The King Of Winters

by King of Kings456

'The Strength of the Wolf maybe the pack, but the lone wolf is certainly the baddest one. And the Dragons who made him one will feel the wrath of the Lone Wolf.' The Rebellion never happened and Rhaegar Targaryen rules the Seven Kingdoms with his right, setting aside his father. But what he didn't took into the account was the one big mistake he'd done in the past.

91. Chapter 91

Argella

On the morning of her wedding, the serving girls filled Argella's tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed her head to toe until she glowed pink. Her mother's own bedmaid trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her dark hair so it fell down her back in soft ringlets. She brought a dozen of the scents as well. Argella couldn't have cared any less about those scents. She denied them flatly. She had allowed more than enough to let them brush her hair and dress her up in a gown. She did not want to go to her wedding smelling like flowers as well.

Her mother arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Argella in her wedding clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was cloth-of-gold and black samite, and lined with black satin. The bodice was slashed in front almost to the skirts, the deep vee covered over with a ornate panel of black Myrish lace crusted with jewels and gems. The gown was so heavy with gold and diamonds and other gemstones that it would be a blessing if she could walk. The fabric was entirely covered in reflective precious gems, diamonds and topaz and rubies and sapphires and fire opals, yellow and red and orange and white and black with bits of blue that caught the light and reflected it brightly. The slightest movement made her look as if she was engulfed in tongues of fire. The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Argella had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. They brought her new shoes as well, gilded slippers of soft gold that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

Argella rolled her eyes. She couldn't care less about how she looked in the heavy gown. The ceremony better be short or else her wedding gown might not last long even for a single day. "The ceremony better be short," Ella said. "Or else I might tear off this thing. I could barely even breathe or walk in this."

"Stop that," her mother said. "You are not a little girl anymore. You are going to be a Queen, so behave like one." She looked at her from head to heel critically. "Turn around so I can see you better."

Argella groaned and spun, her skirts swirling around her. Lady Cersei studied her critically. "Something for the head, I think. The silver hairnet with moonstones and pearls."

"At once, Your Grace," her maid replied.

She took up the headdress. It was a hair net of fine-spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Argella took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, moonstones and pearls. The maid arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with pearls and moonstones against her dark hair. They clasped a heavy silver chain around her neck, with a large sapphire cut in the shape of a teardrop for pendant. Her mother nodded finally in approval. "Yes. The gods have granted you all of my beauty, Argella. I hope that you've got my mind as well. Charm him with it."

Charm him, Argella thought. She was more likely to bother him with her unladylike activities. Andrew better not hope her to be a southron flower. She was no flower. "I think this is more than enough decoration, mother."

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of cloth-of-gold heavy with onyx beads. Argella looked at it, her maiden's cloak. This was to be her last day as a maid, she thought as they fastened it about her neck with a slender gold chain.

Her hand went to her throat. Soon enough she would trade this for her husband's cloak and all her freedom and dreams would go away with it. The thought of losing all that was dreadful. She shook the thoughts away. She would always be a Baratheon at heart, no matter what cloak she wears.

"Come along now, the wedding guests are waiting."

She was very much occupied in her thoughts that she barely heard her mother. The thoughts about Storm's End and the life she had left behind was too heavy on her mind. It hurt when she thought that she might never get to see Storm's End again, or ride through the Rainwood or conquer the storms as she has always wanted. "Yes," Ella blurted at last.

She wondered what Andrew would think if she told him about the things she'd done and the things she wanted to do. He would no doubt ask her to keep quiet about it and be a proper wife. It was the thought which bothered her the most about this marriage.

She could say no even now. It wouldn't take long to tear down her wedding gown to stand in front of the realm and say that she doesn't want to marry. And just like that she would destroy everything they had built up, her father, her husband, Lord Arryn and the others. Argella could not do that, no matter how much the thought of losing her freedom bothered her. She could not betray her family like that. Her family was in this war as much as Andrew was. It was better if they stood together instead of standing divided and alone.

It felt bad to be trading her hand and maidenhead for this, yet the weight of her duty and the love for her family was pressing down upon her shoulders. And she would wear them proudly. She was still marrying on her terms though, not being bound and gagged and taken to her husband.

Maybe she might even have a happy marriage, like her brother and Alyssa. But Alyssa and Gendry had known each other very well long before they had married. Fate would ship her off to some stranger she barely knew. Her husband was a quiet man. Argella knew more about his direwolf than she knew about him. Since the day they arrived in Riverrun, they barely even had the time to have a talk all alone. Often Andrew was busy talking with her father and Lord Arryn about the war. He was more occupied with discussing battle plans and alliances, instead of courting his betrothed. Those days her only solace had been Andrew's direwolf Ghost. The King had allowed her to keep the direwolf with her when she had asked him for it. That had made her feel better in a way he would never know.

The direwolf was as quiet as his companion, but he was so cute and fluffy and warm that Argella had been totally taken with him. And it seemed as if the wolf was taken with her as well. She raced along the yard with him, practiced archery with him. The white wolf always brought the arrows back to her, pulling the arrows gently with his teeth from the targets for another round. Argella paid him back for his help by catching fish for him from the river. The memory brought a smile to her face.

Perhaps, marrying him won't be that bad after all. Andrew must care for her enough to send Ghost with her to keep her company. He was always warm and courteous with her whenever they talked even if it was a few words, not so much reserved and solemn as she had thought him to be. Her parents had married as strangers as well after all and they managed to work it out most of the times. That gave her some relief. With time love might even blossom between us.

And if it didn't? She would face that as bravely as she had faced everything else in her life. She had to be brave now. Brave. Argella took a deep breath. I am a Baratheon, yes, I can be brave.

Afterward, she could not remember leaving the room or descending the steps or crossing the yard. It seemed to take all her attention just to put one foot down in front of the other. Her mother and her maids walked beside her, in clothes as elaborate as the one she had worn. But all the eyes in the yard were on her when he came there in her wedding gown. Argella made her way over to the high table where her soon-to-be husband sat with her father and brothers and Lords Arryn and Tully around him.

It was traditional in the North for the wedding to take place at night in front of their Heart Tree. So the morning had been arranged so that they could receive their wedding gifts. They broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a hot dish of spiced mutten with cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. "Nothing like a hearty breakfast to begin your wedding day with," Gendry commented as their plates were filled. Argella had to hold down the urge to elbow his hand or stomp upon his foot. Instead she gave him a graceful smile, putting on the face of the blushing bride. There were flagons of milk and flagons of mead and flagons of a light sweet golden wine to wash it down. Musicians strolled among the tables, piping and fluting and fiddling.

Andrew scarce touched his food, Argella noticed. He was holding the same cup of the wine he had in hand when she arrived. For herself, she tried a little of the spiced mutton, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes.

Then it was time for gifts. They had decided to give presents to bride and groom first and then would receive more presents as a couple after that. Argella didn't care when she received her gifts. She didn't care about any gifts at all. She knew she was bound to get jewels and gems and silks and ornaments. Of them she had many. She would not even use any of them any way.

It was the King who received his gifts first much to her annoyance. She couldn't wait to get this over with. Andrew received gifts from all the lords who knew him or who wanted to earn his favour. From Lord Blackwood he received a great bow of weirwood and quiver of long arrows fletched with black feathers of a raven; from Lord Glover a pair of mailed gloves; from Lord Royce a magnificent red leather jousting saddle; a jewelled scabbard from Lord Karstark. It was made with oiled black leather and studded with gems of different colour. Lord Estermont gave him a long, leather coat of burgundy colour, lined with fur on the inside to keep warm, Lord Swann handed him silver spurs and a silver brooch carved in the likeness of a snarling head of a direwolf. Ser Gunthor gave him a dagger of blue steel. "To match his grace's magnificent sword," he said as he handed him the dagger. The hilt was gleaming silver and a large chuck of sapphire was set on the pommel. Lord William Dustin brought forth a prized beautiful black destrier from his stables. Argella would have liked a gift like that. She wouldn't have even waited long to hop on his back and take the stallion for the ride. Andrew instead accepted the gift and thanked him graciously. Lord Arryn gave him a shirt of mail. It was polished like glass, light and yet harder than it looked. It shone like moonlit silver, and was studded with white gems. "Silver-steel, your grace," he said. "To keep you safe."

Finally her father brought the last gift for his goodson. It was a splendid armour for his new horse, so black that it looked as if it was made of darkness. Andrew thanked him heartily and said that he would treasure it for it would keep both him and his steed safe.

Then the attention turned to her. Like as not she received silken gowns and gems and jewels and gem encrusted jewels. There were so many that Argella couldn't even remember. Lord Arryn gave her some books. She was glad for it.

By the time they were done with all the gifts, it was past noon. Andrew stayed by her side throughout but they barely had anything to say. He might have been all alone in his solar for all the attention he paid her. But when the time came to leave for the wedding, they left to the godswood together to become man and wife.

At the entrance of godswood she left her husband to go to her family. The next time when she sees him, he would take her for his wife. Her father was waiting for her on the steps of the castle sept. He was resplendent in black and gold, his crown on his head. "You look so beautiful today, daughter," he announced.

"I know," Argella said unimpressed.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, Argella." His blue eyes were filled with happiness. "He would treat you well and do good by you."

"As good as you?" she asked.

"He better." Her father stroked her cheek. "I love you, sweetling."

Her heart lurched at the thought of leaving him for good and never seeing him again. I don't want to go, she wanted to tell him. Instead she said, "I love you, father."

"I know you will always make me proud," he said, smiling. "Come, now. Let's get you to your husband."

So she put her hand in his, and he led her to the godswood, where Andrew waited for her in front of the heart tree to join their lives together. She saw Ghost beside him, a pale shadow looking at her with big red eyes. Lord Arryn was there as well and a Septon to document everything. Everyone in the castle is here, she realized suddenly with witnesses aplenty. They were all looking at her, perhaps waiting to see some tears. She would never sob or struggle. She can be strong.

The ceremony passed as in a dream. Argella did all that was required of her. There were prayers and vows and tall candles burning, a hundred dancing lights that had lit up the godswood. Thankfully the ceremony itself was short; far shorter than ones in the south. In what seemed no time at all, they came to the changing of the cloaks.

Argella stood stiff as a lance as his hands came over her shoulders to fumble with the clasp of her cloak. He did not linger long. Then the clasp opened, and Andrew swept her maiden's cloak away with a kingly flourish.

The bride's cloak he held was equally huge and heavy, cream velvet richly worked with direwolf and bordered with silver satin and pearls. He moved behind her, standing tall and strong and swept the cloak of his protection over her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.

And so it was that her lord husband cloaked her in the colours of House Stark. She came to him in black and gold, yet was standing now in white much like his white direwolf. The septon asked her to kiss and Argella was hesitant. She had never kissed someone before. The last time a boy had tried to kiss her she had given him a black eye for trying to shove his hand down her jerkin to squeeze a breast. He leaned forward, and their lips touched briefly.

He is so handsome, Argella thought when his face was close to hers. She could feel the rasp of his beard as he kissed her. It was warm and she could see that he had kissed before. When they pulled back Argella wondered who that was, this maid who had kissed her husband before her.

The septon raised his voice to proclaim them as husband and wife. Argella had to bite her lip to keep hold of her nerves. It felt strange to become a wedded woman. Her husband led her out of the godswood with the attendees following behind them.

The wedding feast was held in the Great Hall of Riverrun. There were a lot of guests that the Hall was heavily crowded; Stark and Baratheon and Arryn and Tully bannermen and retainers and allies. They could not fit everyone inside though. The noble Lords and knights had been allowed to join them in the Hall and another feast was arranged in the yard, for knights and lords of somewhat lesser rank. There was a feast set for the soldiers and guardsmen as well in their massive tents along the camps around Riverrun's walls. They had provided wagons of wine, ale, and mead, so the common soldiers could drink to the wedding of the King in the North and his Lady of Storm's End. Her husband even had allowed the highborn captives in Riverrun to join in the festivities, only from their holding cells though. Some of her friends and maids sat with their favourite knights, laughing and talking. She wondered what they were talking about.

Her husband drank and ate but little. He listened whenever someone rose to make a toast and sometimes nodded a curt acknowledgment, but otherwise his face might have been made of stone. The feast seemed to go on forever and Argella tasted some of the food. She wanted it to be done, and yet she dreaded its end. For after the feast would come the bedding. The men would carry her up to her wedding bed, undressing her on the way and making rude jokes about the fate that awaited her between the sheets, while the women did Andrew the same honors. Only after they had been bundled naked into bed would they be left alone, and even then the guests would stand outside the bridal chamber, shouting ribald suggestions through the door. She knew it would turn ugly if anyone ever put their hands on her. She was not some piece of meat to be slaughtered and sampled. She would still be sampled today, only by her husband though.

When the musicians began to play, she wondered if her husband would ask her for a dance. Argella could barely even walk in her wedding gown. It would be be a nightmare to dance in it.

She was relieved when she received no such offers from Andrew. Knowing her disinterest for dancing her father smiled and took her mother for the first dance.

Her father and mother led in their place. They were so beautiful together, Argella thought. She had never thought of her wedding enough to dream about her dance at her wedding like most girls did. And so she wasn't disappointed that she couldn't dance with every eye upon her and her handsome lord.

Other guests soon joined her father and her mother on the floor. Argella sat with her hands in her lap, watching how her mother moved and laughed and tossed her blonde curls. She charms them all, she thought. I could do that as well. Andrew was uninterested at the dancing as much as she was. She could use this time to talk to him at least.

They talked about dance and the northern Lords who she had never seen before. He was patient enough to explain everything she asked. He was more handsome when he smiled, Argella thought. Andrew could definitely use more smiles.

She was surprised to hear that he had only ever had one dance before. Argella was so eager to know who had the honour of dancing with him that she pushed him back to his dark and disturbing memories. She could hear the pain in his voice when he said that it was his mother.

Argella softened then, to see his pain. Andrew had lost both his parents as a child, to the tyranny of Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife. The deaths of his parents still hung over him like a cloak of grief. She could only wonder the life of the child who'd lost both his parents? What would I do if I ever lost my parents? She did not know. She prayed she never would.

Before she could say anything, her husband stood up from his seat and left the High table leaving her alone once again. She watched Andrew walk away and wondered if she had bothered him with all the questions. She stayed there all alone and waited for it all to be over. A few more hours, and the worst will be over. By this hour tomorrow she would be a maid wedded and bedded and the thought didn't give her any solace. Whilst Andrew would be off to another battle, to fight armies and slay dragons, she would be forced to wait for him in his bedchamber like some maid in the tower. Strange, how that prospect of riding to battlefield had sounded much more appealing than marching off to her marriage bed. The battlefield surely seemed almost a relief.

"You know, you don't look totally ridiculous in that dress." Her brother stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me with a dance, Queen Argella?"

She scowled at the use of Queen in front of her name. It just made her brother smile more. She could never hit him openly, but she could sure stomp down on his feet under the cover of dancing.

"Of course," she said, as she took his hand. "Who would dance with you if not your poor sister?"

Her brother gave a mock show of pain. "Ah, that hurt deep, sister," he said. "Do you know how many dances I've had today? Five with the fair Lady Walda alone?"

"Five?" Argella said, smiling. "Should I have any reason to warn Lady Alyssa?"

Her brother laughed. "There is no reason to bring Alyssa into it. My heart belongs to my lady."

It was so sweet and silly that Argella had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful that she danced. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again and took her mind off of things. Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum in her brother's arms. No one could call her a clumsy dancer when she wanted to dance and even with her cumbersome gown she managed to do it with grace. "How's your time with your husband been?" Gendry asked quietly.

"He is, well, let's say entertaining in his own way. I do think he should smile more often."

Her brother turned her, drew her close to his side. "He will make you a good husband."

Argella laughed. "Better than the one Alyssa has?"

"Well, not better than that," he said, smiling. "Let's say better than most others."

Before long the dance ended and her brother left her in the floor to get a drink. Argella walked back to the high table, not wanting to stand there in the center of the floor all by her own.

Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." No sooner had the music died than she heard Lord Umber say, "It's time to bed them! Let's get the clothes off her, and have a look at what the little doe's got to give the wolf king!" Other men took up the cry, loudly.

The guests swarmed the dais, the drunkest in the forefront as ever. The men and boys surrounded her and Ella jerked back from their hands. She looked around for Andrew and in the ruckus she couldn't find him. She was not going to go meekly. She didn't need her husband to keep her safe.

"Look at those breasts," another said. "I wish I was never weaned just to have a suck from them." A roar of approval greeted his pronouncement.

Ella slapped the first man who grabbed her breast and gave it a squeeze. She did not know if he was the one who wanted to suck from her. Someone seized her arm and she froze with fear.

"Oh, she's a fiesty one. But the King will tame her down with a good fucking beneath the sheets."

"The queen is shivering," Lord Dustin said.

"Why wouldn't she," it was the grumble of the Greatjon again. "She is a lovely doe and there is a vicious wolf waiting in the bedchamber to ravage her."

They were lifting her in the air. Argella pulled away from them, but they had a grip on her and her sleeve ripped. Then a white blur flashed past her, and stood in between the men and her. Ghost bared his teeth in a silent snarl and the men backed away. It was all the time she needed.

She slipped away from their grasp and slammed a tankard from the table at the hands still reaching for her.

It was then Andrew stepped in front the crowd. The women were all around him, but none were touching him. "I'll have no bedding."

A loud murmur of disapproval passed over the crowd. "Your grace, that's not fair." "Let us have our fun!"

Some took no offence from it. "Quiet. The King wants to have the Queen all for himself," Lord Karstark said. "You better keep your hands to yourselves if you don't fancy them getting chewed off."

"That's fine by me," Lord Ralph Buckler laughed. "If the wolf wants to feast on his doe all alone, then I can't stand in between."

The others were still not convinced. Before they could protest again, Argella found her voice. "My Lord husband can manage to get me out of this gown. I don't think he needs any help."

"It is customary for the guests to undo the clothes of the couple, your grace..."

"Well then, anyone is welcome to take my clothes off me," Argella said much to the amusement of the crowd, "if they could catch me." She took off without waiting for them, tearing the inner layers of her skirts and lifting the hem of her dress to walk more freely.

And just like that they were on her again, like hunters hot on trial of a deer. She skipped past all of them however. Only when she closed the door to their bedchambers behind her, did she stop to even catch her breath.

For their wedding night, they had been granted the use of an airy bedchamber high in the triangular keep. Andrew arrived a moment later accompanied by the laughter of the women. He entered the room and closed the door shut behind them. He had made it to her relatively untouched, except for the unclasped fastening on his chest and collar.

"I hope the ladies didn't give you too much trouble, my lord?" she asked him.

"They were quite gentle."

Argella smiled. She was too nervous about what was supposed to happen next. It made her head swim. She didn't know what she should do now. Would he come touch her? Kiss her? Should she spread her legs for him now? She did not know what was expected of her. "Would you have me undress, my lord?"

"Andrew." He turned to tell her. "You can call me Andrew, my lady."

"Only if you called me Argella. Should I take off my gown, or do you want to undress me?" She looked up at him trying to be so strong.

Andrew turned away from her. He walked away to the bed and took a pillow and sheet of it. She looked at him curiously, wondering what he was doing. "We don't have to do this, Argella," he told her.

She wondered what had made him say that. They were supposed to consummate their marriage. She should remove her gown and open her legs for him and he would take her until she was no longer a maid. She remembered The ribald jokes thrown at her just moments earlier. The men had said that he was some vicious wolf waiting to ravage her in the bed, but looking at him now he was anything but vicious. He was as unease with everything as she was.

"Do you not desire me, your grace?"

"You are lovely, Argella," Andrew said. "The loveliest maid in the castle. Any man would be happy to call you as his lady and wife. But . . . I cannot do this. Not now. Not when . . . Not when an axe is hanging over my head. We can wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better and when this war is done." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"You shall have the bed for yourself," he said, "I am used to sleeping without it."

She mustered her courage again and looked back at him. "If you think that we should spend the night alone, you should take the bed, your grace. You are the King after all."

His smile was meant to be cheerful but she saw the sadness in them. "You don't think I am going to let my wife sleep on the floor on our very first night together, do you?"

He climbed down off the bed and moved over to the table and there her husband slept away from her on their wedding night

Andrew

It was twilight, and the air was alive with drifting fireflies. The mists were so thick that only the nearest trees were visible; beyond them stood tall shadows and faint lights. Torches and candles flickered beside the pathway to the Heart Tree and back amongst the trees. It felt like some strange underworld, not at all a place where weddings should be held. Yet his parents had married in a godswood like this and he was expected to be married here as well.

Here and there a torch burned hungrily, casting its ruddy glow over the faces of the wedding guests. The way the mists threw back the shifting light made their features seem bestial, half-human, twisted.

Above their heads the trees were keeping a silent vigil, their leaves ruffling only when a pale gust of cold wind blew from the North. The stars stared down at the pageantry below from the dark mirthless sky. Andrew looked up and found his family winking brightly through the gloomy dusk. He remembered his mother's words. "When you feel alone, Andrew, look up at the stars and mama will always be there to guide you along with papa." And there they were, encircling the little star that had been him. He would very much like to have them here now, to ask for father's counsel and for mother's love.

Am I doing the right thing? he wondered. He has already brought all these men into his battle with Rhaegar and now this girl who he barely knew. This was what your parents intended, a voice inside him said. He wondered that was the guidance he would get from the stars that night. The mists parted as the torches were brought in along with his bride, pale curtains of fog opening to reveal his raven haired lady clad in gold and silk and adorned with diamonds black as night and fire opals burning like yellow flames as bright as the flames from the torches. Andrew waited for her beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, in front of the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. Fallen leaves lay about the wide white trunk in drifts of red and brown. He could see his father's face if he squinted enough. He was sad. A sad smile danced across the face of the weirwood that resembled him very much.

At least he could see me wed through this, Andrew thought clenching his hand tightly in a fist. He had worn a freshly made coat of soft brown leather lined with fur and the Crown of Winter was upon his head, his father's crown. Andrew looked up at his Queen as she came to stand in front him before the Old Gods, the storm maid, young and more beautiful that half the other ladies in Riverrun combined. She did not look so shy as maids were supposed to be at their wedding. Argella held her head high, her blue eyes were fierce and her thick black hair cascaded down to her waist, wild and untamed.

Lord Arryn stood in the place of his father along with the septon of Riverrun to record the commencement of the wedding. "Who comes before the Gods?" Lord Jon asked.

Lord Robert answered. "Argella of House Baratheon comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Me," Andrew said. "Andrew of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North. I claim her. Who gives her?"

"Her father. Robert of House Baratheon." He said and presented the bride.

Lord Arryn turned to Argella. "Lady Argella, will you take this man?"

She raised her eyes to his. Blue eyes, not green. The thought hurt more than anything. For a few moments she did not speak, but he could see the determination and strength in her eyes. "I take this man," his bride said finally in a soft whisper.

All around them lights glimmered through the mists, a hundred candles pale as shrouded stars. Lord Arryn stepped back, and the septon took his place in front of them. Andrew joined hands with Argella and the septon bound them together with a piece of pale silken ribbon. Andrew barely heard the words said by him. They knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads in token of submission. The weirwood's carved red eyes stared down at them, sad eyes, eyes of his father. A faint gust of wind passed through the branches overhead. Andrew wondered if that's the gods blessing their marriage... or cursing.

After a moment of silent prayer, he rose again with Argella, hand in hand. The Septon gave the word to cloak his bride and bring her under his protection. Andrew undid the cloak that hung heavily from his bride's shoulders, the heavy cloth-of-gold cloak, emblazoned with the stag of House Baratheon done in onyx beads. In its place he fastened the white velvet cloak lined with silver satin and white pearls along the borders. A fierce direwolf was was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Quick as that, it was done. Weddings went more quickly in the north as they said. It came of not having priests, Andrew supposed, but whatever the reason it didn't matter. He had taken the lady for his wife all the same. When the septon proclaimed him to kiss his wife, Andrew pressed a soft kiss on her lips. And just like that they became man and wife.

Their hands were still entwined together. Andrew turned around to face his men and the all the others in the godswood of Riverrun with his lady wife and Queen. He heard them cheering so loud that for a moment the night came alive. "The King in the North!" Someone shouted. While another said, "The Queen in the North!" Shouts of 'Long live the King and Queen" filled the godswood. Andrew held the hand of his wife in his and strode through the mists with her. Lord Baratheon and his Lady Cersei followed, with Lord Jon and Gendry Baratheon and then the rest. The musicians began to play again, and the bard Tom o'Sevens began to sing "Two Hearts That Beat as One" as they made their way back to the castle.

The doors of the Great Hall loomed up in front of him. Andrew stopped in front of it briefly. A pair of spearmen guarded them, wearing Tully cloaks of red and blue. They bowed their heads to the King and Queen respectfully and pushed the doors open. Andrew entered the Hall together with his new wife.

The hall was blessedly warm and bright with torchlight, as crowded as he had ever seen it. Andrew let the heat wash over him as they made his way toward the front of the hall. Men sat crammed knee to knee along the benches, so tightly packed that the servers had to squirm between them. Even the knights and lords above the salt enjoyed less space than usual. It was the high table where they were supposed to sit, as groom and bride and King and Queen. Up near the dais, Tom o'Sevens was plucking at his lutes and singing "Fair Maids of Summer." He called himself a bard and accompanied Lord Beric when he came North. He had a pleasant enough voice to put up a sweet harmony though. Others had brought musicians and singers as well, but it was Tom who ruled the stage.

Along the walls the banners hung: direwolf of Stark, stag of the Baratheons, the flacon of the Arryns the leaping trout of the Tullys and the Hightower of the Hightowers. Beneath them were the banners of their respective vassals. The horseheads of the Ryswells in gold, brown, grey, and black; the roaring giant of House Umber; the sunburst of Karstark, Manderly, Glover, Royce, Redfort, Estermont, Swann, Dondarrion, Connington, Penrose, Blackwood, Bracken, Mallister, Frey and several others. Their bright colours covered the sandstone walls behind them. Only the windows were left open.

The largest banners were behind the dais, where the direwolf of Winterfell and the prancing stag of Baratheon hung back of his chair and his wife's. The sight of the Stark banner hit Andrew harder than he had expected. Did they hang up the same banner when my father wed my mother? He missed them dearly.

Andrew looked down at the people from his seat upon the dais at the end of the high table. To his left sat his lady wife, clad in her splendid gown. Her family was to her side, her father to her left, followed by her father, then her mother and then her two brothers. To his right sat Lord Arryn, where his father was supposed to be, followed by his cousin Edric and Ser Gunthor. He wondered if anyone has ever been in a wedding like him. He must be the most unlucky groom to ever exist. At least Argella was having her family with her.

The Greatjon was the first one to make a toast. He raised a golden goblet high, smiling at Andrew, and in a booming said, "To the king and queen!" The others took up the cry along with him. "The king and queen!" they cried, smashing their cups together. "The king and queen!" Andrew had no choice but to smile and drink along with them. He could not be seen sad and brooding on his wedding day.

"The King in the North!" someone else said after that. Other men took up on the toast and made their own. Some even said a toast for his wife. She deserves that, Andrew thought.

Argella sat with her eyes downcast as Ser Wendel Manderly bid everyone to drink to the new Queen in the North. "We have a new Queen in the North now," he said. "Queen Argella is as beautiful as Queen Ashara had been. May she reign as supreme as the Lady of Stars had reigned."

His uncle from Hightower had furnished the food and drink, black stout and yellow beer and wines red and gold and purple, brought up from the warm south on fat-bottomed ships and aged in the deep cellars of the Hightower. The wedding guests gorged on cod cakes and winter squash, hills of neeps and great round wheels of cheese, on smoking slabs of mutton and beef ribs charred almost black, and haunches of elk and five suckling pigs, skin seared and crackling, a different fruit in every mouth. Finally there was the wedding pie the cooks of Winterfell had prepared for the King and Queen, as wide across as wagon wheels, their flaky golden crusts stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, and chunks of richly cooked swan. Over the top two swans made of sugar crust sat entwined. He was expected to cut off slices with his wife and together they cut it open, before giving it off to the serving men to be served to the others.

Andrew tasted a bit of the pie for the sake of it. The thin crisp crust of the pie crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from it. It tasted as good as it looked. His bride had no more appetite than he had. She stare at the portion set before her and picked at it with her fork. When she raised her head and looked at Andrew, he could see a hint of uncertainty behind her clear blue eyes for the first time.

He wondered if he should ask her for the honour of a dance. Or feed a bit of the pie off his plate or give her a morsel of meat from his hand. That's what husbands were supposed to give their wives, not some mask of icy silence like the one he was giving Argella. If she was offended because of it, she gave no hint of it.

For that much Andrew was grateful. It would not look good at all if both the bride and the groom were gloomy at their wedding night. Between courses, Lord Robert led Lady Cersei out onto the floor to dance. Others followed, the lords and knights of the North and the Stormlands and Vale and Riverlands, partnered with their preferred ladies. Andrew watched Ser Robert Arryn dance with Perra Frey, then took a turn with Lady Bracken. Ser Renly danced with each of Lady Baratheon's lady companions in turn and then shared a dance with Brienne of Tarth. Andrew looked at the maid of Tarth giving him moist looks so full of love.

The men outnumbered the ladies in the hall, so even some of the humblest serving girls were pressed into the dance. After a few songs some Lords and past companions remembered skills learned at the courts and castles of their youth and the adventures they had had together. The young Lord of Starfall proved as adept at dancing as he was at wielding a sword. Even the red priest Thoros of Myr partnered with a couple of women, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of his home where he hailed from and his voyage across the narrow sea and the time spent in Mad King Aerys' court. Anguy the Archer was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Andrew judged that wise. He liked the way the wedding had let them to eat and drink and be merry, at least for the night. The prospect to shedding a bit of blood can wait for sometime, he thought. They needed this laughter and joy, Andrew thought laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Fair Walda Frey pulled Ser Gendry from the high table to have a dance and his goodbrother had no choice but to follow her to the floor, flushing in embarrassment. The sight made Lady Argella smile. "Do you dance often, your grace?"

Andrew looked at his wife beside him. "Not so much, my lady," he told her. He had only ever danced once before in his life. The memory was too painful to even think about.

"Good," Argella said. "I was afraid that you might expect me for a dance. I would step on your legs more often than not that you wouldn't feel your toes by the time you are done."

That made him smile. "You have never danced before?"

"I have," Argella said, shrugging her shoulders. "More times than I could bother to count. I learned to step on the feet of my partners deliberately so they wouldn't bother asking me again. Soon enough the offers stopped."

Andrew looked down at her father and brothers on the floor. "My lady should dance with her father or brother if she wished to dance."

"I could do something else in that time," Argella said smiling. "I would rather drink some wine in peace instead of dancing. Would you at least pour me some of the arbor gold."

"As you command." He signaled for a flagon. "So," said Argella, as Andrew poured, "Whose banner is that, my lord? I haven't seen that before." Andrew looked towards where she pointed to the banner hanging in between the pines of Tallhart and the moose of Hornwood, the three wooden buckets of Wull, brown on blue bordered by white and grey checks.

"They said that my lady was smart," Andrew teased. "I might have to have a talk with your lord father again."

She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "I am smart," she said. "As you know well."

Andrew just smiled at her.

"That's the banner of House Wull, my lady. The man beneath the banner is Theo Wull, one of the friends of my father." Buckets was his name. Andrew had laughed everytime when King Eddard would say that name as if it was the funniest thing he had heard. "They come from the foothills of the west end of the northern mountains, along the Bay of Ice, and for thousands of years they've managed to survive up in the mountains along with the other mountain clans of the North."

"Mountain Clans," she said, "but he look more like us."

"Aye, my lady. The Mountain Clans of the North are different from those from the Vale. They have lords and laws." Unlike the clansmen of the Vale they accepted the Stark rule and have been loyal to Starks ever since. "They mine tin and copper and iron for steel, forge their own arms and armour instead of stealing it like wildlings. A proud folk, and brave. They don't come down from their mountains very often. Not even during winter."

"And now they are here, past the neck in the South. Driven from their mountain fastness and into our wedding feast." She smiled a wry smile. "It is nice to meet new people and know about them though. I did not know much about them."

Aye, but now you're their Queen now, and we must pray you will know how to deal with your new people. His mother had excelled in it so much so that she had left a great gap in the world. It would be hard to fill the hole that she had left.

"I expect you would want me to pick up my duties as the queen and Lady of Winterfell as soon as possible," Argella said sipping her wine and keep her eyes down.

He could hear the disappointment plain on her voice and the frown that made her smile curl downward. "My lady, you don't have to bother yourself with them. I have maester Walys working on that."

She sighed, whether it was because of relief or something else he could not say. "Have you met other men from the mountains?"

Andrew nodded. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Andrew told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again. They are hard men."

"Are they all like that?"

Andrew nodded. "Most of the old men. They set off alone so they won't be a burden on their families with only their memories to warm them. My mother wanted to help them and we had fields sowed and more glass gardens made to sustain them through the winter."

"She sounds like a wise woman." She touched his hand.

"She was," Andrew said sadly.

His wife gave squeezed his hand lightly. "Enough of that," she said then. "What about you, my lord? Did they not teach you to dance in Winterfell? Have you danced before?"

Andrew looked at her bright blue eyes, cool and clear as sapphires. He wondered if he should tell her. Not now, he thought. "No," he said. A few moments of silence passed between them. But then he found himself talking again. "I have had a dance before. Once, when I was still a little boy."

Argella looked at him with eager eyes. "And who was this lucky girl who danced with the Dragonslayer?"

"My mother," Andrew said in a voice thick with grief. He got up from the chair. "Pardon me, my lady. I need some air."

It was too much to be there anymore, not when the memories came rushing in. His skin grew pale and hard as he left the high table. Everywhere around him men and women twirled around him, dancing with the music. The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. He still remembered the day even now.

It had been at a harvest feast. Father had been dancing with mother and other lords with their ladies had accompanied their King and Queen. Andrew had been so enthralled with it all that he had wanted to try it as well. So he had gone to find his own partner. All of the ladies there had been a lot older and taller than him. When he had run back to his mother in failure, she had left his father's arms to take him into hers. They had danced to the music happily. It had only been half a dance, for he had not known the proper steps, but he had been more than happy about it. Andrew had been too short that Queen Ashara had him stand upon her glass slippers as she twirled him around and led him around the dancing floor so wonderfully that all of them in the great Hall had stopped to look at them.

That was how he had always thought his wedding would be. He would have his parents with him by his side as he cloaked his bride and took her under his protection and then he would dance with his mother. None of that had happened though. Even the bride was different from the one from his dreams. Coal hair in place of gold and blue eyes in place of green.

He turned away from the balcony to go back inside. The elk was being carved. It smelled better than Andrew had any reason to expect. When they called him to have a portion, he instead dispatched it to Lord Beric's Kingsmen as an honour, along with pieces of ribs. He sent a good portion of the suckling pig to Ser Garlan in his holding rooms. The cooks had done a great job. That had been a concern of Lady Cersei. She had wanted a specific list for the courses and demanded that they do it in the best way possible and they have indeed done a splendid job at it.

Andrew was washing the roast down with a sip of mulled wine when Cersei Lannister appeared at his elbow.

"You do not eat," observed Lady Cersei.

For a moment he thought that Joy had come back from the grave. He stood there watching her in silence for a moment. It was hard for him to look at her, yet he could not take his eyes away. She had the same hair and eyes. Hair that was gleaming in the torchlight like spun gold and eyes very much like the emeralds on the chain encircling her slender neck. Cersei Lannister looked so much like her that it was an agony gazing up at her.

"My lord?"

Andrew brought himself back. "I am sorry," he said. "I was just lost on thoughts. You remind me of someone I once knew."

"You do as well," Cersei said. "You do take after your father very much. Some would call that curse given what happened to him."

Andrew ignored the part about his father. He already had enough on his mind.

She continued. "No taste for any food, my lord? Is there something not to your liking. Your men are enjoying it certainly better than you are." She gestured toward Ser Wylis with her wine cup. "They are so happy about it and they are dancing and eating and enjoying."

It was true. The heir of White Harbor was the very picture of a jolly man, laughing and smiling, japing with the other lords and slapping them on the back, calling out to the musicians for this tune or that tune. No one seemed to care about the war they had come to fight.

"Give us 'The Night that never Ends,' singer," he bellowed. "The bride will like that one, I know. Or sing to us of brave young Danny Flint and make us weep." To look at him, you would have thought that he was the one newly wed.

"They are drunk," said Andrew. "It's a night for feasting and merriment after all."

"What about you, King Andrew?" she asked. "You don't look like you are enjoying it. You are gloomy. It is ill luck for the groom to be so gloomy on his wedding night."

Was he? Andrew was not certain. He thought that he was putting on a good show of having a good time. "I am a bit tired with the festivities that's all."

"Oh, that explains a lot." Lady Cersei chuckled. "Do you think Rhaegar knows that we are having a wedding now? I wonder what when he might do if he does. To learn about the marriage of his bitter rival to my daughter. Would he sent a gift I wonder?"

"I don't care about what Rhaegar thinks and if he sends any gift or not at all."

"I know that from your meeting with Rhaegar in Braavos," she said. "They say you almost slew him there, before the Kingsguard arrived."

He didn't know how she knew that. "I don't..."

"Did you know that my brother was there?"

"I didn't," Andrew said. He was not about to do this. Not now. "I am sorry for your loss, my lady. Even I did, it wouldn't have mattered. He was in my way to Rhaegar. Now if you excuse me, I have to get back to the high table."

As he was walking back to the table, a loud shout could be heard over the music. "Time for the bedding!"

Before Andrew could even get to the dias most of the boys and men had all surrounded Argella. It surprised him to see her able to hold off as many men away from her for so long with small help from Ghost.

He smiled when she said they could peel the gown off her if they managed to catch her. Argella was so quick and graceful on her feet than Andrew knew she would evade them sooner or later.

The Hall was mostly empty by the time she had gone with most of the men chasing after her, all laughing and shouting bawdy jokes and offering suggestions. He bid his good family good night and promised them to treat Argella with respect and the care that she deserved. Ghost accompanied Andrew as he walked back to the chambers where he was supposed to spend the wedding night with his new wife. The ladies stayed away either because they were afraid of Ghost or they simply was afraid to touch the King. Some of the brave ones followed him though, still keeping their distance.

He felt bad for not doing much to save her from the groping and obscene suggestions and ribald japes of men. Did my father ever allow mother to go through that? Andrew wondered. He would never have allowed something like that.

Argella was waiting for him in the chambers. He wondered if she was nervous about the bedding. If she was nervous she gave no indication of that. Perhaps that was for good, he thought. Andrew did not think he would be able to do it. Not now, not when he still dreamed of golden hair and emerald eyes. How could he lay on top of her and take her maidenhead all the while pretending that she was some other woman. Andrew felt ashamed of even thinking about it. He could never dishonour his wife like that, not when she has been so kind to him even when she had no reason to be.

He took a pillow and sheet off the bed. Andrew walked over to the table and it was there he spent his wedding night whilst his bride slept alone on the bed.