Chapter 11

"What do you think?" Drin asked gently.

Larra hesitated, her fear evident, but she nodded. "If… if you think this is the best thing to do, I'll trust you, my lady," she said softly.

Drin's heart ached at her maid's distress, but she knew they had no better options.

"This needs to be handled delicately," Drin said, keeping her tone calm and steady. "I will speak with Lord Snow, but if anything feels wrong, we'll come up with another plan. Alright?"

Larra nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for everything, my lady."

"You're welcome. We'll get through this," Drin replied, her words meant to reassure them both.

She had hoped to speak with Jon Snow the previous evening, but he had left the Great Hall before she had the chance. Now, with her wedding just hours away, time was running out. The sun was just rising, and she hoped to catch him before the morning meal. Thanks to the tour Robb had given her the day before, she knew where Jon's bedchamber was.

"Alright," Drin said with a steadying breath, offering Larra a reassuring smile. "Let's go."

The long corridors of Winterfell were beginning to stir with activity as they made their way to Jon's room. They waited near his door for a while before he finally emerged.

"Lord Snow," Drin called softly, her smile carefully polite. "Good morning."

Jon turned to them, his brow lifting slightly. "Good morning, my lady. Larra."

"Good morning, my lord," Larra murmured, lowering her gaze.

Drin hesitated for a fraction of a second before gathering her courage. "May I have a word with you, my lord? Privately, if possible?"

Jon regarded Drin with a flicker of curiosity before nodding. "Of course. This way." He gestured toward a quieter section of the corridor. Larra followed them, keeping a short distance.

Once they were out of earshot, Jon turned to face her, his expression measured. "How can I assist you, my lady?"

Drin clasped her hands in front of her to steady herself. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, my lord. What I'm about to ask of you is… unorthodox, and I hope you will hear me out before deciding."

Jon's brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Go on."

She took a steadying breath. "It concerns Larra. She is dear to me, and I fear for her safety tonight."

Jon tilted his head, his gaze sharpening with interest. "What kind of danger does she face?"

Drin hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "There is… someone who has taken an interest in her. A dangerous kind of interest."

Jon's expression darkened as her words sank in. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice quiet but firm. "I will inform Robb and Lord Stark. They will make sure this person doesn't bother your maid again."

"I am afraid things are a little more complicated, my lord," Drin replied, praying she wasn't making a mistake. "These kinds of matters can be… delicate. Not all nobles value the life of a servant."

Jon shook his head firmly. "Larra is your maid, my lady, and you will be my brother's wife. No one has the right to lay a hand on her."

Drin fell silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I wish that were true, my lord," she said quietly. "But this world is cruel, especially to women." She paused, carefully choosing her next words. "I have been told that you are an honorable man. A man who wouldn't mistreat a woman, whether she is a servant or not. That is why I dare to ask for your help. I am asking you to stay by Larra's side tonight, if you don't feel that is beneath you."

Jon regarded Drin, his frown deepening as he processed her request. "You're asking me to stay with her? To protect her?"

"Yes," Drin said, her voice steady but soft. "I know it's an unusual request, and I wouldn't make it lightly. But I trust your honor, my lord. Larra's life may depend on someone like you, someone who values her humanity over her station."

Jon's arms relaxed slightly, though his expression remained serious. "You believe this person would dare harm her in Winterfell, under Lord Stark's roof?"

Drin hesitated before responding, her gaze steady. "I know he would. He thrives on the fear and helplessness of others. Larra… is his target tonight, and I cannot be there to shield her."

Jon's jaw tightened, the tension in his stance betraying his growing anger. "And this person… He's someone of high rank, isn't he?"

Drin's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't answer directly, but her silence spoke volumes.

Jon exhaled slowly, a mixture of frustration and determination crossing his face. "This man will regret it if he tries anything."

A flicker of relief crossed Drin's face, though she kept her composure. "You have my deepest gratitude, Lord Snow. If you agree, I will instruct Larra to keep close to you throughout the night."

Jon nodded, his tone firm. "I'll make sure she's safe. But if he approaches her, I won't stay silent about it."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Drin assured. "But discretion is important. Confronting him publicly may bring more harm than good."

Jon's gaze flicked briefly toward Larra, who was watching them nervously from her position nearby. "I'll protect her. You have my word."

Drin inclined her head, a genuine smile of gratitude softening her features. "Thank you, my lord. You are kinder than most. I will not forget this."

Jon returned her look with a quiet nod, his demeanor resolute. As Drin walked back to Larra, she felt a faint sense of relief amidst the storm of worry. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best she could hope for.

Robb stared at his bride as she approached, arm in arm with her father. She looked exquisite, her gown flowing softly around her as she walked, illuminated by the lanterns lighting the path to the heart tree. He didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful. When she looked up and gave him a warm smile, it felt as though the rest of the world faded away.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Ned's steady voice carried through the stillness.

"Drin of the House Bolton comes here to be wed," Roose replied, his tone measured. "A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Robb stepped forward, his gaze locked on Drin.

"Robb of the House Stark. Who gives her?"

"Roose of the House Bolton."

Lord Bolton paused, then handed Drin to Robb. The moment their hands met, Robb noticed the faintest quiver in her fingers. Her serene smile didn't falter, but he felt the nerves behind it. Squeezing her hands gently, he gave her a reassuring smile.

"Drin, do you take this man?" Ned asked solemnly.

"I take this man," she replied, her voice soft but unwavering.

Both she and Robb bowed their heads as Ned called upon the Old Gods to bless their union. The ceremony was brief, intimate, with only a few witnesses: Ned, Lord Bolton, Catelyn, and Maester Luwin. The rest of the guests awaited them in the Great Hall.

As they turned to head back to Winterfell, Robb leaned toward his newlywed wife, his voice low and filled with concern. "Are you alright? You're not cold, are you?"

Her smile widened slightly, her hand still resting in his. "I am fine, my lord, thank you."

"Robb," he corrected gently. "I'm your husband now."

"Of course, Robb," she said, her tone warm and respectful. "I am honored to be your wife."

When they entered the Great Hall, it erupted into cheers, the warmth and jubilation of the gathering washing over them like a tide.

As the cheers rang out in the Great Hall, Robb led Drin to the high table, his hand resting lightly over hers. The hall was alive with laughter, the clinking of goblets, and the warm glow of the firelight reflecting off polished metal and vibrant banners. Drin carried herself with poise, her serene expression never faltering despite the attention fixed on her.

Once seated, Robb leaned closer to her, his voice quiet so only she could hear. "You've impressed them already. They can't stop staring."

Drin glanced around subtly, noticing the approving, curious, and speculative looks directed their way. "The Starks are beloved in the North," she replied softly. "They're likely wondering if I am worthy of you."

Robb's lips curved into a faint smile. "If they don't know yet, they will soon."

Before Drin could reply, Theon stood and raised his goblet, his characteristic grin in place. "A toast!" he called, his voice carrying easily over the chatter. The hall quieted as all eyes turned to him. "To the bride and groom. May your union bring strength to Winterfell and blessings to the North!" He smirked mischievously. "And perhaps a few little wolves running about soon."

The hall erupted into laughter and applause. Drin inclined her head graciously as the toast ended, reaching for her goblet. Robb, noticing her faint blush, chuckled softly.

"They mean well," he assured her.

"I know," she replied with a slight smile, raising her goblet to him. "To us, then?"

"To us," he agreed, clinking his goblet lightly against hers.

As the feast progressed, Drin focused on her task of observing and engaging with Robb's family and key bannermen. Lady Stark was the picture of grace, occasionally offering Drin an encouraging smile. Arya, however, seemed restless, picking at her food and glaring at Sansa, who was deep in conversation with a group of young noblewomen.

Ramsay sat with the sons of a few bannermen, his gaze frequently drifting toward Drin. Each time their eyes met, he wore the same amused, predatory smile. It was a silent taunt, a game he enjoyed far too much, likely hoping she would falter in front of everyone. But Drin was determined, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Is that your maid sitting with Jon?" Robb's voice cut through her thoughts, his tone laced with curiosity.

Drin turned to him quickly, her mind already prepared with the explanation she had rehearsed. "Yes," she replied smoothly. "As I mentioned, Larra is to become my handmaiden, and I thought this would be a good learning opportunity for her. Lord Snow was kind enough to escort her this evening."

She paused, bowing her head slightly in a gesture of respect. "Forgive me, my lord… Robb, I should have sought your approval beforehand."

Robb studied her for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly, but his expression softened as he nodded. "There's no need to apologize. If Jon agreed, then I see no harm. He's always been the responsible sort."

Drin allowed herself a small sigh of relief, though her exterior remained composed. "Thank you for understanding, Robb. Larra is…not accustomed to such gatherings, and I thought her presence here might help her adjust."

Robb gave a faint smile, his gaze flicking toward Jon and Larra. "Jon's a good choice. He's steady, and he'll make sure no one troubles her."

Drin followed his gaze briefly, her heart easing at the thought that Larra wouldn't be alone tonight.

"That was kind of him," Robb added, his voice thoughtful. "Jon doesn't always seem comfortable at these feasts either, but he always does what's right."

Drin's smile deepened slightly. "That speaks well of his character."

Robb turned his attention back to her, his eyes warm. "It does. And I'd say it speaks well of yours that you're so mindful of your maid. Not all would take such care."

Drin inclined her head. "Thank you, Robb. I simply believe in protecting those who are loyal to me."

Their exchange was interrupted by the clanging of a goblet against a table, signaling the start of the next toast. Lord Umber stood, his booming voice calling for attention as he began a bawdy yet good-natured speech about the joys of marriage. The hall erupted into laughter again, and Drin allowed herself to relax, grateful that Robb had accepted her explanation.

As the feast continued, Drin couldn't help but remain acutely aware of Ramsay's occasional glances. His smirk was a cruel reminder of the danger that lingered despite the festive atmosphere.

Meanwhile, across the hall, Jon was struggling to find the right words to say to the frightened girl sitting beside him. Her head was bowed, and her hands twitched nervously in her lap. Words had never been his strength, but he felt compelled to say something. He had seen her fear in the woods, but now she seemed on the verge of breaking. Whoever the man threatening her was, he clearly terrified her.

"Perhaps you should try to eat something," Jon said, his voice calm and steady.

"Thank you, my lord, but I couldn't," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "A maid isn't allowed to touch the food of the nobles."

Jon frowned slightly at her response, his eyes softening with concern. "That's not true here," he said gently. "No one will mind."

Larra hesitated, glancing nervously at the table laden with food. Her hands twisted in her lap, betraying her inner turmoil. "I don't want to bring shame to you or Lady Drin, my lord," she whispered.

Jon shook his head, his tone firm but not unkind. "You won't. I'm sure Lady Drin would want you to eat, just as she wants you to be safe."

Larra's eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and uncertain. "Are…are you certain, my lord?"

"I am," Jon replied without hesitation. "No one will harm you while I'm here. You have my word."

Larra seemed to relax just slightly at his words, though the fear in her expression didn't entirely fade. "Thank you, my lord," she murmured. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she reached for a small piece of bread, her hands trembling.

Jon watched her carefully, his sense of protectiveness growing. Whoever had put this kind of fear into her didn't deserve the mercy of the Old Gods or the Seven. For now, though, he needed to reassure her and keep her calm.

"Good," he said softly, as she nibbled at the bread. "You'll feel better with something in your stomach."

Larra gave him a timid nod, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. Jon allowed himself a faint smile, though his thoughts remained grim. Whatever was happening here, he would see to it that no harm came to this girl.