, and Torrhen Stark were collecting their winnings. Torrhen had ten thousand golden dragons for archery. All collected in a large chest. Thoros of Myr and Ser Loras had received twenty thousand gold dragons for runner up in joust and winner of the melee respectively. Sandor Clegane had accepted his forty thousand dragons for winning the joust, and suddenly, it was over. The tourney that Tor's father had labored over was done, Tor was ten thousand dragons richer, and his father had far less on his plate, but no less stress.
The next task would be to discover Cersei's paramour, as well as see if he couldn't weasel out some more of the secrets of this place. But for now, Torrhen celebrated his win in archery, his fights in the melee, and his acquiring of a squire with the celebration it deserved. The Starks attended the feast for the end of the tourney, along with what seemed to be the rest of Westeros. Torrhen talked with so many different people, he had nearly forgotten their names. He spent the last hour talking with one of the only people he truly wanted to at the moment, his wife, before they, with permission, along with the rest of the Stark family, went to have a more private celebration in the Tower of the Hand. It ended up being less of a celebration and more of a get to know you session for Myrcella and Tor's family (Arya already knew her quite well), but they had fun nonetheless.
And if Torrhen went to "escort Myrcella to her chambers" and came back with a happy smile on his face, neither Arya, Sansa, or his father looked at him oddly.