Things weren't terrible, Sansa supposed. Her treatment had notably improved once Tywin Lannister had arrived in King's Landing, but that didn't take much. Somehow, the place seemed even less inviting with him around. Shae seemed colder as well, and with Tyrion off on his duties, there were often long stretches where Sansa was completely on her own.
And she hated it.
She didn't need her hand held through everything, to be sure, but just having someone to talk to would help. She was in an enemy city as a hostage, and might be taken out and beheaded at any moment. She was surprised she hadn't been executed after her abortive attempt at throwing Joffrey off the Red Keep, but she supposed she had the Hound to thank for that. He'd stopped her from making what was, with hindsight, a terrible decision.
Regardless of whatever kindness that Lord Tyrion and the Hound showed her, that didn't erase the fact that she was often alone. Especially now since the Tyrells had essentially cut all ties to her since her forced marriage into the Lannister family. Sansa had never really known loneliness before. In Winterfell, she had Jeyne Poole around her most of the day, the sound of Robb and Jon clashing training swords in the courtyard, of Arya complaining that she wanted to learn how to swordfight.
What she wouldn't give for any of that right now. She just wanted to hug all of them, even Arya. She desperately wanted to see Winterfell again. Failing that, she just wanted to talk to someone who understood how she felt. Someone who actually paid attention to who she was instead of just being after her for her name. Of course, there were things going on in her head as well; how she was never going to survive King's Landing or that she would be taken to the chopping block as soon as there was no longer a use for her.
She'd had the thought more than once. The thought that she would be better off if she were to meet death at her own hands, instead of the Lannisters'. She had thought about starving herself, but there was no way Tywin would let her even try, and she had little doubt that Meryn Trant would force-feed her if ordered to do so. Her next thought had been to throw herself from the walls, but they would be too heavily patrolled.
Her only option was the letter opener that was left on her table. Well, her and Tyrion's table. He left it here often enough. Maybe she could dismiss Shae for a short time while Tyrion was attending to his duties. If she was fast enough, she might be able to slip the blade across her throat and-
"Are you alright, My Lady?" She heard a voice say. She sighed, realising it was Tyrion.
"Yes, My Lord."
"I'm finished with my work for the day. I was thinking that we might take a walk through the gardens before dinner." He offered. It seemed sincere, and he had been nothing but kind to her since their wedding day.
"I think that would be enjoyable, My Lord." She replied before calling for Shae.
Her plans would have to be postponed, but she wouldn't forget them anytime soon. She tried to rationalise the whole thing in her head. It would be better that way. Perhaps her suffering would end, and it would rob the Lannisters of a measure of authority. Perhaps that would give Steffon and Robb the time they needed to finish the war.
And then the entire Lannister family would follow her into the abyss.
She would have to write a letter asking them for clemency for Tyrion. The Hound too. It was only right that she helped them in return for helping her. Steffon would prevent Robb from any hasty revenge.
King Steffon, she thought. He is and always will be my true king.
Once upon a time, Steffon thought that it would be some time for him to be married. For that matter, he had thought at one point that he was going to be married to Margaery while Joffrey married Sansa Stark. It was only logical; binding the most powerful houses in the south and North to the crown made sense, and would ensure that almost every house would have a vested interest in keeping his father on the Iron Throne. Since then however, things had changed, quite dramatically.
It had been decided that there would be two ceremonies held, in order to honour their homelands. That was why he found himself making his way through the Godswood of Riverrun to the heart tree. Much like the other Godswoods, the place had become primarily a garden, stacked with redwoods and elms, and full of birds that were suspiciously quiet this evening. Steffon got the impression that they might be watching as well.
A small guard of honour had formed, lining the way to the heart tree. Edmure and Brynden Tully were there, as were some of the Northern lords. Even Waldron was there, arming sword at his hip and for once, a small smile on his face. It seemed that without Edric around, Waldron was a far more pleasant person.
Soon enough, he was standing before the heart tree. The white trees with ghostly faces had always frightened him as a child, and even now, they still gave him an uneasy feeling. Like he was being watched by some external force.
Robb was waiting for him of course, none too pleased with the whole affair. Still, any conversation between the two was cut short as Arya and Catelyn appeared.
Arya was beautiful. She was wearing a hastily-found grey dress with a small white direwolf embroidered on the chest, and though the whole thing had been put together far too quickly for any sort of elaborate design, that didn't matter. Steffon found himself wishing that she would wear dresses more often; despite her professed dislike of them, she always looked gorgeous in them.
"Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?" Robb bellowed, beginning the short ceremony that the Starks' faith demanded.
"Arya, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed." Catelyn replied. Steffon swore he could see Arya's eyes roll. "A woman, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
Steffon stepped forward. "Steffon, of the House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Who gives her?" He asked. He had been educated in that part of the ceremony by Lady Catelyn.
"Catelyn, of Houses Stark and Tully, her mother." Lady Catelyn said.
"Lady Arya, do you take this man?" Robb asked.
Arya nodded earnestly. "I take this man."
And that was it. Steffon and Arya shared a brief kiss, but other than that, the Old Gods ceremony was complete. Now, they just had to marry in the Sept.
Their small honour guard gathered around them to escort them to the Sept, which had the banners of the three houses hanging from the ceiling as they entered. Evidently it would be some time before they started using Steffon's personal sigil.
The Septon was awaiting them at the far end, near the shrine. Images of the Seven had been painted on marble, as the stained-glass windows gave the impression of a rainbow of light dancing across the room. Both Steffon and Arya hurriedly draped their houses' respective cloaks over them as they made their way up to the Septon. Again, Steffon found himself cursing the hurried nature of the ceremony. He had wanted to marry Arya in the Great Sept of Baelor. With all the details of a proper wedding. Alas, they had to settle for this.
It wasn't the worst thing in the world though, he had to admit. Despite the hasty nature of the affair, it could be going a lot worse.
Eventually the Septon reached the end of his brief address. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
Steffon nodded, removing the direwolf cloak from Arya's shoulder, before placing his own cloak on her. Much as he did find the full wedding protocol tedious, there was still the importance of the whole thing to consider. Regardless, it was clear as day that Arya was now a part of House Baratheon, as she stood before him, with the cloak bearing the crowned stag prancing on a field of gold draped over her shoulders as they joined hands.
The two smiled at one another as the Septon proceeded."Let it be known that Steffon of the House Baratheon, and Arya of the House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul." He tied the silk ribbon in a loose knot around their hands. "Cursed be he who would tear them asunder. In the light of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."
He untied the ribbon and smiled at both of them. "Look upon each other and say the words."
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his/hers, and he/she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days." The two recited. They'd managed to get some slight practice in before the ceremony, thank the Gods.
With the vows finally done, Steffon smiled. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." He leaned forward and kissed Arya deeply. They'd done it a hundred times before, but there was just something . . . magical about this one. Like both of them had poured all their feelings into this one kiss. Much to their regret though, they had to break apart before it started to get awkward.
Looking out over the small audience, he could see that for once, everyone around him seemed to be happy.
Even Robb and Catelyn seemingly couldn't contain their grins.
She did have to give her brother some credit, she supposed. Edmure had been informed that the wedding was happening just hours after it was decided three days ago, and he had done what he could to prepare Riverrun for the occasion. The food wasn't over the top; Edmure had given a good amount of the castle's larder out to refugees who sought shelter within its walls. Not the smartest strategic decision ever, truth be told, but her brother was always a caring man. It had bitten him in the backside early in the war; when the Mountain was raiding villages, Edmure's instinct was to split up his forces to defend as many as possible. Admirable, but foolish.
Her train of thought was broken by a loud cheer as she saw the bride and groom enter the great hall of Riverrun. Arya was actually wearing a dress without tearing it off, and King Steffon was at her side wearing a cotehardie decorated in muted baratheon colours. Perhaps that Northern modesty did affect southerners a lot more than she realised. Much as Cat had wanted Arya to have a large, grand wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor after Steffon's coronation, she supposed it could be a lot worse than this. Even Robb seemed to be lightening up slightly, now that he was away from the battlefield.
The assembled nobles finally gathered at their seats as the serving girls began making the rounds. Trenchers of everything from roasted aurochs joints to legs of mutton. Plates of fresh-baked bread were set out as well. It seemed that Edmure really had tried his hardest to make this a proper celebration.
"Not the sort of celebration for a king and queen's wedding, is it?" Her brother said, taking a seat next to her. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to give my niece a proper feast."
"Rest assured uncle, few could do better under the conditions." Robb replied, taking the seat opposite them. "We are at war, and you did give much of your larder to the people who sought shelter here when the Mountain was raiding the countryside."
"A wise decision, Edmure." Catelyn said. It was not, truth be told, but it didn't harm to stroke her brother's ego.
"Bloody stupid one if you ask me." She heard her own uncle mutter, just low enough so that Robb and Edmure couldn't hear.
"And I may have found a way to salvage the Freys' support." Robb said. "Uncle Edmure, you must marry one of his daughters."
It caught Catelyn aback. "Did His Grace approve of this? Robb, you know what he said about undermining you-"
"Yesterday. And he gave his blessing."
"What . . . nephew, I. . . Have you seen his daughters?!" Edmure said incredulously.
"It's for the good of the war effort, uncle."
"The laws of men cannot compel a man to marry!"
"The laws of my fist are about to compel your teeth!" The Blackfish snapped at him. Edmure looked a bit sullen after that, but still accepted it.
"You look troubled, mother." Robb observed.
"It's the bedding, Robb." Catelyn said. "It's not something Arya will want to-"
"No need." Edmure said, seemingly recovering a bit of his old spark. "I've arranged for one of my guardsmen to have them leave while everyone else's attention is diverted. From what you've told me of Arya, and from what I've heard about His Grace's temper, I think it'll be best for everyone."
Catelyn breathed a sigh of relief. At least her daughter wouldn't be undressed by a bunch of strangers. Truth be told, she was at least partially worried for the men. Arya wasn't a shrinking violet, and the King wasn't exactly a temperate man either. It was more than likely that at least one of the men who undressed Arya would've ended up with a broken nose or something similar.
"Agreed." Robb replied. "We don't need Arya trying to skewer anyone."
Her uncle just nodded. There seemed to be an understanding that Arya and Steffon would not be inclined towards a bedding ceremony. Everyone had already heard the stories of Arya leading an assault during the Battle of Tarth; and it seemed that there was no desire to reenact that right now.
"In the meantime Cat . . ." Blackfish said, sliding a cup in front of her. "Have a drink. It's a wedding."
Catelyn smiled and nodded, noticing with some satisfaction that it seemed Arya and King Steffon had already been taken away to their private chambers, given the empty chairs.
A guardsman had shuffled them out of the great hall with minimal fuss, informing them that it was to avoid the bedding ceremony that some of the Northern lords were apparently insisting upon. It was probably for the best too; a normal ceremony likely would've just resulted in a fistfight with at least one lord having a broken nose.
The guardsman led them up to a chamber, and Arya swore she sw the man wink as she and Steffon entered it. The door was shut behind them as she surveyed the room. It was relatively plain, unlike the chamber that would've undoubtedly been presented to them if they had married in King's Landing. Still, Arya preferred it like this. It was what her father would've wanted, Gods rest his soul.
"Are you alright, love?" Steffon asked.
"Yes, just . . . thinking about my father." She murmured.
"My brother, mother and grandfather will get theirs in time." Steffon assured her before withdrawing slightly. She hadn't ruined the mood, had she?
"Steffon, I'm sorry if I-"
"If you what? Arya, I'm your husband. I'm meant to be someone you can talk to." He said gently before taking her hand and squeezing it. It was a little gesture, but she knew what he was saying to her with it. Mayhaps she hadn't fully wanted this when they were betrothed in Winterfell in what felt like a decade ago, but she did now.
She turned and kissed him. "I know. You're better than anyone else father would've had me marry. As long as you remember I'm the better fighter out of us." She said playfully.
"There is no doubt about that, love." He smiled before kissing her again. "Arya, I just wanted to say . . . just because it's our wedding night, we don't have to do anything. Only if you're comfortable with it."
Arya left his embrace, sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. "Steffon, you have already had me." She said as he sat down. "Why do you even need to ask that?"
"I just . . . I want to make sure you're alright with it."
"Of course I am, stag boy. I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else."
Steffon just nodded. "I love you, Arya."
They kissed again before she leaned forward. "Show me."
Those two words set the tone for the rest of the night. The two of them fell back on the bed, kissing intensely, hands roaming all over each other. It wasn't frantic though, not like the first time. They were moving slowly, taking their time to make sure the pleasure reached every part of the other's body.
War had been kind to Steffon, Arya didn't fail to notice. His muscles were more clearly defined on his lean body now. At least a few good things had managed to come out of this horrible war. "I'm lucky to have you to myself."
"You always will, Arya."
"Good. I don;t want to have to chase some harlot off with Needle." She replied. That triggered a short laugh from both of them as Arya finished removing her own clothes.
"I don't know why you say you aren't beautiful, Arya."
She blushed. "I love you, Steffon."
"I love you too, Arya. Now, will you let me make love to you, wife?"
"Take me, husband."
They continued to take their time with each other. Even the way he pushed into her seemed almost reverent. They understood each other better than they had before, and though Arya had enjoyed their time together previously, there was something about the gentleness that made it more special.
It made her feel open. Like she was baring her soul to Steffon for the first real time. Sure, the two had been pretty open with each other before, but this was different. Like every part of her was revealing itself for the first time. She'd always been relatively guarded, whether that was due to believing she had to appear masucline in order to be a good swordfighter or to pretend Sansa and Jeyne Poole's mockery didn't bother her, she wasn't sure. Now those walls were gone and everything was open to Steffon.
She had given herself over completely, and it felt . . . liberating
Arya threw her head back on the pillow and moaned loudly in pleasure as she came undone. She supposed she should've been embarrassed, but didn't care. She had Steffon pull out of her, then finished him off with her mouth.
"That was . . ."
"I know, love." Arya replied before kissing him gently.
It happened again later that night, And once more for good measure in the morning.
She and Steffon were now well and truly husband and wife.