The grounds set aside for the wedding of Lord Kurt and the former Queen Rhaella were suitably massive. Given that the event was not happening within the castle Plataea itself, the Terras had spread out the celebration and its constituent parts farther out than even Robert's wedding to Cersei Lannister. Such a thing might have been seen as an offence to the royal marriage and their houses, but given that Robert's wedding had been a crowded, near suffocating affair with the limited space of King's Landing, no one really complained.
Ned Stark walked down one of the lines of entertainments. There were singers and dancers, jugglers, and acrobats. There was a mummer's group performing a rather silly recreation of the Terra's victory at the tourney of Harrenhall. One of the drawbacks of being so young a house, Ned supposed, was that there was not enough time to perform deeds worthy and appropriate for such men and women to celebrate. Instead, more than a few sang songs of the Targaryen family, though they stayed very far from anything that had been popular during Aerys' reign. Most sang of Jaehaerys the Conciliator or Daeron the Good, likening Robert to the two men who had succeeded truly awful kings in order to sing of the old dynasty.
Last Ned had seen his friend, who was now his king, he had been downing a large flagon of ale and jesting happily with Elbert Arryn. Cersei Lannister, the new queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was seated with Robert and the rest of the royal party, looking the picture of queenly beauty, and showing the first signs of pregnancy.
Thinking on the queen and the babe she was soon to bring into the world, Ned's eyes drifted to the woman on his arm. Catelyn Tully, or Catelyn Stark as many now named her, was a good woman by all accounts. She was kind and soft and dutiful, but strict with their household and well taught in her duties as wife to the heir of Winterfell. Already they had one child, born not too long ago. Ned had named the boy Robb, for his friendship with Robert.
Robb had been left in Winterfell with Benjen and Lyanna however. Of the Starks, only Ned, Catelyn and Rickard had journeyed south to attend the wedding. Other Northen houses had also made the journey. Howland Reed, Rickard Karstark, The Greatjon of House Umber and Gregor Forrester were but a few of the nobles who had followed House Stark into the Westerlands.
As the two walked along one of the many paths of the grounds, Ned noticed Catelyn's eyes wander to one of the attractions. A man sat behind a wooden stall, plying his wares, but it was not anything that Ned had seen before. The man had small piles formed of what seemed to be sticks and cloth. They were brightly coloured, and Ned wondered what purpose they served.
Catelyn gasped and pointed up. Following her hand, Ned felt his eyes widen as he saw what had caught his wife's attention. Flying overhead, caught in the breeze of the spring air, was a ship. Not one that could be used to sail, it was far too small and delicate looking for such things.
Ned had seen kites before. They were rare to be sure, and often simple. That some vendor was selling such elaborate creations was strange.
"Do you think he had many other shapes for them?" Catelyn asked, looking at the brightly wrapped piles.
"I suppose we won't know without asking." Ned replied.
Together they walked up to the man, who offered them the wide smile of a merchant eager for a sale.
"Welcome milord, milady. How may I serve you this fine day?"
"You can tell us what forms of these kites you sell. We have seen the ship that flies above us. What else do you have to sell?"
The man's smile grew bigger, if that was possible. Ned felt his stomach churn slightly, as it always did with such men. He found merchants to be a strange breed, too willing and happy by far to make coin off of the needs of their fellow men.
"You are in luck milord and lady. I have yet to sell too many of my wares, and have a good selection here for you to see."
The man rummaged behind the stall, pulling out a variety of brightly coloured packages. Each one had a picture of what the kite might look like once properly assembled. There were a great many ships of different sizes, shapes, and colours, likely one of the easier ones to make. Ned saw one that looked like a dragon, with wings likely meant to catch the wind as a normal kite did, but separated so that it looked like it was moving in separate parts.
The dragon was not the only sigil to find its way into the man's wares. All the sigils of the great houses were present. The lion of Lannister a blood red beside the blue falcon of the Arryns and another kite designed to look like the sun and spear of the Martells.
As he inspected them, Ned noticed that his wife's eyes seemed fixed on one of the many kites. It was a mixture of colours; red, blue and a silvery grey. Looking at the shape it was meant to take, Ned was unsurprised to find it was the leaping trout of her family's banner.
"Do you fancy this one, my lady?" He asked, gesturing.
Catelyn's eyes snapped to him shook her head.
"No, my lord. I think the grey direwolf is a much better creation."
Ned pursed his lips. Ever since he had returned from Dorne, Catelyn had been trying harder and harder to embrace the North. She wore northern clothes, surrounded herself with northern ladies, she had even ceased talk of building a sept for her prayers, instead taking them with him in the Gods wood. She did not pray to the Old Gods, holding true to her faith, but Ned knew that she was forsaking more and more of her home and her old self to try and assimilate better into her new home.
He had felt guilty for it ever since. When he had decided to go south, to see Ashara and Edwyle, he had known it would cause some strife, but most of that had been more to do with her father and uncle, who had both been in the capital when Ned had been 'sent' as it were, by Robert. Returning north afterwards had brought him home to a wife that, according to his father, likely worried over her place and that of the babe she carried. After all, Robb was not Ned's firstborn son, nor was Edwyle the son of some common woman to be cast aside.
Though both men had spoken on the matter with each other, with Lord Hoster, and with Lord Dayne, Ned knew that Catelyn had never been privy to those conversations. For all she had known, she might be replaced any day by the beautiful woman who her husband loved before he had married her for her father's army.
Ned had tried to ease his new wife's worries. He loved Robb, and Edwyle would grow and live well in the south, being just as much of Dornish sands as Northern snows. He did not wish for either of his children to fear the other. He had said as much to Catelyn, and written it to Ashara. He called for noble ladies of the south who might come to Winterfell to be ladies in waiting, he spoke to seamstresses and weavers to style his wife's dresses like those of her homelands. He had even spoken with carpenters and stone masons to finish a small sept.
His acts had cooled Catelyn's worries, and she seemed more comfortable in adhering to some of her southern traditions than his northern ones, but there was still an undercurrent of deference to her acts, beyond what was customary of a wife before her husband. Either way, Ned decided to split the difference, reaching into his coin pouch, and paying the merchant enough for two kites, one a silver grey direwolf, and the other the leaping trout of Catelyn's house.
His wife smiled as the kites were handed over to a pair of servants who were following behind them, storing and carting any of their purchases so as to not burden the couple.
"Lord Terra must have spent a considerable amount of gold to assemble these festivities." Catelyn pondered.
"Gold is likely the least of his possessions." Ned replied, looking at the distant bulk of the Plataea. "The tales truly do not do justice to its size."
"Indeed. Do you think it is truly made all of steel, as your father said?"
"I see no reason for him to lie, and Lord Terra has invited father and myself to take a meal in their dome of glass."
Catelyn looked up to the top of the castle, where the supposed dome was located according to his father.
"So high up, I know that the Hightower was said to be the tallest structure in Westeros, and the Wall, while not as tall, offers a similar sight… Do you believe that I might join you?"
"I see no reason why not. Father has already spoken of taking some of his loyal vassals for such a meal."
A horn sounded in the distance, blasting three clear notes through the air. One of the servants cleared their throats.
"My lord, my lady. The horn is a signal that the ceremony is to begin in only a few hours."
Ned nodded, looking over at Catelyn.
"In that case, perhaps we should return to our lodgings. We will need to change our clothing after all this wandering."
Catelyn demurely nodded.
"Of course, it would not be well for us to appear unkept to the lord and queen's wedding."
Arm in arm, with an assortment of trinkets and treasures trailing behind them, the two made their way back to the lodgings set aside for the lords of the North. Arriving, they retreated to their rooms, disrobing and dressing in clothing appropriate for a quasi-royal wedding.
Ned was dressed in the deep blacks, greys, and browns of the North. They were thinner than he was comfortable with, but given the progressing spring he would have to accept them so as not to swelter in the Westerlands' heat.
Catelyn meanwhile was dressed by her handmaids in a gown of silvery grey, a combination of her house's colours and those of her husband's. For colour, she wore red and blue accessories. Scarves and frills accentuated her figure in spectacular fashion. The fabric was soft like myrish lace, brought from the newly captured city of Myr in the east.
Earrings of pearl and opal hugged her lobes tightly, and rings of similar make adorned her fingers.
The procession of the northern lords from their lodgings was orderly, with only a few staggering men who it seemed had been unable to hold their drink before the wedding. Catelyn looked as the GreatJon was held in place by his son, the paradoxically named Smalljon. The Umber lord stumbled slightly, but it seemed he was recovering his footing well.
As the nobility of the North moved down the lane towards to pavilion where the ceremony would take place, they spotted the waving banners of House Tully, alongside many of those of her homeland. A familiarity settled in Catelyn's stomach seeing the welcome sight of her family's sigil flying proudly. Her father led the procession on horseback, her uncle and brother riding at his sides. Lysa rode just behind them, and Catelyn tried to catch her sister's attention but was distracted by the processions coming in from the other roads.
The nobility of the Stormlands and Crownlands marched from their own lodgings, with Robert Baratheon and his brother Stannis at their heads. The king and the lord of Storm's End rode side by side, with Robert chattering with his brother enthusiastically. Renly, the third of the Baratheon brood, rode on Stannis' other side, and seemed far more invested in his oldest brother's conversation than the middle child seemed to. Behind the three of them, a carriage rolled along, no doubt containing Queen Cersei.
"Ned!" The king called, nudging his steed into a trot.
"Your grace." Eddard bowed his head, as did the rest of the lords of the North and Riverlands before their king.
"Oye Ned, none of that. I told you; you still better call me by my name if you know what's good for you."
Robert raised his voice to address the rest of the combined parties.
"And that goes for the lot of you as well. This 'yer grace' shit was for bloody dragons and arse-lickers."
Catelyn tried to suppress a frown at the new king's vulgarity, and saw that she was not the only one. While her husband only rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile forming on his lips, the king's brother scowled.
"It's a sign of respect Robert." Stannis said, back straight as he rode to his brother's side.
"Your subjects should refer to their king with appropriate deference. It's what father taught us."
The king scowled, face growing a wrathful red, but looking at his brother it seemed he saw something that stilled his anger.
"Fine." He grumbled. "Your grace me if you must."
Was it a trick of the light, or had Catelyn seen the smallest hint of a smirk form on Stannis' lips before it disappeared back to his stoney expression? Whatever the case, the parties moved on without issue after that.
By the time they reached the pavilion, separated from the rest of the festivities but no less grand for its lack of people, they were joined by the delegation from the Reach and the Vale. Only the Iron Islands, the Westerlands and Dorne were absent.
Entering into the space set for the wedding, Catelyn saw the banners of the West flapping in the air, its lords present and seated. The Dornish were also present, but seated as far from the Westerlands as possible and glaring wrathfully at them.
The area was separated into nine sections, meant for each of the kingdoms as well as the Crownlands. Filling into the seats, well made and plush with cushions for comfort, Catelyn saw took some time to examine the decorations around the wedding alter itself.
It was a well-made thing. Three steps led to a raised platform, not raised too high so as to cause any insult, but of a hight to provide a view to all in attendance, regardless of distance. The area for the wedding's festivities was directly behind it, and Catelyn could see the large tables and seats arrayed from a central high table. The cloth was a rich, forest green with accents of blue and white, the colours of House Terra's banner.
Servants rushed to and fro, ensuring that all preparations were made for both the ceremony and the feast. More areas of entertainment seemed to have been set up, though this time there were no merchants plying wares and instead there seemed to be a variety of performers.
A commotion off to the side caught her attention, dragging her gaze away from the pretty decorations on the alter itself.
The Ironborn had arrived. The Riverlanders' most hated enemy; in fact, the enemy of most any Westerosi on the western shores, were rambunctious and loud. They lumbered drunkenly into the stands, seated closer to the Dornish and the Valemen. Given that every other kingdom had some form of grievance with the Ironmen it was wise in Catelyn's opinion that Lord Terra had separated them from the seats of any kingdom on the Western coast. At the head of the rowdy procession was the newly inherited Lord Balon Greyjoy, followed by his brothers and his eldest son. Behind House Greyjoy, many of the other houses of the Iron Islands followed. Houses Harlaw and Goodbrother glared at the Riverlands lords, who only glared right back. Meanwhile House Drumm and House Stonehouse jeered at the Westerlands. Nothing too egregious, lest violence break out, but enough to ruffle feathers as proud lords were forced to swallow their indignation or else disrupt the ceremony.
Catelyn felt a hand rest over hers. Turning she saw that Ned had taken her hand, squeezing it lightly in a show of comfort. Smiling back at her husband, she took a deep calming breath and tried to let go of some of her ancestral distrust of the Ironmen. This was a grand occasion, and even Balon Greyjoy and his reavers would not be so stupid as to cause an upset.
Rhaella took deep breaths, trying to calm her fraying nerves as she looked at herself in the mirror. The small tent had been set up just off of the main area of the ceremony. Inside, there was rack with space for her to change into her wedding clothes. The dress was a deep forest green with black embroidery. She had had a hand in the sowing for the dress, and as she smoothed the fabric across her body, she checked the details of her work. Sure enough, the black thread had created a raised pattern over the underlying silk that depicted the three headed dragon of her house amongst a golden wreath. Surrounding the image was more embroidery, though this was less pointed, being simple leaves and vine curling around the bottom of her dress.
"You look radiant."
Elia stood behind her, helping to secure the dress and get her ready. Behind them, Jane was ready at the tent's entrance, meant to ensure their privacy before the ceremony began.
Feeling the last of the buttons of her dress being finished, Rhaella felt her skin pebble under the fabric. It was a warm day out, and even with the light cloth of her dress she was warm under the spring sun. Still, her heart pounded in her chest and memories flashed through her mind. She remembered walking under the domed roof of the Great Sept of Baelor, Aerys standing at the alter with a cloak to wrap around her shoulders. Lord Kurt had offered rings, as was apparently the custom of his people, but Rhaella had insisted on the visibility of cloaks. Now she wondered if she could do away with the old tradition, so as not to feel more like she was repeating what had become a dreaded memory.
"I don't feel radiant." Was all she responded to Elia before taking another deep breath.
"I will not claim to know what you feel about this." Her gooddaughter tried to sooth her. "But I will tell you now that no matter what happens today, I will do everything in my power to help you. You sacrificed so much so that I could return home with my children. If not for the love I bear you as my mother's friend and mine, I will repay that debt however I can."
"No, my child." Rhaella turned around, drawing Elia into a hug. "I would never ask that of you. More than my own life, I only ask that if you must intervene, take my children, and raise them well. Take them to the water gardens your mother would always speak of and let them play in the pools."
The two drew away from each other, tear in their eyes which they wiped away with small handkerchiefs.
After touching up potions and creams that the Terras called makeup, Elia bid her goodmother a farewell, exiting the small tent and returning to the Dornish seats waiting for the wedding itself.
"You don't have to say yes you know."
Whatever Rhaella had expected Jane to say, it was not that.
"I'm sorry?"
"This wedding. I know you and the captain agreed and that there will be consequences if you don't go through with it, but I want you to know… You don't have to say yes out there… and I'll protect you and the kids if you do."
Rhaella's mouth was agape. Seeing Jane standing there, she looked nervous in a way that the former queen had never seen. Not even when she had confronted Jane on her part in Rhaegar and Aerys' deaths had she seemed as concerned as she was now.
Perhaps it was the indignity of being told she had a choice now, when it was far too late to do anything, or maybe it was the lingering resentment from her friend's vital role in the death of her son. Either way, her lips curled into something resembling a snarl.
"Protect me? Like you did when your lord first proposed this marriage? You told me once that for you and your 'spartans' disobedience was all but treason. Now you tell me this? What? Will you spirit Viserys and Daenerys and myself from here as you kidnapped us from the Red Keep?"
Jane's jaw clenched, but Rhaella continued on.
"I hate you. I do. I truly hate you, Jane. You killed my son. He was wrong, and he did things I was shamed by, but he was my son. I carried him and held him and loved him until the day he died. You might not have struck the blow yourself, but Ambrose said it himself that it was your plan.
The only thing I hate more than you, than your lord who will be my new husband, is that I do not hate you. You were my friend, and have been my friend since then. You killed Rhaegar, but Viserys loves you. He adores your attention and with the time he has spent with you I have seen more and more of the ill features of Aerys leave him. I am thankful to you for all that you have done for me, despite what you have taken from me, but do not pretend that you will disobey him for me. I'd rather cruel truth than that false kindness."
Jane opened her mouth, perhaps to respond, but a sound chimed from her wrist and she looked down.
"The captain would like a word before the ceremony."
Rhaella nodded, keeping silent. Jane exited the tent, and within another minute, Lord Kurt entered. He was dressed in a white ensemble, which contrasted well with his darker skin. On his chest were an assortment of coloured ribbons and other decorations that she did not know the meanings of. Layered his shoulders, golden stripes that complemented well with the rest of the white were sewen in. His black hair was closely cropped and it looked like he had shaved within the last hour as his face was perfectly smooth.
"Rhaella."
"Lord Kurt."
"Just Kurt, we are about to get married. I'd prefer it if we could be more informal with each other."
The skin of her arms, hidden under the longer sleaves of her dress began to pimple again, causing her to rub the affected areas to loosen them.
"Why are you here my lor- Kurt."
"I wanted to talk to you before we go out there."
"What is there to speak of? We will be wed. My children will be safe and you will have all the authority and legitimacy that marrying a queen entails."
"We will." Kurt nodded. "I suppose that this is me trying to make up for some things."
He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, gesturing to the other, more plush chair at her vanity. Rhaella turned the chair and sat down.
"I wanted to speak to you about what you want. You've done what my people and I have asked for some time now, about a year in fact, but in that time, I haven't spoken much about what you wanted outside of your family's safety.
I guess that that's my fault. I've been so focused on securing our position here and enabling us to make the most of a bad situation, I've gone and dropped a worse one in your lap. I know that our deal was purely transactional, and there aren't many stipulations in regards to what we will do after this wedding, but I wanted to ask you what you want after the wedding. What do you want to do with your life after this?"
She felt numb. How long had it been since someone had asked her that? What she wanted? Not some vapid choice like food or clothing or preference in wines. Could she even recall the last time someone had asked her for her opinion on something of substance?
Lord Kurt had demanded things from her from the moment he had gained authority over her, he had manipulated her with Jane's friendship and pressured her with the fates of her family. His request now should ring hollow. She hated him. She had said as much to Jane.
"I… I don't know."
"That's alright. Most people don't have answers to those kinds of questions on the spot. I just wanted to ask, and to let you know you can think on it. I just want you to know I'll try my best… It's the least I can do after everything."
Rhaella chewed on her bottom lip, smudging her lipstick which she would now have to fix.
"I'll leave you to whatever else you need to do. We'll be going down the aisle in an hour."
"Wait."
Kurt stopped, turning back to her.
"What… what am I allowed to want?"
Rhaella's breath came out a shuddering half sob.
"What… what can I have? What can I do with my life now? I… I don't know what else there can be for me."
Kurt looked at her for a moment.
"Would you like to learn to drive?"
"What?"
The question threw Rhaella off.
"Drive our vehicles. I don't know if it will be to your liking, but there's no reason you couldn't try. I can have an instructor assigned to teach you. Jane could, or even me if you'd prefer."
She was shocked.
"You… you would trust me with such knowledge?"
"I don't see any reason why I shouldn't. You've been trustworthy so far."
Lord Kurt rose from his seat.
"I can't promise that I can acquiesce to every, or any of the things you want, but I can promise you I will try. I don't know if you think the vows we will say before the alter will be true, given the circumstances, so I'll make the promise here. I will do my best to let you pursue your passions, whatever they might become."
He left her after that, and Rhaella sat numbly in her seat, adjusting her looks to perfection in something of a haze. When one of the servants came to fetch her, she stood and left, still thinking on what her soon to be lord-husband had said.
The wedding was larger than her own, but that was more a function of the limited space of the Red Keep and King's Landing than the grandeur of Lord Ambrose's wedding so Cersei pushed down the small flair of indignation.
In truth she would have preferred her wedding take place at Casterly Rock, where there was more space and a place she remembered as home. The Red Keep had a certain charm to it, built to project power and authority but it was still a small seat compared to the vast reaches of her girlhood home.
At the very least the journey for this wedding had meant she had been able to see it again. They had travelled by land by the gold road until they had reached the Rock, then taken a ship from Lannisport to the Terra port of Doradus. They had not tarried long in her home. Only a week and so too short by moons to be a proper reunion with her family's seat.
At the very least Robert had seemed suitably impressed and complementary of her family's castle. Her husband was a military man, and so more impressed with its defensibility than its beauty, but he showed deference and awe as he should.
In truth, life had not been too terrible since her marriage. She was queen of the Seven Kingdoms, with lords and ladies and knights fawning over her. She was dressed in finery beyond even her status as daughter of the hand and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.
Of course, she had had to dispose of many a gown from the wardrobes of the former queen and princess. Too Dornish and Targaryen by half for her. Why cloak herself in black and bloody red, or reveal herself like some lowborn whore when she could be dressed in the ruby red of her own house's colours, with a splash of gold and black to pay deference to her new husband?
Speaking of the man, he sat beside had in the front row. The other lord paramounts and their own families occupied the rest of the seats each of them with room to spare, unlike the other, lesser lords who filled out the aisles behind them. Robert looked suitably kingly, a rich dark doublet with golden buttons and the crowned stag of his house emboldened neatly on his chest. Their crowns lay on their heads, reminders that although this the wedding of a queen, it was not for the queen.
Up upon the dais was a septon, presiding over the ceremony in accordance with the former queen Rhaella's faith. On each side stood figures of honour, those close to the bride and groom respectively.
They each had only one person present. On Rhaella's side, Cersei tried not to glare as Elia Martell looked over the crowd. Cersei could see the look in her eyes, knew that this fallen princess basked in being so high above her. Elia had lost the battle for the crown, and was taking some small consolation in having this place of honour over her. Not that Cersei would have stood there like the princess, desperately grabbing for any spot of relevance in the wake of her family's diminishment.
On the other side. Lord Kurt stood with his own man. Cersei had seen Franklin Mendez before, always either at his lord's side or barking orders like a master at arms in the training yard. The man was gruff and grizzled, with scars and wrinkles that belied his age but dressed well. His clothes were a pure white, a strange set of clothes, with the only colour being the black buttons and the arrangement of decorations on his chest. Lord Kurt was dressed similarly, but with golden bars on his shoulders and an even greater number of those strange pins on his left breast. Cersei wondered briefly about them, but dismissed it. More than likely it was some form of Terra tradition that she was not privy to.
All of a sudden, music began to play, and Cersei saw that just to the side of the assembled lords, a group of bards played strange instruments. Some resembled fiddles and lyres, but different. They produced nice music, she readily admitted, and made a note to have some sent to King's Landing, alongside men trained to play them.
Heads turned close to her, and she followed suit, seeing the former Queen Rhaella walk down the central divide. Her dress was a rich combination of greens, whites, and golds, with a black dragon sown amongst other decorations along the skirt. Well sown and fluttering in the light breeze, she looked a vision. Even Cersei could admit that she was beautiful. Rumours had long said that whatever beauty the former queen had held had been sapped in her marriage to the mad king. If that was true, then it seemed that with Aerys' death, what he had stolen from his wife had been returned.
Clasped in her hands was a bouquet of flowers. Carnations, clematis and lilies created a spectacular mixture of whites, greens and light yellows. She wore no cloak, which Cersei found odd, but according to one of the guides assigned to answer any questions, Lord Kurt's faith used some form of jewellery rather than the donning of the husband's family's sigil.
As Rhaella climbed the steps up to the alter, the septon looked down at a roll of parchment. Cersei thought she saw the man scowl for a moment, before his expression schooled into one of appropriate cheer.
"Welcome to all. We are gathered here today to witness the union of Lord Kurt Ambrose of House Terra, and Lady Rhaella of House Targaryen, in holy matrimony."
The septon raised his arms, gesturing to both bride and groom.
"We pray today to the seven who are one. That they may bless this union. We pray to the father, to give strength to this man so that he might protect his wife. We pray to the mother, to give love and caring to their marriage and grant them mercy and balm to their hardships.
We pray to the maiden, to give blessings to their union and fill their house with children. We give prayer to the Smith. May his hammer strike true and give aid in building a home that this man and woman may thrive in.
We offer prayer to the warrior, so that he might guard them from all that might harm them. Defend this marriage from intruders, and strike down those who would break apart those joined in the light of the seven. We beg the wisdom of the crone. May her golden lamp illuminate their paths and give light in dark times.
We pray to the seven, so that this marriage may be filled with love and joy, and defended from all things that might harm it."
A decent speech, not nearly as involved as the one at her own wedding to Robert, but serviceable.
"Now, I would implore both bride and groom, exchange your vows of love and supplication, so that all might know the depths of your devotion."
As the septon finished, Lady Rhaella began.
"For my pledge I would speak of love. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Cersei had not heard such a vow before. Typically vows by brides were recited from the books of the mother or maiden, meant to solicit the protections of the gods and of her future husband. Likewise, the groom's own vows could be taken from the books of the father, warrior, or smith; chosen to reciprocate his bride's vows and promise whichever protections her vows requested.
"When the grim fog of bloodshed overtakes us, the beloved is the beacon that returns us to our better selves. Love is a form of fealty that cannot be broken. I promise I will love you with the force of the wave that crashes against the shore and the current that swallows the wave. I promise to protect you, like the stars that burn against the black curtain of night to give light to dark worlds."
As Lord Ambrose finished, Cersei cast a glance at the rest of the lords and ladies in the front rows. The Lords Paramount had remained largely stoic, as was expected in such situations. It would not be proper to be seen overcome with emotion.
Regardless of that, she was sure she could hear sniffling and tears from behind her. Cersei repressed the urge to roll her eyes. A few pretty words might send lesser men and women swooning, but she was the daughter of Tywin and Joanna Lannister. She had seen true love in her parents, and her own bond with Jaime. This pretty declaration did little to distract from the fact that Rhaella's husband had killed her son, her husband, and her dynasty.
"In accordance with the customs of his lordship, the bride and groom shall exchange rings.
Lord Kurt, please place your ring upon Lady Rhaella and declare your intent."
Lord Kurt turned, taking something from Ser Mendez, obviously the ring the septon spoke of. Rhaella extended her hand, which Lord Kurt took in his own.
"With this ring, I pledge that I will endeavour to treat you with all respect and love."
The ring slid onto her finger, though it was difficult to see exactly from her seat.
"And now. Lady Rhaella, please place your own ring upon Lord Kurt, and declare your intent."
There was a murmuring suddenly amongst the audience. Rings instead of cloaks was odd, but acceptable given that House Terra was known for their strange traditions, but for a wife to take part in such a ceremony was truly odd. Still, Rhaella took a ring from Elia Martell, and with the same hand that held her own ring, slid the other onto Lord Kurt's much larger hand.
"With this ring, I pledge that I will give you a chance."
She looked up from their joined hands.
"And I would very much like to learn to drive."
The septon cleared his throat, bringing attention back to him and away from the odd spectacle.
"Your vows and prayers are heard. The bride and groom may now kiss."
Lord Kurt and Lady Rhaella came together quickly. Quickly was the best way to describe it. Their kiss was chaste and speedy, barely a touch. They spoke the final words of the ceremony quickly too, taking each other as lord and lady and husband and wife and turning to their officiant.
The septon looked between them, and then out towards the guests.
"With this, I declare that Lord Kurt Ambrose of House Terra and Lady Rhaella of House Targaryen are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
As he finished the last word, a round of applause erupted. The Westerlands were of course the loudest, but even the savage Ironborn clapped politely as the ceremony concluded.
As husband and wife stepped down from the alter, servants ushered the rest of the guests to tables. Food was brought out quickly, lavish spreads were laid and wine flowed freely.
Cersei joined her kingly husband and the rest of the high lords at the head table, set up to view the rest of the event with a grand view. The new Lord and Lady Terra sat at the centre, with Robert and herself to their right, and her father to his left.
"An impressive ceremony Lord Terra." Doran Martell spoke up as the first courses were being served.
The prince of Dorne was seated in a wheeled chair, as he had been at the ceremony itself, and his feet were wrapped in white bandages. Cersei had heard rumours of the man enfeeblement by gout, but seeing it was something else.
"Thank you." Lord Kurt nodded. "But you should direct your praise to Rhaella and your sister. Most of the planning was done by them."
Cersei cast a glance at the Dornish princess, who was seated between her two brothers. Further on, Prince Oberyn was casting glances at a group just off of the main table. They were dressed similarly to Lord Kurt and Ser Mendez, pure white and free of dirt or blemishes.
"Captain." Lady Jane approached, interrupting the conversation. "Alpha, Beta and Gamma companies are ready."
"Jane." Lord Kurt looked concerned. "Are you sure? Normally this is done only during spartan graduation… and if we ever lose anyone."
"Lady Rhaella isn't a spartan sir, but you are and she is joining us to a certain degree."
"If you're sure. I won't order this if there are objections."
"We're unanimous in this sir."
"Very well, proceed."
Lady Jane walked off, prompting the rest of the high table to turn to the lord.
"And what was all that?" Robert asked, finishing a goblet of wine.
"It's a tradition." Lord Kurt replied. "Meant for graduations and funerals. When my first spartans were completing their training, they decided on a ritual; a hymn to recite for luck."
"But one meant for funerals?" Lord Rickard asked. "Rather ominous then that they should request to present it at a wedding."
"Maybe, but they believe it's appropriate, and it's an important ritual. If they want to recite it, I won't deny them."
"Aye, I say let them." Robert laughed. "After all, who would deny a hymn of luck on a wedding day, no matter where it comes from?"
"Indeed." Cersei smiled congenially. "Such a lovely ceremony, why not complete it with a show from the famous spartans."
Cersei sat back in her seat, spearing a sample of roasted boar with her golden fork. The feast had been the highlight of the day, outshining both the ceremony and the prior vendors. Cersei had been largely bored during the earlier festivities. Some were interesting enough, but it seemed that Lord Terra had decided to keep the entertainments simple so as not to draw comparisons to the royal nuptials earlier in the year.
Already Cersei knew from her handmaidens and servants that lords and ladies alike whispered of the relative modesty of wedding. Some claimed that House Terra's finances were beleaguered by their defiance of House Lannister and invasion of the east. Others pointed to the massive seat of Platea and the new port of Doradus and claimed that the house had spent their wealth on those. Cersei was more inclined to believe the first of those ideas. After all, she had been near as wroth as her father surely was when Lord Terra had convinced Robert to sanction their taking of Myr, Tyrosh and Lys.
That disagreement had been one of the few quarrels between her and her new husband. Robert had until then been largely genial. He engaged her on her interests and carried conversations well enough. He enjoyed action more than words and so much of the courtly appearances they had made since their coronation had been on hunts or with him freshly scrubbed from the training yard.
Cersei was fairly sure that Robert was doing this to prevent another fiasco like what had happened with Lyanna Stark, and had almost rolled her eyes had propriety deemed such an act uncouth. She was not some wild, simpering northern chit, flinging her dignity into the mud to be a mistress of an obviously mad prince. She was a proud Lannister, and Lannisters knew how to act.
Cersei had stood tall and proud when she had married Robert and done her duty in taking her husband to bed. Granted, if had felt a mite like betrayal to let another man inside her rather than Jaime but father had instilled in them the need to sacrifice for the family. Robert had treated her surprisingly gently, considering his reputation for whoring, but it was not unpleasant or unwelcomed. In fact, as evidenced by the growing of her belly, their copulation had been suitably vigorous and fruitful, and the realm would soon look forwards to the birth of the new dynasty's first heir.
The meal was halted as the assembly of spartans approached. The group intrigued her. They were a range of ages, she was sure, but all seemed timeless, as if age both did and did not touch them. The youngest she guessed were only slightly younger than she was, and the oldest seemed to be no older than thirty years. They numbered about twenty in all, and stood arrayed around the head table, backs to the rest of the guests.
At their approach, many of the other tables had fallen silent, turning their attention as the spartans assumed position. Together they stood at attention, and five of the assembled group began to hum a sombre tune.
Quickly another five added their own voices, a different beat, but complementary to the first set.
The sound of their hymn drew even more attention than their presence, and before long much of the vicinity grew silent as the guests paused in their revelry.
"Old man came from hunting faint and weary
What does ail my sons, my dearies?
Oh, daughters dear, let thy beds be made
For you'll feel the gripe of the woody nightshade-"
The final member of the group of eleven began to sing, if it could be called singing. It was a low, almost mournful pitch that Cersei could certainly believe was meant for funerals or other equally sorrowful events.
"Many a man would die as soon
Out of the light of the Onyx moon
But it's not by bone, nor yet by blade
Can stand the magic that the mages made
And it's not by fire, but was forged in flame
Can drown the sorrows of a Spartan's pain "
All around them, the doleful humming continued, as the singer paused. Two such hummers paused and produced a dreadful sound from their throats. The two groups of five soon broke up into five groups of two, each adding more range. Cersei was not sure how, but the song filled her heart with fear, and she gripped her knife so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"These young ones they strived fair soon
By the light of a Spartan's moon
'Twas not by bone, nor yet by blade
But of the berries of the woody nightshade
Oh Children dear lie and be saved
From the path that the devil paved"
Finally, the song ended, and the woeful sounds were snuffed out as the spartans breathed the last bars of that dreadful tune. She felt her finger unclench slowly from her cutlery, the knife and fork almost clattering to the table when she managed to pry her hands open by force of will.
All around assembled spartans, from the high table to the lesser lords seated below, there was an eerie silence. Few seemed unaffected. Lord Rickard gripped his chair firmly, but otherwise sat stoically. Her father's jaw was clenched but he had retained his composure. Robert's face had morphed into one of sorrow, but not fear as she could see in the eyes of many below them.
The sound of a chair scrapping back drew attention to Lord Kurt and his new wife. He stood tall, and quickly descended from the dais to his spartans. Standing before them, he offered what Cersei assumed was some sort salute. He looked almost about to embrace them, and she could not for the life of her understand why. Their terrible ritual had no doubt dampened the mood. Who would be able to celebrate properly with that awful feeling of dread festering in their guts.
"A warrior's lament." Robert said, in a rare display of that made him look almost sagely.
"Aye." Lord Rickard. "Sorrowful yes, but hopeful as well."
"It was… mournful." Eddard Stark added. "You say this is for a 'graduation' of your spartan."
Lord Terra had returned to the high table by that point, looking with pride as his spartans filled out of the area and off to their own tables.
"Yes. It was during Alpha company's graduation. Their trainers were members of what we called ODSTs, and they have a funeral hymn of their own. Alpha took some inspirations, but beyond that, it was all their own."
"The old man in the hymn." Rhaella began, looking between the spartans and her husband.
"It is you, isn't it. You called them your children before, by adoption. They are the children and you the father. Are you not?"
Lord Kurt looked off into the distance, a wistful, almost guilty look on his face.
"I'd rather not talk about it. It's… complicated."
That intrigued Cersei. The daughter of Tywin Lannister had not been raised to ignore such signs of weakness, and this was one of the first she had ever heard of the Lord Terra having. She would need to look into this.
The feast continued after that, regaining much of its joviality and cheer, but it seemed to Cersei that it never lost that strange undertone of mourning that came in the aftermath of the hymn. Lord Kurt seemed offput for a good while, a change in attitude noticed by all. The princes of Dorne especially seemed interested in the change, and Prince Oberyn remarked on it more than once, only to be silenced by his sister.
As deserts were served at the end of a seven course meal, a string of delicacies that culminated in the rich brown 'chocolates' that the Terras seemed the only source of, Cersei lounged in the feelings of good food filling her stomach, the babe beneath her heart being calm and contented, and the knowledge that none would remember this wedding as greater than her own. Particularly none would remember it without the bitter taste of the spartan's display to dampen any positive notions.
All things considered, Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was more than pleased with everything had occurred.
Oh my god this is finished. Kurt and Rhaella are finally married, and it only took like twenty chapters. Does that count as slow burn? I mean, it's not love and it hasn't been the whole story so there is that. Honestly this would have been finished a month ago if I could actually find a place to stop. I though I'd stop and Rhaella but the wedding hadn't happened yet and then the short bit with Cersei turned into the whole ass wedding ceremony and reception. Hope having it be in her pov didn't detract from the event itself. I might do a multi-pov for the wedding but that's a maybe.
Now on to the Hymn. There's actually a lot of in and out of universe history to this. I said I would use it and here it is. This hymn is based off the lyrics for the song 'The Devil and the Huntsman' which is from the soundtrack for the movie 'King Arthur: Legend of the sword'. Now here is the out of universe history. Back in 2008, when Halo 3: ODST was being released, there was a trailer called 'The Life' and featured a song called 'Light of Aiden'. The Halo community loved it and spent almost a decade trying to get the song without the audio from the trailer but couldn't, so most versions of the song had some muted gunfire or shouting so you couldn't listen to it on its own. Then, in 2017 the movie 'King Arthur: Legend of the Sword' came out and one of the songs was called 'The Politics and the Life'.
It was the song.
IT WAS THE GODDAMNED SONG FROM THE ODST TRAILER!
Then I listened to 'The Devil and the Huntsmen' and thought 'wow with a few word changes this would work for the Spartan IIIs'. So that's how the Hymn was born.
Also, Rhaella's vow to Kurt is the passage from 1 Corinthians. I'm not religious, but even I can admit that that verse is beautiful. Kurt's is actually taken from the Marvel X of Swords event, so you can tell even more that I'm a huge fucking nerd.