Thank you for all the comments, feedback, alerts and favourites. Apologies for not being able to get back to anyone after the last chapter – real life is getting busy in the run up to Christmas.

Chapter Eighteen: The Wedding Present

"How quickly you forget everything I've done for you!" Petyr's grip tightened on Sansa's arm, spinning her around forcefully so they were standing face to face. The moonlight drained the colour from him, making him look pale and older than his years. "All of this was for you. All of it."

She opened her mouth to call for help but, at the last minute, she thought better of it. This was a battle she needed to win herself. Drawing herself to full height, she looked him in the eye. "To what ends you started a war I know not. But I doubt it was for my benefit, or anyone else's but your own."

Wrenching her arm from his grip was easier than she estimated it to be, so much so she almost overbalanced herself. He tried to grab her back, but his fingers closed over only the air. Petyr had little by way of physical strength, she realised. He was only a small man. She just hadn't realised how small, until now. Their conversation seemed to be over, so she turned her back on him and kept on walking. She only left camp because she needed to make water, only she didn't want to let on to Petyr. He'd probably want to watch.

"Where are you going? It's not safe, my lady," he called after her. "The Lannisters … the Freys…"

He was right, but they had long passed the Trident and were now skirting along the Red Fork. Wolves howled in the nearby woods and Sansa had no fear of them. As for Lannisters and Freys, their scouts and outriders had seen them off almost effortlessly.

"I'll be back in a minute," she assured him, disappearing into the trees. "And don't follow me."

The land sloped downwards to a narrow stream, with trees providing good cover. While keen to be well out of Petyr's sight, and not to mention the thousands of armoured knights accompanying them, she wasn't so foolish as to go too far in the dark woods. She relieved herself quickly and hurried back to the path.

"Had you listened to me, I could have delivered you the Vale and the North."

Sansa stifled a cry of alarm as Petyr materialised from between two trees. It seemed he had followed her into the woods after all, the snow cushioning his footfalls so she didn't even hear him. It had been snowing for days now.

"I have little interest in the Vale, Petyr," she hissed, growing irritable. "One day, my cousin will marry a fine young lady, but it was never going to be me."

"No, it was never going to be you," he agreed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. It was an act much too intimate for her liking. "I'm not just talking about the Vale. I could have delivered the realm to you, if only you had stayed with me. You know why. You know how I feel about you."

"Petyr, this has to stop," she replied, firmly.

Sansa tried to push past him, only he second guessed her and blocked her escape. His hands were on her again, gripping her shoulders so she couldn't move but for giving him a shove in the chest. Undeterred, Petyr rebounded like a small, yappy dog.

"I had it all worked out for you and I. If you had listened, if you had trusted me- "

"Trust you!" she retorted, her laughter echoing through the woods. "You and Lysa manufactured a war, Petyr. A war that killed members of my family. And you ask me to trust you?"

She would have been interested to hear his reply, only it was cut off by a low and ominous growling coming from the nearby undergrowth. Petyr heard it too, his body tensing and falling silent.

"We need to leave, my lady."

"Why?" she asked, pretending she had not heard the growl nor seen the yellow eyes flashing nearby. "What are you afraid of, Petyr? Wolves?"

She felt the beast brushing up against her and hardly a wonder, it was the size of a small horse. The half-light of the woods by night only served to make it more sinister, with only the outline silver limned silhouette visible to the eye. It stalked around her slowly, baring its teeth at Petyr who backed away slowly until he hit a tree. All the time, the low growl wavered and lowered in pitch, carrying in the still night air.

Sansa knew she ought to have been afraid too. But she knew this one, Sansa knew her well. So well, she dared place a hand on the wolf's head, letting her fingers rest in the soft fur between her ears. Ears that were still flat against her head as she threatened Baelish. Baelish watched what Sansa did, pressed flat against the tree, a look of abject horror in his face. A trickle of sweat rolled slowly down his temple.

"Sansa," he said, almost pleadingly, his gaze darting from the direwolf to Sansa and back again. "Sansa, please."

Nymeria has positioned herself between them, fur bristling and ready to attack. She seemed wild now.

"Just go, Petyr," she said, her hand still on the wolf's head. "Leave. Now."

He hesitated, eyes still on the wolf as if he suspected she would attack the moment his back was turned. After a second or two, he took his chances and ran for the safety of open ground and Nymeria settled almost instantly.

"Nymeria," she said, kneeling in front of the wolf. "Nymeria, come with me. Arya's waiting for you. Come with me."

It wasn't as if she would get an answer, so she got to her feet and motioned for the wolf to follow. She did, but only as far as the road back to camp. Petyr was talking to two of the nigh guards, undoubtedly instructing them to hunt some wolf flesh. Their swords were glinting in the moonlight, until she motioned for them to stay where they were. When she looked back to make sure Nymeria hadn't been spooked, she had already vanished back into the trees.

Resistance was futile, but Robb tried all the same and rolled over in bed, hoping it would somehow shake Arya off. But, as on so many occasions before, the pillow was wrenched from under him and then used to give him a good whack over the head. He should be used to it by now, but it always came as a shock. Especially when the blow was delivered while he was still in that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness.

"Wake up, you stupid!" said Arya, indecently loud.

"You're awful," he moaned, voice muffled by the feather bed he was now face-down on.

"I had a wolf-dream and Sansa was in it," she said. "So wake up, stupid."

"What?" he was awake now and sitting up, careful to keep himself covered so his little sister didn't get an eyeful. "You saw her?"

"That's what I said," Arya replied, climbing up next to him. "She was close, but I don't know where. She was by a river, in some woods. There was definitely a river."

"We're in the Riverlands, Arya," he pointed out, wryly.

His impudence earned him a punch in the arm. "I know that. I'm trying. But I don't know what one. Not the Trident, not the Tumblestone. I think it might have been the Red Fork or that river that runs south. Not the Blackwater Rush though, Nymeria's nowhere near there."

Robb thought about it for a while. If Sansa was coming up from the south after fleeing King's Landing, she would more than likely be passing Pink Maiden. Pink Maiden had a large river flowing through it. But Sansa fled so long ago, he would be amazed if she was still south. Had she tried to get back to Winterfell, not realising it had fallen to the Boltons? Cersei probably wasn't telling her anything while she was a prisoner. Sansa could well have not known. But what Arya said next made that seem highly unlikely.

"I think she was with Littlefinger, that man who worked for Robert."

"Petyr Baelish?" he asked. "No, he grew up here in Riverrun. Maybe he's bringing her back here- "

"We need to get her away from him," Arya cut in. "He works for the Lannisters."

"But he was married to Aunt Lysa," he pointed out. But still she looked worried and he amended his answer: "Listen, there's little we can do until morning. I'll ride out at first light, before the wedding, and see if I can't find her. All right?"

"No," she answered, stubbornly. "Only if I come as well."

He reached over and mussed up her hair. "Of course, you can come."

She was a strong rider, better than adults twice her size. So, he genuinely didn't mind her joining him and his guards. Besides, if he said 'no', she'd only ride out on her own anyway. And now seemingly a little happier, she gave him a smile and gave him a good-night punch in the ribs.

After she had gone, he lay back in his bed now wide-awake. The wolf dreams were a strange phenomenon. He didn't know what they were, at first. But the things he saw through Grey Wind's eyes had helped him win battles. When Grey was killed at the Twins, Robb thought they'd never happen again. Then he struck up a fast friendship with a Greyhound dog and the wolf dreams became dog dreams. Just as real, just as accurate and just as disturbing.

Like with Grey Wind, it seemed to happen at random. Slowly, over time, he learned to seek the thread that bound them. It was an ability he had that he breathed a word of to no one. He hadn't even told his mother. He hadn't even told Margaery. Because, no matter how he spun it, he always felt like a madman who thought he could turn into an animal at will. And now he had to try and do it again.

Baelish was from the Fingers, he recalled. The Vale of Arryn. If Sansa was coming from the east, it was probably the Red Fork that Arya saw in the wolf dream. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, letting himself fall out of his own corporeal body.

A soft and swirling snowfall greeted Margaery when she opened her shutters on the morning of her wedding. A thick, unbroken carpet of white now covered the packed earth grounds. It had banked up in the crenels and topped the merlons in caps of white. It was on the tree branches, settling on the leaves of the creeping ivy that climbed the walls of the turret she was in, red berries on the vines now shining red through the frost, glittering like rubies. Even in the castle forecourt, the snow cover was broken only by a set of wheelhouse tracks leading to the front entrance of the common hall.

Mesmerised by the sight of snow, she opened the latch of the window to get a better look. The land looked as if an enchantment had fallen over it, transforming the greys, greens and browns to glittering, virgin white.

"Careful, my lady, you'll freeze," Jeyne warned.

Margaery had never been stupid. She knew that snow meant cold and she was still in her nightgown – a flimsy confection of muslin and silk that only reached her knees. But seeing snow for the first time in her life, any underlying danger didn't seem possible. It was too beautiful, too enchanting.

"Only for a second, I want to touch it," she said, pushing the window open.

The sensation of being plunged in icy water was instant. A cold so intense it almost … burned. She didn't quite appreciate how the cold could burn. Quickly, she stuck her hand out of the window to catch a snowflake in the palm of her hand. Once, someone told her that each snowflake was unique and once gone, the world wouldn't know its like again. That seemed a little far-fetched to her, but she still felt a little sad when the delicate flakes melted as soon as they landed on her warm skin.

To Jeyne's relief, she closed the window. Snow as nothing new or exciting to a Northerner, more a fact of everyday life. A facet Jeyne demonstrated as she moved straight on to the business of the day.

"Here's your underskirt, but you'll need proper hose since its snowing outside. Don't worry, no one will see it under the petticoats and kirtles you'll be wearing," she explained. "Your cloak is laundered and ready for the wedding…"

The young girl carried on her rundown of wedding inventories, while Margaery looked back at the window where the snow continued to fall. All the Maester's said that winter lasted twice as long as summer, and that was very long summer they had just had. How many years had it been? She couldn't remember the last winter. Yes, the snow looked pretty. But it wouldn't be pretty when the food shortages began the smallfolk started starving in their wattle and daub huts. Snow. It was just the velvet glove softening the iron fist of winter's cruellest deprivations.

As per Northern custom, the wedding wasn't happening until evenfall which left Margaery with a day to kill. So, she dressed in a simple gown of wool and a cloak before heading down to break her fast with her grandmother and brothers. Jeyne, who had wholeheartedly supported the marriage before it was even a possibility, followed at her side and chattered excitedly about the upcoming nuptials.

Margaery broke off mid-sentence as she stepped into the common hall. Her face lighting up in a smile as it dawned on her who must have arrived while she was still asleep. The tracks in the snow made by a wheelhouse. Her mother, Lady Alerie, rose to greet her from her place at the high table.

"Mother!"

The two met in the middle of the common hall, greeting each other with a warm embrace. Alerie was soon joined by Mace, who kissed her cheek and beamed proudly. It came as a relief to see him looking happy, and not too disappointed that their plans with the Lannisters had fallen through.

"I was so afraid we'd miss the wedding," said Alerie, guiding her back to the high table. "We rode through the night, against the snow and the winds. I thought we'd never make it, but here we are and what a relief."

"Our very own Queen in the North," Mace declared, chest puffed out. He still hadn't given up on the idea of a Tyrell Queen. "This will be a son-by-law I can be proud of, and we can stick it up the Lannisters while we're about it- "

"Oh do shut up, Mace," Olenna cut in. "Had it not been your blustering about we could have done this years ago."

Olenna's barbs bounced off Mace as they always did, failing to dent his pride as they all settled at table to break their fasts together. The only cause for dismay she had now was that Robb, Arya, Garlan, Loras and Ser Brynden were all missing. In fact, there only seemed to be a few stray Tyrells left at the castle.

"Where's everyone else?" she enquired, looking around the hall as though they might be only hiding to play a trick on her. "Have you even met Robb yet?"

"Oh no, he was gone by the time we got here," replied Alerie.

"Some last-minute business to conclude over at the Red Fork, apparently," Mace added. "I'm sure he'll be back soon and we can finally meet the man who stole my daughter's heart."

Olenna might have rolled her eyes had she been younger. "I hear your daughter rather stole his, too. Anyway, enough of that hyperbolic nonsense. We have a war to win and if it's snowing in the Riverlands they will be blizzards in the North. Mace, you need to equip our men suitably. Margaery, you need to talk to Lady Taena."

"Is Taena here as well?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Margaery turned in her seat to where Taena Merryweather sidled in through a side-door, platter of fresh bread in hand. She smiled knowingly at Margaery, winking as she took her place at table. Margaery couldn't say how happy she was to see her again.

"Taena, I thought you'd been sucked into the lion's den for good," she said. "How are you? Has there been any word of Elinor and Megga? I have heard nothing since their arrest."

Taena sighed, casually tearing at a heel of bread. "Little and less, I regret to say. Next time you see Cersei you should ask her, since she's now probably chained to the same crossbeam as them."

Margaery's brow furrowed as she deciphered what she was hearing. "Do you mean to say Cersei has been locked up?"

"I thought the realm had been rather quiet of late," Olenna remarked, drily. "Tell me, has she been locked up to protect the realm or to protect her from herself?"

Taena snorted derisively. "They locked her up because she was fucking Lancel Lannister and killed her husband to make room for him in her bed."

Margaery's eyes widened. She had heard the rumours about Robert's death, but not even she had given them much credence. "All the same, I believe Cersei's bed is still rather crowded, what with Jaime having been in there for the last fourteen years."

"Oh no, he's vanished as well," replied Taena. "Do you remember that great aurochs of a woman from Tarth? Word has it Jaime is a changed man since travelling down the Riverlands with her. Whatever the truth, he was sent away weeks ago and hasn't been seen since. The Queen is alone and only Tommen's cats remain to advise him now."

It should have been sad to see a family as great as the Lannisters had been, reduced to this. But Margaery felt only anger toward them now. A strange anger she couldn't quite articulate. "All those wasted lives, all the blood on their hands, and for what? This mummer's farce. This abject humiliation. Cersei may well be cast down by her own hand, but she's dragged us all to hell with her."

She found she had quite lost her appetite.

"Tyrells ahead. A half-hour's ride at most."

Jon's attention was dragged from the conversation he was having with Sam, toward the outrider who'd sought out Lord Royce. Then he got Sansa in his line of sight. The Tyrells knew her and they still thought she killed the king. As though she had felt his gaze on her back, Sansa turned toward him, paling slightly.

"How many?" asked Lord Royce.

"More than a hundred. We couldn't get precise numbers."

Even if there were only a few hundred Tyrells, Jon wanted Sansa back by his side. He motioned her over, pulling his own horse aside to make room for hers. Once she was safely out of sight, a group of knights also formed a protective circle around them as they continued their journey. They had no choice but to continue and they were bound to meet enemy forces at some point. Jon had known that from the off. But, now that the moment had arrived, Jon's nerves prickled unpleasantly. Fighting disorganised wildlings was one thing. Fighting highly trained knights from the Reach would be something else altogether.

"Sam, do you think you could get an audience with the Tyrells?"

"I think they might be a bit more sceptical now I'm showing up with the Vale at my back," he opined. "Still, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Sansa offered him a smile, but she wasn't looking too confident.

"Do you think Baelish might be able to talk to them?"

"Probably," she replied. "He knows some of their secrets, so it might be in their best interests to listen to him."

Baelish was the last person Jon wanted to ask for help, but he would if it meant avoiding skirmishes or, worse still, open battle with the Reach. As for those 'secrets', Jon didn't want to imagine what they were but he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the poisoned amethyst hairnet she still had in her possession.

In the meantime, their journey continued. The snow had stopped, but there was enough of it lying thick on the ground to muffle the sound of their horse's hooves. When they huddled together in a large group, they were even able to share a little much needed body warmth. Even so, his fingers felt frozen to his horse's reins. It struck him as ominous that it was now almost as cold in the south as it was beyond the wall.

"I'm going to the front," said Sam. "I want to see who's leading the Tyrells. Knowing my luck, it'll be my father."

"But won't it be sweet to see your father again, Sam?" Sansa asked, blissfully ignorant of the truth.

Sam shivered in response and gave her a doleful look. Gilly and the baby were on one of the covered carts at the rear of the procession, so he didn't even have her for moral support. All the same, he urged his horse on past their guards and vanished from sight. He was replaced by Sandor Clegane, who followed Sansa around like a second shadow. The Hound was another Jon couldn't make his mind up about. Last time they met, at Winterfell, he had been King Joffrey's bodyguard and he couldn't get that out of his head.

"We're stopping," said Sansa. "This must be them."

"Don't worry, the Knights of the Vale won't let them take you," he assured her. "Nor will I."

Sansa looked less than convinced, but Jon didn't take it personally. When the consequences of failure were being marched to the city and beheaded in front of a crowd of jeering enemies, he surmised he would probably have felt the same.

Meanwhile, golden rose banners could be seen nearby, meeting with the falcon of House Arryn. Anticipating troubled, Jon dismounted and began threading his way through the press of knights. While it was imperative that Sansa remained hidden, no Tyrell would know him from a Child of the Forest. So, he took his chances while praying Dark Sister could remain in her sheath.

Eventually, he could see that Sam was some way off, speaking with a knight a year or so older than Jon himself, also surrounded by a gaggle of knights from the Reach. The young man speaking to Sam was the sort of specimen Sansa would have gone weak-kneed over, had times been very different. And, whoever he was, he definitely wasn't Randyll Tarly. His real identity was revealed moments later, when Sam caught Jon's eye.

"Lord Commander, Ser Loras of House Tyrell would like to speak with you." Sam looked rather perplexed as he spoke, and Jon didn't know what to make of that.

Besides, the knight was an actual Tyrell and not just a bannerman. He supposed he should feel honoured. However, he approached the two men carefully, knowing not what to expect from this meeting and acutely aware of his men not far away. Down the hillside, a much larger company of Tyrells had amassed alongside the banks of the Red Fork. Although large, the Vale army was much larger. Should it come to it, Jon assured himself they could take them easily.

"Ser Loras," Jon greeted the man, thankful to Sam for not using his real name.

Their hands met in a gruff shake.

"Good to meet you, Lord Commander Stark. You're just in time for the wedding, but we really need to get a move on. My sister will be spitting fire if we tarry much longer-"

"Forgive me, Ser Loras, but what wedding?"

"My wedding," came the reply from a third person.

Jon's heart jumped into his throat as Robb came cantering up the hillside, mounted on a white charger. Swearing under his breath, he side-stepped Loras Tyrell and ran up to meet his brother's horse. Once level with each other, Robb slid down from the saddle and into Jon's arms like they were a pair of swooning lovers reunited at last.

"It's good to see you again, brother," they chorused.

When they drew apart, Jon noticed the snowflakes melting in his hair, just like the last time they saw each other. It felt like a different lifetime. In a way, it was. A lot had happened. And more had clearly happened since Harwin had been sent North. Jon could guess at what, but it promised to be an interesting story.

They looked at each other for a moment, each taking in the other. It hadn't occurred to Jon that he had changed, too.

"I missed you," said Jon. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Just for a moment, Robb seemed lost for words. "And I you, brother."

"Whoever you're marrying, I'm glad I made it in time for the wedding."

"Lady Margaery," he replied, almost sheepishly. "We, er, we got on rather well and … and the rest just followed, really."

Jon laughed. He tried to stop himself, but he laughed anyway. "I think I ought to have guessed you would have gotten the enemy on your side by the time I got here. Well, look, we can't be sobbing into each other's shoulders like maids. There's someone else you need to meet before we go…"

He gestured some distance away, where the Knights of the Vale were amassing at the hilltop. Although, Jon had quite forgotten that Sansa was hidden away from sight, lest the Tyrells march her back to King's Landing. Robb looked at them and sighed heavily with relief.

"You raised the Vale? How?"

"Not I, brother," he corrected.

Having heard everything, Sam had had the presence of mind to return to Sansa and bring her out from her protective shell. As she emerged, she made a choking noise that might have been an attempt at speech, but she never got to finish the sentence before Robb had her in his arms. He held her tight, kissing her brow and her cheek, tightening his hold on her. Where he'd greeted Jon as long-lost brothers, he greeted Sansa with profuse apologies and seeking her forgiveness.

Sansa looked as perplexed as Jon felt. "There is nothing to forgive…"

But Robb had left her alone, surrounded by her enemies, at the mercy of a tyrant king to be used as a pawn in other people's games. Baelish watched over the scene unfolding before him, as pale as the snow that surrounded them. Jon's surge of triumph was interrupted by a punch in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"You stupid!"

Words he had longed to hear since he left the Vale.

"Arya!" he choked. "Little sister!"

She beamed up at him before he gathered her up in his arms. Taller, stronger, harder than he remembered. But it was still Arya, and that was all that mattered to him. They remained like that for longer than Jon cared to keep track. But when they did, Sansa had come over, leaving Robb to get acquainted with Lord Royce, commander of the Vale Knights.

For a long moment, the girls looked at each other. Sisters, rivals, adversaries … but always sisters first. Their embrace was a surprisingly tender thing, after the rushed and firm reunions that had happened so far. Nothing was said, but some things were beyond mere words.

"Knowing the Groom's history, it is entirely possible that he's met and married a Frey girl by now." Naturally, Olenna was being facetious but Margaery couldn't bring herself to smile at the quip. Robb had been gone all day and evenfall was fast approaching. She had her wedding gown on and her mother had arranged her hair into a tumble of loose, golden-brown curls decorated with slender tendrils of stringed diamonds. The gems caught the light and winked whenever she moved her head. Now, unless Robb got home soon, all their efforts would have been in vain.

"Anything could have happened," she said, getting up and pacing the common hall. "He could have been captured. He could have been killed. What if this sighing of Lady Sansa had been passed on by someone looking to lure him into a trap. He would have risked it for her sake."

"Sweetling, he has a guard two hundred strong," Lady Alerie pointed out. "Now sit down before you crease your dress."

Despite the assurances, Margaery was still having difficulty transferring her worry from the safety of her future husband to the creases in her dress. Alas, her pacing continued as darkness began to fall.

Meanwhile, Ser Brynden was outside, overseeing the decoration of the godswood. He had it looking beautiful, from what Margaery had seen. Beacons lit the path to the heart tree, providing a little warmth and making the snow cover shimmer with the reflected flames. The redwoods and elms looked half alive.

Still she worried. And, by the time she heard the horns sounding at the gatehouse, she was almost lightheaded.

"If that's him, I don't know if I'll kiss him or smack him," she sighed.

But her sentiments were drowned out by the sound of horse's hooves clattering over the cobbles outside. She rushed to the window, peering outside with her heart hammering in her throat only to sink away in relief as he appeared in the torchlight outside. Four riders, their horses abreast, came cantering into the forecourt beyond. Robb, Arya, a man of about Robb's age she did not know and Sansa.

Tears sprang into her eyes at the sight of the four of them and she hurriedly sought out Jeyne.

"Jeyne, it's Sansa. He found her," she beamed, reaching for her hand. "Come quick!"

Together, they hurried outside, braving the freezing weather to greet them. Robb found her immediately, hurriedly apologising. But whatever frustration she had had long melted away, replaced only by relief and a surge of love. It could only be love. She had known it already, but this was the measure of it. She loved him desperately and would have married him last year had she but known it. To show what she could not say, she stilled his apologies with a kiss.

They broke apart with a sheepish laugh as he cleared his throat and introduced her to his brother. The two of them were as different as night and day, but he greeted her warmly as his new sister-by-law. Sansa, she already knew and they embraced each other warmly. The look on her face was happiness and utter disbelief.

"You're marrying my brother?" she asked, smiling from ear to ear. "You're really getting married?"

"We won't, if he doesn't hurry up and get ready!" she laughed.

Sansa didn't reply. She fell silent as she looked past Margaery, to where Jeyne was holding back as if afraid to get too close.

"Jeyne?" she said. "Jeyne, Petyr told me you were dead."

The girl looked up, shaking her head and biting back tears.

"He sold her in one of his brothels," Margaery whispered in her ear so low only they could hear. "To the Boltons, passing her off as Arya."

Sansa paled, her happiness at being reunited with old friends hardened into something else. Margaery could see why, since Petyr had followed them into Riverrun. He was holding back now as well, dismounting his horse looking like a man who'd been lured into a trap. The look on Sansa's face passed.

"Petyr can wait," she said, a hardness in her voice that Margaery had not heard before. Turning to Jeyne, she smiled again. "Jeyne and I have too much to catch up on for me to be wasting time with him."

The spell broke and the two girls, reunited at last, fell on each other, all tears and hugs. But Petyr Baelish was a problem. A problem that needed dealing with sooner, rather than later. And poor Theon Greyjoy, she thought, he should not be all alone in those dungeons.

"Sorry about the wedding. We'd have gotten our arses into motion had we known."

Margaery turned to find Jon at her side. It was just the two of them, and Arya, now that everyone else was getting reacquainted. Even Robb had been hastily bundled away for a bath and a change of clothes, ready for the wedding. By her estimation, it would be at least an hour before it started now. She didn't mind, though. Not now. Not now all their families were together at last.

"I've always wanted a midnight wedding, Lord Commander," she said. "Rather romantic, don't you think?"

During the wait, she was not idle either. The girls all hurried to her rooms, where they were hastily washed and changed into whatever silk dresses Margaery could find. Even Arya looked the part, with her hair now long enough to be properly braided. The dress she wore once belonged to Margaery's cousin. Although a little long and a little too wide, the bodices tightened easily enough and squeezed it into shape. All would be well, so long as she remembered to lift her hems.

Margaery stood back and took in the sight of the girl they all used to call Arya Horseface. She had made liars of them all.

"There," said Margaery, turning her toward a full-length mirror. "That's turned out rather nicely, I think."

Although she said nothing, a faint blush crept up the girls face as she delicately touched her braided hair. One of her protectors had shorn it off, disguising her as a boy. As Robb said, she would never have said as much, but it had knocked the girl's self-esteem just as much as being called childish names.

They were just about done when the knock came to her door and her father's voice called them out. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sansa fold the Stark wedding cloak over her arm and it finally hit Margaery that the moment had come. At last. The atmosphere among them changed from excitement to nervous tension as they formed a lined behind the bride. It was time to be married.

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be great if you have a minute.

Apologies for not getting back to anyone last time, as well. Life has been busy these last few weeks. But thank you again for all your comments and support. It means a lot.