A/N: Hi all, wedding part one!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 23: Royal Wedding Part I

"Agh," Rhaegar hissed, feeling a bit of hair caught in the buckle of his chestplate. "Careful there."

"If you could stand still, I wouldn't be yanking on your hair, you royal dolt," Elia shot back, biting her lip in concentration as she put the finishing touches on the ceremonial set of armor that would clad Rhaegar during the ceremony at the Great Sept. Lighter and more flamboyant than on the battlefield, without plate gloves and topped off with a blood red cloak. "Besides, this is quite distracting."

Nestled alone in the Prince's chambers, the couple enjoyed a quiet moment of affection. One they hadn't truly shared in a while. My fault, Rhaegar thought bitterly. But he wouldn't bring Elia down into melancholy, especially today. "And how is it distracting."

She huffed. "You men, dressing in armor all the time." The strap was pulled through the buckle and affixed to the loop. Elia moved to the second. "Knowing what it does to women between their legs yet always so hard to take off when you decide to ease our discomfort." Finishing the second loop, Elia swatted him lightly. "Men."

"By that logic, it's safe to assume that I am causing discomfort between your legs," he replied, grinning.

Elia's swat was harder this time, yet she smirked. "Cheeky cunt." But she knew he was right. Gods… this man… The dam was bursting, Elia allowing herself feelings long kept under wraps. They were opening up gradually, but it just felt so right. We're going to be hurt eventually… No. She wouldn't sabotage this before it even truly started. "There, all done." Facing him, Elia hugged his chest.

Rhaegar returned the embrace. "You are the perfect wife, my dear Princess."

"And yet you see fit to get another," she teased.

"Doesn't change what I feel for you."

Pulling back, Elia peered up at him. The moment changing from light to heavy. "And what do you feel for me, my Prince?" Her expression was half lust, half guarded curiosity.

Before he could answer, a tropical cyclone burst into the room. "Muna! Kepa!" Each had to brace themselves as Rhaenys slammed into their legs, jumping up and down. "Wedding here! Wedding here! Take me! Take me!"

There was no chance either royal couldn't be charmed by their sweetling of a daughter. "Oh my love." Elia leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You'll have to stay here at the Red Keep."

Rhaenys pouted, as if being denied admittance to the wedding was akin to killing her entire family. "But I wanna see muna and kepa get mawwied, muna."

Laughing, Rhaegar hefted his daughter in his arms. The Princess' mood changing immediately with a flurry of giggles as her father kissed her face repeatedly. "Relax, little dragon. You'd rather not be somewhere that boring. Just a lot of talking and talking and standing still…"

"Ewwww… that bowing, kepa." Elia laughed merrily, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. He knew just the right thing to say to their daughter. He's such a good man. A man any woman was lucky to have as a husband.

"Told ya, my sweet sweet girl." He held her close. "Muna loves you and I love her. We'll have plenty of time to spend together at Dragonstone together. All five of us."

"Fwive? Muna too?"

Such babble of a toddler, Rhaegar instinctively knew it. "Yes." A strong arm pulled Elia in too. "Muna will be there too. Both your Munas are precious to me." Pressing a kiss to Elia's lips and earning a look of disgust from their daughter, Elia blushed. Looking away, wishing that the moistness between her legs would go away before the ceremony.

Gods… I do love him.

In another part of the Red Keep, Lord Rickard Stark was having trouble with the more mundane tasks of a household. "Father, I see you tie knots in the Winterfell courtyard. How is it you can't braid hair."

"Well…" He cursed under his breath at his third failure. "When your late mother handled it for you… and then Nan handled it for you, I didn't have much incentive to learn such a skill now did I?"

"Yet you can put your hair in a bun?" Lyanna was having fun flustering her father.

"That's different. Simpler, not…"

"Woman's work, father?"

Rickard stomped his foot in frustration after his fourth attempt immolated. "Gods…" he let out an exhale. "Lady Dacey, can you assist me?"

Head up, Dacey shook her head. "Apologies, my Lord. I'm preoccupied with a pressing matter." Her 'pressing matter' turned out to be tossing silver stags into an empty chamber pot several yards away.

Unable to keep in her giggles, Lyanna forgot her nerves. "Dacey, please finish my braids."

The Mormont warrior turned lady in waiting stood, taking the place of her Liege Lord at the Princess' hair. "I'll fix this up quickly. Wouldn't want you to be late at your own wedding, Lya."

"My wedding…" It still didn't cease to amaze Lyanna. That she was finally getting married… to her Prince Daemon. All of her strength was deployed so that she wouldn't scream in glee at the fact. "Father, are you alright?"

Rickard wiped away a tear, trying his best to remain composed. "You… you look exactly like your mother on her wedding day." The Starks weren't the most sentimental of people, but sometimes there wasn't a chance to be anything otherwise. Seeing Dacey had finished in a minute what he had taken thirty to fail, Rickard moved towards a box resting on the table beside his bed. "I have something for you, one from your mother and one from me."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna gasped when he took out a crown of winter roses. As beautiful as the one Rhaegar had crowned her at the tourney. "Is that…?"

"Aye, this is my contribution to your wedding… besides giving you away that is." He gently placed it atop her braids, making what was already a beautiful bride radiant. "You're already known as the Winter Rose of Winterfell. Why not become what you're called?"

Lyanna wiped away a tear of her own. "Oh, father…"

But Rickard wasn't done. Out of his pocket, he took out a silver pin. Melded into a direwolf… the sigil of their house. "My mother gave this to your mother when she was to marry me, and now I give this to you." He tucked it into her gown, patting it lovingly. "Today, you pass into House Targaryen, but you will always be of the North." Beaming, Lyanna threw her arms around her father, hugging him close.


The bells chimed a total of three times - twin rings per yank of the rope atop the seven belltowers, the Great Sept of Baelor heralding a massive crowd of cheering smallfolk outside the commencement of the wedding of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his she-wolf Lyanna Stark. A second bride, but such fact ignored by all but the most highly devout of the city. Everywhere else, the tale of the daughter of winter riding across the dregs of King's Landing with the sun of Dorne with coin for the poor and hugs for the children brought out the adoration of the crowd. Flowers lining the avenue to Aegon's High Hill as they roared their love for both Princesses and the Prince that held their affections.

Inside, the coffered dome overlooked the hundreds of guests, separated into four squares around the great seven-pointed star. The iconography was everywhere, especially right before the altar in casting a mighty burst of afternoon sunlight streaming into the well. It irritated many of the northerners, but they put up with it. It was a long way from Winterfell after all. The High Septon huffed, wiping a sheen of sweat from his face from the heat of his corpulent frame. Standing close to him, the Crown Prince's armor clinked as he wiped the same sheen from his forehead… albeit for different reasons.

A feminine pair of lips curved crossly. "Calm down, husband," Elia whispered, ever so slightly leaning towards Rhaegar. "If you tap your foot any harder, you'll break the stone."

Suddenly noticing his nervous tic atop the marble floor, Rhaegar stilled his foot, crossing his arms over his ceremonial armor. "Forgive me."

Elia giggled softly. "There's no need to be nervous, love." Voice low so that neither the King nor the fat septon would hear her, she quickly kissed his cheek. Seeing him relax. "She's going to show up." If one had asked her two moons before if she'd be both standing there… and alright with standing there, Elia would have laughed. Lyanna Stark… she was a winter's gale - upending everything. "Just as I did."

Turning to her, Rhaegar's nerves melted in the face of her brown eyes simply looking upon him. "Aye, I know." Records of the wedding of Aegon the Conqueror lost to history during the Dance of the Dragons, the only precedent for multiple marriages - that didn't have the bad omens of the Black Brides - in had been the second and third weddings of King Maegor. The small council had studied records of his third with Queen Tyanna, especially in relation to Alys Harroway. As such, Elia was present right at the groom's side. "Thank you, for being here."

She smiled widely. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She would stay there until the ceremony in which she would wait on the last step before the altar, wearing the red and black wedding cloak of House Targaryen, emblazoned with its sigil. "I…" I love you. Somehow, it died on her tongue.

He took her in, noticing the burnt orange gown of Dorne underneath. Gossamer, giving a hint of the exotic olive skin. Her chest and waist hidden by a colorfully etched red sun. A simple act of defiance from the Princess of Dragonstone, one that made Rhaegar burn with desire. I love you. But as with her, the Crown Prince whiffed. Simply waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Rhaegar's breath left him when the Kingsguards opened the golden doors, revealing his bride to the entire gathering. Dear Balerion above… Hand looped in the crook of her father's arm, Lyanna was the picture of divine beauty - a goddess of ice presented to join with his fire that day. Their eyes met in that moment, and he saw the grey sparkle with love and affection from even that distance.

Making her way onto the floor of the sept, her dress sparkled in the sunlight as onlookers bowed and curtseyed lightly. Breaking from a traditional color of cream, it was instead an ice blue, piercing and vibrant as her personality. Dark blue swirls marked blizzards of snow that sent a chill through most - but the daughter of winter wore her arms bare in showing off the toned muscles of an expert rider and fighter… though only Rhaegar and the Starks knew just how well. Simple braids of her chestnut hair were topped with the trademark crown of winter roses. She is so beautiful…

The two Starks reached the van of the gathered nobles, where the line of royals waited to watch the proceedings. Rhaella greeted her future gooddaughter with a gentle embrace, while Viserys peered at her sweetly. Aerys, for his part, curtly nodded when she curtseyed deeply for him. Both Ned and Brandon hugged their sister tightly - Catelyn Tully smiling at her from beside Brandon. The last time where they would greet Lyanna as a Stark - the white and grey cloak about her shoulders bearing the Direwolf sigil would soon be replaced to match what Elia wore.

Three heads, like the dragon of House Targaryen.

Rickard kissed Lyanna on the forehead, allowing her to ascend the steps. Releasing her from his house to her husband's. As with the wedding of Maegor and Tyanna, Elia embraced her soon to be sister-wife and kissed each cheek. Their hands clasping together for but a moment - both pulling away with a tingle. The moment was over quickly, but leaving Elia in a slight daze, butterflies in her stomach, as she stepped to her place. It's their day, relax.

Absent a veil, now that she was before him Rhaegar was delighted to see her face bare to him. To be able and gaze unobstructed at her beautiful eyes and loving smile. Lyanna overjoyed to see his silver hair and strong jaw - wishing she could reach out and kiss him right there. Surrounded by the massive statues of the Seven and the hundreds of noble guests, the only ones either cared about in that moment was each other.

Clearing his puffy throat, the High Septon began. "Your Graces, Lords and Ladies. The ceremony before the sight of their most Holy Seven shall begin." Turning to Rhaegar with ruddy eyes, he gestured to the large folds of cloth draped over a stand to his left. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Wordlessly, Lyanna turned, shivering with delight as Rhaegar's strong fingers gingerly removed the direwolf cloak from her shoulders. Much as she loved the House of her birth, there was no stopping her from the exact dream of her childhood coming true. Glancing at Elia, the Princess understood exactly what she was thinking.

Rhaegar folded the cloak with reverence, ensuring the direwolf was proudly displayed on the top when he set it down - the Northerners in the hall nodded and whispered their respect, while Aerys simply snorted. Weak boy. Trying to ignore Tywin's presence so as not to give the upstart kitty cat any satisfaction. Eyes trained upon his son as he took the Targaryen cloak and draped it upon Lyanna's shoulders, hand running down her bare arm. It was official. Lyanna Stark was now under the protection of House Targaryen.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Having run through the step long before, the couple joined hands - a warmth coursing through them - as they stood side by side. The septon produced a ribbon and tied a knot around their joined hands, symbolizing the union of Lady Lyanna into the family of Rhaegar Targaryen. "Let it be known that Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lady Lyanna of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Ned watched them with a smile. Way to go little sister. Flickering to how Catelyn clasped Brandon's hand with hers, the younger Stark son felt a loneliness about him. Wishing for his own lady to be beside him

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." Words that caused both Rhaegar and Lyanna - as well as Elia, all three feeling a sudden connection - to silently sigh with joy.

In the rear of the assemblage, underneath the judgemental statue of the Crone, Cersei had a sigh of her own. Joining her father, brother, and uncle in trying to avoid the King's attention, the emptiness in her soul was unable to escape. Needing something to fill the void, but all options out of reach.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Robert's hands clenched in a sullen fury. It was he that was supposed to be up there. I'm gonna have to get good and drunk tonight. Wine and mead would be the only weapon he had to fight off his urge to throttle the dragonspawn.

Turning at the High Septon's command, Lyanna basked in the sparkle of Rhaegar's white teeth bared in a brilliant smile. Eyes a vibrant violet from the love and emotion swirling within him. Her own mind in a sort of trance, she couldn't believe that the gods were actually granting her wish. That she could bear her heart and soul completely to the same man that she had dreamed of for so long. A man far better than she could ever imagine in a dream.

Standing beside the statue of the Mother, Jaime Lannister prayed without hope that one day his dreams would be answered. To grant the same enchantment to the women he so boundlessly loved.

Rhaegar and Lyanna spoke simultaneously. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

Almost swooning, Rhaella allowed herself to be swallowed by her son's happiness. Knowing the only way she would see such adoration was from afar. Vicariously through her beloved children.

"From this day, until the end of my days." No truer words could ever be spoken. A marriage built on unconditional love. Forged in the same tradition as Aegon the Conqueror, his sword strapped to Rhaegar's side and the spirit of him and his Queens dwelling in all three. No force by man or god could break them apart. Elia could feel it too, a bittersweet moment, knowing that it would be Lyanna her husband bedded tonight - and Rhaegar her sister-wife would bed. Somehow, both thoughts sullied her happiness equally.

Rhaegar began his favorite words of the ceremony. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." Cupping her cheek, locking their gazes, both groom and bride surged forth and crashed their lips together. Uncaring of the onlookers, the passion of the dragon and wolf unavoidable in its intensity.

As the Lords and Ladies clapped, applause thundering underneath the cavernous dome, Aerys scowled. Love, pfft. Love was for the weak.

He had a lot more work to do.


It was said that Northerners made for quite a party. Boisterous, not tethered to social conventions of the Andal knights, once the fiddlers invited by the newly christened Princess of Dragonstone put their bows to the strings all bets were off. And judging from the laughs and smiles from the other Lords, it was quite infectious. Many wished to celebrate the newest member of House Targaryen.

Eyes trained on the table holding the groom and brides, Ned gingerly sipped on his ale - a stout northern lager imported from White Harbor. The three were huddled together after House Velaryon offered their fealty, Elia leaning left nearly on top of Rhaegar to tell a story. Both newlyweds listening intently before bursting into a merry laughter - Lyanna swatting Elia's hand while Rhaegar kissed her chastely, arm around the bride. Can't argue there… that's a happy family. Much as the septons would lambast it, the First Men of antiquity hadn't begrudged polygamy… or incest for that matter. My sister is happy, that's all that matters.

Certainly more than his own happiness, considering how alone he was.

"Ned, mi'boy!" Meaty hand slamming into his back, Ned struggled not to choke down his ale when Robert plopped next to him. Horn of strong-smelling liquor in his other hand. "Yer sittin' alone like a woman bleedin'. Join the fun!"

Wiping the froth from his lips, Ned made a quick look to the royal table. Finding Lyanna raising an eyebrow for a split second before turning away - not wanting to see Robert more than necessary. Good thing I chose a seat far away. "Didn't think you'd be welcome here, Robert?" They did patch things up to an extent, though without the filial intimacy of before. But Rhaegar and the Princesses were another matter.

Robert waved him off. "Gotta represent my Kingdom as it's Lord Paramount." He snorted, taking another swig. "Connington a fart-length ride from Storm's End. He can handle it… or Stannis. He's boring enough to beg for the pass-out conversations." Smirking, he wrapped an arm around his non-blood brother. "That reminds me of a proposition for ya."

"What would that be, Robert?"

"Got plans after this? On what yer' gonna do?"

That took some thought. "Depends on what my father requests… otherwise I have no idea." He could go back to the Vale, or stay here with his family… or go to Casterly Rock and beg Tywin Lannister for… Best to forget that.

But Robert's statement surprised him. "Come down to Storm's End with me. Help me put it to rights." He lightly poked him in the stomach. "Stannis has a stick up his ass and Renly… well… he'd be Lady Renly if he rules." He laughed boisterously. "It'll be like the good old days… Let's make sure they don't fuck up my father's legacy."

Ned smiled softly at that. "While I do remember fondly our time together, I must decline." Robert's face fell. "It is my duty to my house to do what is best for it… and the North."

"Oh Ned, so honorable." Robert giggled at that. "Duty is like moderation. Keeps ya' goin' for a while, but damned if you're not fuckin' miserable the entire time."

Tell that to Mya and gods knows how many more bastards that I don't know of. But he didn't say that. "I can't see myself in a life of adventure, Robert." Ned knew what life he did want, gaze falling on a flash of blonde hair among the Westermen.

"Every son of a bitch makes their mark on the world. Already made mine." Not that Ned would think it was to be proud of.

Ned sighed. "I already did Robert"

"Oh, how?"

"I think I found my lady." It just slipped out.

"Yer' shittin' me!" Robert smacked him on the back. "Good luck to you, Ned! I look forward to the wedding."

Much as he and Robert had already drifted apart so much, the man's pep talks did fill him with confidence. "And I would invite you… if I can get her hand." He finished off his ale and stood, ignoring a motivational comment about a proper bride's tits from the Lord of Storm's End.

"It shall be the happiest day of my life when we are finally family, your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded at the beautiful redhead. "I am sure my goodbrother is also counting down the days."

Catelyn Tully sighed softly, swooning. "I know he does."

"As am I your Grace, Princesses." Hoster Tully had the same expression as his daughter - the two were a lot alike. "Our grand alliance between the great houses of Westeros is the highest honor, and the Prince of Dragonstone is welcome to the hospitality of Riverrun whenever they wish."

Forcing a congenial smile in spite of her dislike for House Tully, Elia nodded with her husband and sister-wife. "Your kind words are greatly appreciated by all of us, and on behalf of myself, the Prince, and the Princess Lyanna, we accept and shall take your invitation to Riverrun under advisement. It would be our honor to be guests of such a noble and ancient House." It left a sour taste in her mouth, but politics was politics.

Both bowing, Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn left the dias, the former towards a cluster of his noble bannermen and the latter towards her betrothed - Brandon yanking her to him and tugging her towards the dance floor. The Dornishwoman raised an eyebrow at her sister-wife, who shrugged and laughed. Dipping into his cups, the heir to Winterfell was even more boisterous than his charming personality predisposed him to.

Out of the corner of their eyes, someone else began to walk up to their table. Giggling banter between the three royals waned as the figure approached. One whose presence had a sort of aura surrounding her. The music even seemed to dim as almost a third of the guests glanced in the direction of the table. "My Prince... my Princesses." The woman before them curtsied at the three of them, voice different and smokey. Dripping with innuendo and a hint of seduction.

The woman was beautiful, that much the Prince and Princesses could see. Skin pale as alabaster, dark crimson hair styled in an elaborate braid and equally red eyes piercing through a person's soul. Completing the domination of the color was a form-fitting red dress that left little to the imagination, topped by a red-gold choker inlaid with a ruby round her neck. Rhaegar blinked. "Greetings, Lady..."

"Melisandre. Melisandre of Asshai." She spread her arms in a conciliatory gesture. "As the designated representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis, I congratulate you on your marriage vows, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna." The piercing red shifted to Elia. "And to you as well, Princess, bound here under the laws most ancient."

Peeking at her sister-wife, Lyanna's gaze met hers and they both shivered involuntarily at the implication of the words - unknowing whether it was genuine or manipulated by this woman. A Red Priestess from the Shadowlands… a religion and race known to dabble in dark magic. "Thank you very much, Lady Melisandre," Lyanna declared politely. "That is very kind of you."

"Excuse me, but why is a representative of the Red Temple here?" In all her life, Elia hadn't ever seen the Faith of R'hllor take an active interest in Westerosi affairs. There were some in King's Landing and Dorne, but those were mostly missionaries.

"His Grace personally requested the aid of the one true faith for pressing matter, Princess," Melisandre responded quickly, her gaze flickering between each of the royals. Expression serene. "The Red Temple sent me to answer his request.

Rhaegar exchanged glances with his wives. Outwardly neutral but both sensing his worry. "And what assistance would my father, the King, wish from the Red Temple?" he asked.

"I cannot say," Melisandre smiled cryptically, "But I would have come regardless."

Lyanna could sense it. There was something… off about Melisandre. The tone reeked of someone who was used to manipulating those to her will… or the will of her god as she saw it - but also seemed sincere, strange as it seemed. "Well, we welcome you to westeros, Lady Melisandre and hope you can help his Grace for whatever he wishes." The latter was a lie, but Lyanna hoped it would end the conversation.

However, she didn't leave, instead staring at all three of them. Red eyes seemingly glowing. It was disconcerting. "Um... is something wrong, Lady melisandre?" asked a curious Rhaegar. Subtly, Lyanna motioned to Ser Barristan just in case, who placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"The fire was right, Prince Rhaegar. He never lies..."

Elia had heard the stories of the Red Priests seeing visions in fire, so she wasn't as bewildered as her spouses. "What does the fire tells you?" Both Rhaegar and Lyanna looked at her as if she spouted two heads.

She stepped closer, almost leaning over the table. Ser Barristan took another stride forward but there was no threat in Melisandre's expression. Only a… powerful intensity. "Your line…" she breathed, voice low and audible only by the three royals. "Your line will break the Curse of Old Valyria."

Blinking, Lyanna's confusion had not dissipated. Though she did notice how Rhaegar tensed up - eyes wide. "You mean Aegon? Or Rhaenys?"

"Your line," Melisandre pointed to Lyanna. "Your blood, Princess Lyanna. Many great things will come from all of you, my Prince and Princesses, but the blood of Ice and Fire holds the salvation of the blood of the dragon."

While only Rhaegar seemed to know what this curse was that she spoke of, all of them were affected by the Red Priestess words "My firstborn?" Lyanna wanted to know. Jon or Visenya?

"You shall soon find out, your Grace." Bowing low, the Red Woman backed away. "I bid you a joyous marriage, my Prince and Princesses. May the Lord of Light grant you his blessing." At the almost absentminded acknowledgement from Rhaegar, she made her exit into the crowd.

Elia cleared her throat. "Well. She was... something else."

"What's the curse of old Valyria, husband?" Lyanna asked, wanting to know.

Seeming to come out of his daze, Rhaegar blinked. "Oh… oh nothing." He waved it off.

She reached out, placing a palm over his hand. "Tell me, my love."

He groaned. "Just some ancient curse that put an end to Valyria and was said to be the cause of the 'Targaryen Madness.'"

"I've heard of this," Elia said. "They say the Valyrians defied the Gods with their hedonism and lust for power."

"...and to teach them humility they eradicated nearly all of them, yah yah yah… It's a ghost story used to frighten children." He hoped they'd simply let it go. Not to distract from their wedding.

Accepting it for now, Lyanna placed her hand on her belly. Jon… He will achieve extraordinary things... I just know it.

"What's that, my love?"

Did I speak my thoughts? "Oh, tis nothing my dragon, just thinking out loud." Rhaegar smiled, leaning over to kiss her.

Drumming her fingers idly on one of the long tables set up in the Great Hall - chosen over the gardens due to the unnatural winter's chill that still fell upon the capitol - Cersei picked up the jeweled goblet for the Dornish red inside… only to set it down upon only smelling it. Much as she wanted to get drunk… what was the point? It wouldn't fill the tempest in her heart. The parading of the man she was supposed to marry and the sister of the man she fancied all happy and joyous at their marriage. Just reminds me of the shit my life is. Even her twin… any idiot could spot the goo-goo eyes Jaime was making for the Queen. If you think I was forbidden love, brother…

Every path she had ever wanted to take… blocked off. Ended before it ever began, all because she was Cersei fucking Lannister. Daughter of the great lion of Casterly Rock. Her name was once a source of pride, but now she just wished it had been anything else.

As if her situation couldn't get any worse, look who happened to show up. "Beloved niece of mine! Beautiful Light of the West!" Gerion Lannister wrapped his arms about her shoulders, rubbing his knuckles on the nest of braids on her head in what he dubbed a 'noogie.' Fuck my life… "Why so down in the mines? I'd have thought - hic - you lived in Castamere!" He guffawed at his own joke.

"Oh uncle, if that were the case she'd be wet." Tyrion was an almost exact copy of Gerion in personality - Aunt Gemma said he had their father's wit, while Cersei was certain a demon gave him his looks - down to the tendency to drunkenness that so infected them now. "But you know her… everything neat and in place." As he said, her deep-sleeved maroon dress with a slim waist and bronze lion emblazoned both on the bodice and the gold choker round her neck was immaculate. "Mustn't run and mustn't play, lest it ruin little Cer-say." That caused another round of laughs that could only come from drinking.

"Shouldn't father be insisting you keep to your best behavior?" she hissed.

Gerion somehow found even that hilarious. "That old kitten? He won't show himself around here out of expediency, even though the King is wherever the fuck he is." Cersei blinked, noticing for the first time that Aerys wasn't present. "So, why aren't you celebrating?" He turned to Tyrion, sloppily jostling her. "Wittle Cer-Cer isn't even nailed to her brother's side as in these dumb things." A groan left her mouth at the childhood nickname.

But Tyrion's resulting grin, quite sobor in spite of his drinking, that made her skin bristle. "She misses the new man of her dreams. The gallant Florian to her Jonquil!" he sung like a really bad bard. Luckily, no one was listening.

Cersei almost threw the goblet at him. "Shut up!"

This only got Gerion's attention. "Oh, and who is this handsome, handsome man that wants his cock in your cunny?" If he wasn't her uncle, she'd hit him too. Gods, save me from these...

"My Lady." Cersei looked up… only to be struck mute by the familiar, beautiful face of her hero. "May I ask for a dance with the Light of the West?" Ned Stark asked, grinning confidently but trembling inside.

That powerful grin made Cersei actually wet. "Um…" She stood, smoothing out her dress. "You may, my Lord." Taking his hand, she hesitantly matched his smile as they walked to the dance floor.

Two sets of green eyes watched. "Who's that?" slurred Gerion.

Tyrion belched. "That's Eddard Stark, Lyanna's brother."

"Cer-Cer likes him?" At Tyrion's nod, he wiped his eyes. "Shit… well… damn." His niece was finally interesting.

"Who's that my brother is dancing with?" Lyanna asked Rhaegar, pointing to the floor.

Squinting through the dimly lit hall, Rhaegar could almost swear… "That's Cersei Lannister."

"Fuck off." Lyanna couldn't believe it. "Really?"

"It appears," Elia murmured, "That horses have sprouted wings like Bittersteel." Many might not see it, but the three could tell there was something other than politeness there.

The dance was a slow one, northern minstrels replaced by those of the south. Allowing Ned to keep one hand in Cersei's and one on her waist. "So, you seem in a cheerier mood tonight, Lord Stark," Cersei asked haughtily. Trying to recover her composure.

He chuckled lightly. "It isn't every day that one's sister becomes a Targaryen Princess." Guiding her in a twirl, she did so, trying not to giggle from the move. Eddard Stark was a good dancer - another layer to his enigma. "Yet, you seem a bit sad."

Looking away, Cersei concentrated on the steps of the dance. "Just a bit alone. Facing some truths I'd rather not face."

"And why is that?"

Damn him. He seemed to be on a mission to pry it out of her. "Because what I once wanted and currently want are simply unattainable." Her steely look melted at his grey eyes. Staring at her as if she were the only person in the world. Once again, Cersei reflected at how unexpected this all was.

Swallowing, enchanted into near silence by the hypnotic gaze of the lioness, Ned took a moment to find the courage… "Would you…" He took a deep breath. "Perhaps we should take a stroll in the gardens, Lady Lannister. We can talk… freely there."

Cersei's creamy lids fluttered shut, green eyes glistening. Quite conscious of the warm feeling of his hand on her waist. "I think that I would enjoy that very much, Lord Stark."

A/N: Yep, everything's shaping up to a beautiful wedding night :D

Lyanna's dress is a northern version of Sansa's dress when she married Tyrion.

Melisandre's here!

Next up, part two of the wedding and all the smut! If I can get 35 reviews, I'll post Saturday.