Tristan had not expected the ceremony to go well. What was going to go wrong, he didn't know, but he was certain something would. Well, there is the rain. He reached up and squeezed more of the water from his rain-sodden hair. A few pull-throughs with a wooden comb made it neat again, if still damp. But if all I have to tell Robb about is wet hair, I'll have done my duty well.

With his hair as sorted as he could manage, he passed the comb over to Lord Mallister, whose hair was in even worse shape than his own. He stripped out of the tight formal doublet he had worn to the wedding ceremony, heavy from rainwater, and changed into a new one, as well as a new pair of breeches. These were much more comfortable, in a light Stark grey rather than the darker colouring of his formalwear. The rest of the northmen were also busy changing in the solar of Sansa's apartments. A servant had brought some racks for them to hang their clothes on in front of the fire while they attended dinner. Sansa was changing with Jeyne in the next room. He had asked if Jeyne wanted to come with them to the feast, he thought it might do her good, as she always liked feasts and celebrations back in Winterfell. But she had hesitated in her reply, and Sansa had asked her if she would prefer to stay and look after Lady and Shield. Neither of the two wolves needed it, but Jeyne had quickly accepted. He knew that Shield knew to look after her, and that was enough. He hadn't spoken to Lord Baelish since taking Jeyne from the brothel, nor did he have any desire too. No one seemed to indicate that the man had hired knives in his employ, but still, he felt safer with Shield here protecting her. When they left, Sansa on his arm, Jeyne was sat on the floor, Shield and Lady padding around her, and her smile was genuine.

They found their way to the great hall by following the stream of silk and satin that was moving through the castle like tributaries flowing towards a river mouth. Some of the lords and ladies had already gone in to find their places on the benches, others were milling around outside and engaging in light conversation. It hushed as the northmen and rivermen passed. Inside the great hall, a servant in the livery of the Hand of the King was directing guests to their seats. Tristan was impressed, he seemed to know every lord by sight and where they were to go. He greeted Tristan before he could introduce himself and directed him to the end of one of the benches near the high table where the royal family would sit. A place of honour, although being so close to Joffrey's eyeline is not where I would prefer to be. There were six benches set out down the hall. Down the middle of the hall, there was a gap wide enough for singers and performers to entertain the guests.

Torches hung in every bracket and every fireplace was lit, masking the passage of time. But Tristan's eyes were drawn to the great dark monstrosity at the back of the room. The Iron Throne. It was hung with streamers in red, green and gold but there was no hiding the wickedness held in every sword edge. It was in this room where father was arrested, where grandfather was murdered, where Sansa lost her hand. He shivered.

"Are you cold, brother?"

"No, just a chill, come let us sit."

They did so. He sat in the middle of the northern guests. Sansa on his right, Cley on his left, Jonos Bracken and Clement Piper opposite, the rest filling the benches around them. Lord Bracken noted that they had attracted the best singers, drawing Tristan's attention to the gallery above where harpers, bards and troubadors prepared their instruments. "You know them?"

"I've hosted many at Stone Hedge," he said.

And so they started playing name the harper, everyone taking turns to name one of the singers in the gallery until they knew no more. It was close, but in the end, Ryman Frey knew more than the Manderly siblings and Tristan promised him his first cup of wine.

The king and his new queen entered not long after, each of them mounted on a pure white charger. Both had changed clothes, but not personality. I can't believe she actually likes him, but Margaery's face was only ecstatic as Joffrey swept her from her horse and into a kiss, before they took their place at the centre of the high table, Cersei on Joffrey's left, Margaery's father on her right. A septon, not the high septon, Tristan noted, like as not he's sleeping off the exertions of the day, said prayers over the meal and then Joffrey rose to his feet and held out his goblet. "To the queen!"

"To the queen, Margaery, Margaery!" Came the reply and goblets clang together as the feast well and truly began.

The first course was a creamy onion, leek and mushroom soup served in gilded bowls. Tristan had hardly eaten breakfast. He was bigger now than when his doublet was made and didn't want to add breakfast to that tight fit, but now he could eat fully. I wonder what those commoners who came to get free bread would make of their king and queen if they could see this feast, and there are seventy-six more to come.

As it was, he may have been the first to finish this first course. Even the two Manderlys were still enjoying theirs. He glanced along the high table. Joffrey and Margaery were the light of the room and Tristan couldn't deny that he was a handsome king, if nothing else, and she was a beautiful queen, worthy of song. The queen mother seemed carved from ice as she sat beside her son. Lord Tyrell and his wife laughed at a joke the Hand of the King made to them while princess Myrcella was trying to keep Tommen from drinking too quickly.

The second course, a thin pastry filled with pork and pine nuts, was brought out as the singers came to entertain the guests. "I thought you said that one was Hamish the Harper?" Tristan asked Ryman Frey.

"He is." Ryman insisted as another harper came out to sing a ballad about Joffrey's valour on the Blackwater.

The confusion was cleared up two courses later when a second Hamish the Harper came to do a fourth rendition of the Rains of Castamere. "Are we going to hear that every course?"

But it wasn't just singers, a troupe of pirouetting dancers came cartwheeling down the centre aisle so quickly that Tristan couldn't tell when they were on their hands or their feet. As they leaped and bounded down the aisle they gathered up, first jumping in pairs, then threes and then ending in a single joined movement. One went up on his hands, another two stood on his feet who were holding three above them who were supporting a final lithe girl who was held up higher than all of them. They held for a moment then all leapt down as one, landing in a perfect line with the tallest in the middle and the shortest to the sides. The hall erupted with cheers, many getting to their feet as the troupe bowed to the king and queen.

Following them was a young bear that danced to the sounds of drums and pipes as they were served sweetcorn fritters with wild boar and Tristan decided that they were indeed going to hear a rendition of the Rains of Castamere and A Rose of Gold with every course. "Who do you think has sung them best?" He asked Cley.

"The king," Cley said absently and all of them turned to look at him.

"Cley?"

Cley jumped and looked at him. "I'm sorry, what did you ask?"

"What did you think he asked?" Sansa said and the others erupted in their own laughs before returning to their food and conversation.

"Nothing, sorry, who do I think did what best?"

Tristan followed where Cley had been looking and saw Daenerys Targaryen sat with Garlan Tyrell and his wife and clearly feigning enjoyment. "Why don't you go and talk to her?" Sansa asked.

"I can't do that!"

"Why not, you won't be the only one who's moving."

She was right, seventy seven courses was a lot and some people were clearly deciding to skip some as they went to speak with old and new friends, maybe to discuss family matters.

Cley sucked in a breath, nodded and went over to her.

Tristan was about to ask what was going on, but some spoke his name and he turned in his seat. "Prince Oberyn?"

"I was hoping to speak with you, Prince Tristan, may we walk the room."

He wasn't sure, but another singer strung the opening chords to the Rains of Castamere and the next dish to be served was a platter of swan that looked far too rich for his tastes, so he nodded and got up from his seat. "I'll be back soon," he promised Sansa.

"How are you enjoying the wedding?" Tristan asked Prince Oberyn. He wasn't sure what a prince of Dorne could want with him, and wasn't sure he wanted to know either.

"It's certainly got a lot of food," Oberyn replied. His voice was normal, but something about Oberyn seemed dangerous to Tristan.

"The ceremony was wonderful." Tristan said.

"It could have been better."

"It could?"

Oberyn nodded, taking an empty cup from a nearby table and filling it with wine. The guests nearest the wine looked up to complain, but seeing who was taking it said nothing and went back to their food. What is it about this man. I know he has a reputation, I only wish I knew what it was. "A cup for you, Prince Tristan?"

"I won't, thank you."

"Very well." They walked a little further before Oberyn turned. They were against a side wall now, having made nearly a full circuit of the hall. "You fought in the war." It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. "And I hear you killed ser Gregor Clegane."

"I did," Tristan said quietly. He wasn't sure how well that news would be taken here.

"How did it happen?" Oberyn asked.

Tristan remembered the day well, the feeling of being inside a crow to claw at the Mountain's face before destroying his head in two cuts of his sword. It hadn't been a fair fight, but then so few were in war. "I cut his head in half," Tristan said.

"In half?"

Tristan drew a line across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose then made a cutting moting back beside his head.

Oberyn nodded. "A quick death?"

"Compared to many, yes, and quicker than he deserved."

Oberyn cocked his head. "He did something to your family?"

"Not personally, but he did great harm to our kingdom. He dozens of villages were burned by him. He exterminated the line of House Darry, that has endured for thousands of years. When he burned Stone Hedge he raped one of Lord Bracken's daughters, that's him over there. I killed him when he and his men were attacking Maidenpool, slaughtering the smallfolk there."

"That's how mad dogs act, and he was a mad dog," Oberyn's voice had gone dark and brooding. "The Mountain raped my sister Elia during the sack of this city. He murdered her son, a child not two years old and raped her with their blood and brains on his hands. I was hoping that he had suffered in his dying, as only he deserved to suffer." Tristan didn't have anything to say to that. Oberyn downed what was left of his wine. "Thank you for killing him Prince Tristan, perhaps now the ghost of my sister can be at rest." He walked back to his seat, leaving Tristan by the wall. He decided to walk back the other way from the brooding dornish prince.

But he was interrupted on his way by Lord Loren's daughter.

"Prince Tristan," she said, smiling up at him.

"Lady Lelia, how can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you would join me for a dance."

"A dance?"

She indicated where other couples were dancing slowly on the floor. It had to be a slow dance given how much food had already been consumed. "We are at peace now, I don't think a dance is too unreasonable."

"Would your family approve of you dancing with a Stark?"

"My father already disapproves of my dress, let him disapprove of me dancing if he wants. If it distracts him, it might do him good, he hasn't relaxed all day." If you were my daughter, I would disapprove as well. The dress was a gorgeous design of red and gold with a cut so low it must have reached her navel, and sleeves of sheer lace.

Tristan looked up at the main table where Loren Lannister was in deep conversation with his wife, his face stoney. "Very well," he said, he didn't particularly want to sit right now so he held out his good hand and let Lelia lead him out to dance to the slow music. She was good and led the dance, but didn't push him beyond what he was capable of. When the song ended, she thanked him and parted.

He got back to his seat to find Cley returned and Sansa gone. "She's gone to speak to Daenerys," Cley explained. Daenerys however wasn't at her seat, but Cley explained she'd gone for some air and Sansa had gone with her. He half wanted to go and find her, but decided against it. Sansa had survived this long without him.

As he dug into the pork cutlets he saw that Lelia was already dancing with another man, a tall copper-haired nobleman, and somehow he felt a little jealous. He wondered if her request to dance was linked to her father's request that Joanna Lannister be the first hostage released.

The feast continued with course following wine following course and entertainment galore. The dancers returned to their seats as more entertainment came. The court fools had Tristan in near tears of laughter only to be followed by knife-throwing acrobats who made him flinch as one caught a dagger with the apple in his mouth. Tristan went outside for some fresh air when the heat and light got too intense and took in several cool breaths on the steps of the Red Keep. There were a few others huddled out here for the air. But the rain was heavy now and most were keeping to the partially covered steps. A party of four drunks were dancing in the rain, splashing in the puddles. Tristan and the others laughed when one tripped and fell only to stumble back to his feet and continue dancing.

Back in the feast hall, Tristan ate drank and laughed his way through the last courses. The seventy-seventh course was finished with a final rendition of A Rose of Gold, a giant pigeon pie, complete with doves in a pastry crust that were released by the King's Justice Ser Ilyn with a single cut of his greatsword.

He was washing down the spiced pigeon with wine when the bedding ceremony was announced and the room cheered. "Come on friends, let's go bed a queen!" Ryman declared and the northmen got to their feet and joined the swarm of men and woman making for the high table. Tristan was at the front of the crowd as the men were pulling at Margaery's dress. The queen was grinning and enjoying the experience. Joffrey shouted encouragement for the ladies undressing him.

"Come on men, let's not be outshone by the ladies!" He declared, ducking down and grabbing Margaery by the thighs, lifting her over his shoulder. She squealed as he started carrying her away and her skirts were pulled off.

By the time they were at the royal bedchamber in Maegor's holdfast, both Margaery and the King were naked apart from their crowns. Joffrey and Margaery called witnesses in to observe the taking of Margaery's virginity but for Tristan that was too much, and he retired to the great hall, where celebrations were set to continue for some time.

Most of the guests were now spread throughout the castle. It was approaching midnight, so many had retired to their rooms. Jonos begged his leave and left with Jason, Galbart and the Manderlys. Others were giggling and talking throughout the keep, but there were still a reasonable crowd in the keep. At the high table, Loren Lannister and his wife were seated and he finally looked relaxed, several of the bards were strumming their instruments to slower, more relaxing tunes, and not the Rains of Castamere, thankfully.

"Have you had a good wedding, Lord Loren?" He asked.

Loren nodded, eating without haste from his slice of pigeon pie. "I have come to expect the worst, today I am pleasantly surprised."

"And you, prince Tristan, have you had a good wedding."

"It was a pleasure to attend."

"Will you be leaving tomorrow?"

"Within the next two days, I hope, I may need to sleep off my drink tomorrow, I fear."

"What is a wedding for if not drinking?" She smiled and held out a cup of wine to him.

"Now that might be the finest toast of the evening. Lord Loren, my lady." As he returned to his seat he picked a plate off a nearby table that looked unused and grabbed some blood sausages and brisket. Back at his seat he sat back and enjoyed the music and dancing. He closed his eyes and warged back into Shield to check on Jeyne.

"... that was when I was touched me for the first time…"

He looked around the room and saw no one else there, just Jeyne sat on a sofa and stroking Lady's ears while his sister wolf growled approvingly deep in her chest. Tristan quickly left Shield's body. Jeyne was talking at the wolves, and didn't know of Tristan's ability. It would be wrong of him to listen in when she didn't know.

Instead he returned to the great hall and just listened to the music, trying not to think of Jeyne and what she had been through. Sansa and a few other northmen and rivermen returned not long after, just after and they spoke of Winterfell and their return to the north. Perhaps the sudden inaction was making Tristan tired, but when they were among the last to leave, with only the Hand of the King remaining at the high table reading over some official papers and scrawling with a quill, he decided it was high time they retired. But it did seem a shame to end the evening so they grabbed a few jugs of the best wines and brought them back to Tristan's solar. Sansa grabbed two plates, one filled with various courses and another with a slice of the pigeon pie. "For Jeyne," she said, when Tristan looked down with raised eyebrows. Tristan did one last pass of the singers, telling them of Robb's upcoming wedding and inviting them to travel north if they wished a possibility of work and patronage.

Back in the solar it was far more intimate and they felt they could talk more freely. Lord Karstark was half drunk and seemed determined to go the full way before the evening was out. Norbert Vance made them all laugh when he told them he had come face to face with a knight he had captured in the war. "Nearly pissed himself at the sight of me again."

When Tristan felt his eyes drooping he decided it was time they all left and sent them to go back home. Vance and Karstark were supporting each other on the way out. Cley made to leave as well, but Sansa asked him for a word and they left the room together.

"How was your day, Jeyne?"

"It was nice," she said, smiling. "These two kept me company."

"They gave you no trouble, I hope." Shield looked at him reproachfully.

"None at all," Jeyne replied. He considered telling her about his warging, but not yet, if he said it just after she had spoken at the wolves about what she had endured she might suspect he had heard. "Tristan, what will happen to me?"

"Happen to you?"

"Back in Winterfell?"

Of course, with Vayon gone, she isn't even a steward's daughter, and he had found her in a brothel. He knelt before her and took her hand. "Jeyne, I give you my word, you will not be cast out. You are of Winterfell, and you will be welcomed back. What happens to you after that is for you to decide now."

"But I'm… used."

"You are my friend. If anyone tries to shame you, they will answer to me." Shield growled from behind him. "And Shield too."

Jeyne laughed, tears in her eyes. "Thank you."

He leant in and kissed her brow. "Let's wait for Sansa and Cley shall we?"

They ended up waiting longer than he expected, and when she returned, she came alone. "That was a long word," he said.

"Daenerys wanted to speak with Cley," she said.

"About what?"

Sansa shrugged. "I don't know. I left them to speak in private."

"Where?"

"In her chambers."

Tristan and Jeyne shared a look. "You left them to speak," he said.

"Alone?" Jeyne added.

"In her chambers?"

Sansa looked between them then her hand went to her mouth. "They wouldn't would they?" She whispered.

"What do you think they want to do?"

"I don't know?" Sansa whispered, clearly horrified at what had happened. "I was hoping they would talk?"

"Why?" Jeyne asked.

"Because… it was a plan to…"

Tristan felt the drunkenness recede to the back of his brain, still hovering and ready to be released like a hound at the slips, but this he needed to know. "Sansa, what have you planned?"

She lowered her hand and told Tristan of her plan for Daenerys to come north and marry Cley so they could be close together and she could be free.

Jeyne asked if they should go and put a stop to it, but Tristan shook his head. "If they've decided to fuck they'll have done it by now. Let's just hope nothing comes of it, for Daenerys' sake." He knew he would have to be careful not to cause an incident while he was here, but he'd thought the biggest problem would be his lords, he never thought that Sansa might be the cause.

I hope Robb has laid his foundations well. We need to be out of this city, the sooner the better.

House Awesome: Jon's been at the Wall doing Night's Watch stuff. I don't have any plans to make him a POV in this story.