From Winter to Summer and Winter Again 4

Part 13

The Twins' coldness halted during the celebrations. The Northmen ironically brought life and warmth into the depressing castles. With each celebratory shout came a clash of a drink, a slap to the face, or a silly eruption of a brawl. Music blared in favor of their culture, all for the marriage and for the union between the King in the North and House Frey. 

Edmure Tully's vanity was pleased with the sight of his young bride. Roslyn Frey was beautiful, her looks contrasting against the harsh features of her sisters and nieces. He dotted upon her quickly, proudly offering her his House cloak. His vows appeared genuine because of his narcissistic fascination with his new wife. Edmure furthered his off affection by feeding her fruits and cakes at their marriage table. Roslyn would giggle in his attention, blushing at every whisper to her ear. 

Rhaenyra shifted beside Robb on a shared bench, scratching her nails against her belly. She wore Catelyn's dress which snuggly fit against her belly awkwardly. She refused to tie the strings at her back in fear of suffocation, she insisted her belly was large enough to hold the fabric up. Rhaenyra had thrown Robb's cloak over her shoulders to hide the untied strings in attempts to appear decent. On her head, sat her odd tiara.

"We weren't that awful were we?" Her eyes remained on the newlyweds at the high table. The sight of Roslyn feeding Edmure grapes sickened her, their affection being too sweet. 

Robb nearly choked on his wine at her question. "Gods no." He lifted his fork to strike it into his pigeon pie, "Now we are." Rhaenyra laughed as he led the fork to her mouth, she obliged to humor him. Her eyes shifted passed her husband to see Catelyn and her father at the adjacent table. 

Rhaenyra pushed Robb's hand away, "Should we go save her?"  

Robb turned, "No, she can handle him." He reached for his filled goblet, drinking the wine in one swift swig. He looked toward the musicians in the hall's balcony, smiling as their song fastened. Robb wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders to lean her against him, "A bear there was, a bear, a bear," Rhaenyra giggled as he whispered to her. "All black and brown, and covered with hair!" He sloppily kissed her against her cheek. She squirmed trying to push his arm away. "Fancy a dance, love?" 

Rhaenyra shook her head. "No, or at least not to this song." Robb laughed lowly, kissing her cheek once more. She pushed at his face, not enjoying the scratch of his beard. "When do you think we can go? Your child tires me." He rolled his eyes before leaning his face toward her once more, her hand pressed to his lips before he could kiss her again. "You're so silly," her hand pushed through the edges of his curls, mindful of the crown atop his head. Robb closed his eyes at her touch. The two turned as a scream tore through the hall, Edmure whipped the high table with his napkin. Wine leaked to the floor while Rosyln giggled at her husband's awkward movements.  "The gods love to reward a fool."

Robb laughed, "Aye." He dropped his arm to her waist, bringing her closer to him on their shared bench. Rhaenyra reached for his free hand, guiding it to their kicking child. 

"Robb?" His fingers spread against her as their eyes met. "I love you." 

"And I you." Rhaenyra brought his hand to her lips, "I cannot picture myself without you." He smiled at her, gripping her hand. "But," his voice carried in a pitched tone. She quickly dropped his hand before striking his chest in a light slap. "Hitting your king is an act of treason." Rhaenyra brought her hand to his neck, roughly bringing his mouth to hers. 

The two were interrupted by Walder Frey's coarse voice. "Your grace." They pulled away blushing, eyes never separating as Robb stood from their table. "The Septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said and Lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak. But they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath." Cheers filled the room along with clattering silverware and plates. Rhaenyra placed her head in hands, remembering the embarrassment of her own bedding ceremony. She briefly thought of her stepmother, locked away at Herranhal who suffered the same fate. "A wedding needs a bedding!" Robb walked forward, "What do you say, sire?"