the prerogative of the brave . . . 3/6?
title: the prerogative of the brave . . .
author: Eena
disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em.
category: Game of Thrones/Vampire Diaries (the first, right? *Bounces happily*)
characters/pairing: Caroline, Caroline/Robb Stark
spoilers: Season One for GoT, Up to 3.03 for TVD
summary: It is a world without Elenas, Bonnies, Moms, Tylers, Matts, Stefans, and yes, even Damons. It is a world where she is overwhelmed by a surging seas of constant companionship. The loneliness is the same.
~0~
He has a large family, her betrothed does, and while not as fruitful as Walder Frey, the Starks are numerous still. Three brothers (Jon, Bran, and Rickon) and two sisters (Sansa and Arya) is what she will gain in the marriage, though Lady Catelyn insists that it is just two and two, with a half-brother as well.
Caroline’s never really liked the word ‘bastard’, though she’s used it plenty in that other world. Here the word takes its actual meaning, and it seems doubly cruel to always point out to children that they are somehow less because their parents aren’t married. The added insult of the generic surname is something Caroline outright despises, but is nothing she can change. And she can say nothing on the subject because she knows there are far too many Storms, Waters, Hills, Stones, and probably a few Flowers born with Father’s black hair and blue eyes.
They are all obviously curious about her, the younger ones stare at her openly. She offers them small smiles and when Lady Catelyn pulls her away, she knows they are all dying to follow. It’s easier to look at them, easier than looking at Robb-looking at him just makes her blush and stutter and feel like the young girl she is supposed to be.
Her rooms are already made up, and they are, of course, right next to Robb’s rooms. Lady Catelyn escorts her there, out of the cold while Father leads Lord Eddard off elsewhere and everyone else needs to see to the remaining bridal party. Annie and Ruby are just steps behind her, but so is Ser Uncle.
Lady Catelyn tells them of the feast planned for tonight, asks Caroline if the room is to her liking, and smiles when Caroline tells her it is. The lady excuses herself to tend to other matters, but does not leave before taking one of Caroline’s hands in her own and squeezing it briefly. “I am very happy; we all are.”
Caroline thinks that they don’t know her well enough to be so happy just yet, but she’s always been pleased to please, and this occasion is no different. She blushes and thanks Lady Catelyn, who smiles wider and presses a hand to Caroline’s cheek quite tenderly.
“Every bit as beautiful as they said; you’re practically the image of Her Grace at this age.”
She’s not, and she’s still too angry with Mother to pretend that she is. But Ser Uncle is right at the doorway, and he nods like he agrees. “She has the luck of my sister’s looks, doesn’t she? What a treasure His Grace gives to the north.”
Lady Catelyn knows what Ser Uncle says without saying, but keeps her smile nonetheless. “Yes, we are very honoured.”
“Happy and honoured,” Ser Uncle keeps talking, ignoring the warning look Caroline gives him. “My, the north is gracious these days.”
Lady Catelyn spares him a sidelong gaze that is one part proud and two parts shrewd. “Yes, well, some part of the kingdom should be.”
“You shouldn’t pick fights,” Caroline says when they are alone, save for Annie and Ruby unpacking while they listen to every word.
“Is that an order from my princess?” Ser Uncle’s smile is all teeth and false cheer.
“Your niece,” but she’s not, not really, “and Mother is not here and it is my wedding-and she’s not here!”
If her lip trembles ever so slightly, if her eyes water for a brief second, Ser Uncle says nothing. He does stop smiling his toothy smile, looks resigned and weary and frustrated. “It takes you fourteen years to start acting like a child.”
She turns her back on him, crosses to the window of her new room and looks out at her new home.
“I’m not acting, Ser Uncle.”
~0~
It takes only a week to finalize all the preparations.
Caroline awakes in the morning with the knowledge that Robb is next door, also waking to the same day. The thought pulses through her brain and she imagines all sorts of things that flash by so quickly she barely understands them. She contemplates going back to sleep, to hide under the covers until her stomach settles. But Annie and Ruby are already up and tugging away her covers.
She threatens to have them imprisoned in a black cell if they don’t leave her be. But for some reason they don’t believe her, just laugh and giggle and pull her from her bed.
The bath is already waiting and Caroline’s thrown into scented, almost scalding hot water. Her maids start to scrubbing and Caroline starts to praying though she’s not sure what she prays for.
(She won’t admit, not even to herself, that she prays for the one thing she’s been praying for since she left King’s Landing. And Mother is still not here.)
Her dress has been laid out on her newly made bed by the time she emerges, smelling of roses and honey. It is white silk with a finely stitched golden lace cover. It had taken almost three months for the dress to be made, because Mother disliked this or that about it. The final product is simply beautiful, the satin slippers and jewelry all designed to complement it.
Annie pulls the dress over her head and laces up the back while Ruby pats down the skirts and puts Caroline’s slippers onto her feet. Thick, golden bracelets go onto her wrists and several rings on her fingers. She refuses to remove Uncle Stannis’s ring, and Robb’s necklace, keeps them both though they do not really match. Annie and Ruby shake their heads, but then turn to her hair.
Annie begins to braid, making thin and thick braids here and there. Ruby is the one to join those braids, to loop them around and create a crown out of her blonde locks. Ruby coaxes the remaining loose strands into tight curls and Annie starts pinning golden trinkets into the braids.
Ruby is pinching her cheeks, turning them rosy and comely for the big day, when Annie opens the door to let Father enter. He is dressed in his finest clothes, his crown sitting prominently on a head of black curls that actually appear to be properly combed today (Uncle Renly’s doing, she’s sure). His beard is trimmed and neat, and his steady footsteps let her know that he has not yet begun his drinking. He looks every bit the king today, and he comes to her with a heavy golden cloak in his hands. He unfurls it to show her the Baratheon stag on the back.
“It’s the same cloak I gave your mother,” he explains as Annie takes it from him. Caroline holds still as the maids drape it over her shoulders, lifting her chin upwards so they can fasten the clasp at her neck. “I never noticed, until now, how much it suits you.”
He is trying, this day, and that is more than he ever does for Mother. But Caroline is his daughter, his favourite child, and she never expected anything less from him. She goes to stand before him and gives him her gentlest smile. “Don’t worry, Father; white and grey suit me just as well.”
Father smiles, though it takes an effort, and pulls her into a tight embrace. Caroline hugs him back, her arms not nearly long enough to circle his girth. “You’ve gotten even fatter.”
It is enough to make him laugh before he leads her out the door.
~0~
There is no septon at her wedding, no hall or sept either. There is only the godswood and the heart tree, with its white face and red eyes and mouth.
(It reminds her of things, of monsters with mouth dripping red liquids not so innocuous as sap. It reminds her of when she was a monster like that, and it causes her shame instead of the usual longing for that other world.)
The guests are all tightly packed into the godswood, the Starks and their bannermen on one side and Baratheons and Storm Lords on the other. Uncle Renly stands next to Ser Uncle near the front, both clad in the golds of their houses. They both smile at her, Uncle Renly in that encouraging way of his and Ser Uncle in that toothy way of his.
Robb waits for her by the heart tree, and he certainly looks the part of northern lord today. He is clean-shaven, impeccably dressed, and wrapped in furs. There’s a sword at his hip, chains around his neck, and rings on his fingers. Even his face is different today, solemn and grave, a bit of his father’s ice.
But his eyes still look at her with that look.
Father leads Caroline straight to him, sighs a sigh of heavy resignation before kissing her cheek and stepping back to stand beside Lord Eddard. She has to stop herself for reaching out for him again, for grabbing at his arm and pulling him close. She feels wildly unprepared for what is about to happen, a knee-jerk reaction to flee bubbling in her belly.
Robb takes her hand and helps her kneel before the tree. She supposes it is just as well, because in her beautiful dress she would have not been able to run very far without being caught.
Oaths, prayers, and vows follow, and Caroline is still unsure regarding the absence of a septon. But she was taught her part on the way to Winterfell, recites from memory now, and then closes her eyes and waits.
Robb’s hands are warm when they unclasp her cloak. She feels a burst of cold at her back before it is gone, chased away by the white and grey cloak being settled on her shoulders now.
She knelt a Baratheon; she rises a Stark.
And the cheers of the guests sound oddly like the howling of wolves.
~0~
What is the wedding feast but noise, drinks, and uncoordinated dancing?
Caroline’s face feels strained, for the smile she must always keep. Her feet also hurt, because there seems to be no end to available dancing partners. She dances with Robb, dances with Father, dances with Lord Eddard, dances with Uncle Renly, dances with little Bran, dances with the ward Theon-she even dances with the half-brother Jon, who is sullen and unsure and awkward throughout.
But there are still more after that. A black brother from the Wall, now her Uncle Benjen; Father’s Storm Lords; Lord Eddard’s bannermen-she cannot keep track of all the names and loses count of how many dances she dances. When Robb pulls her back to the high table, to sit at his side for dinner, she is so grateful that she gives him a wide, genuine smile.
It makes her husband stumble, which makes her blush, and since this was a wedding, everyone sees and laughs. She ducks her head and tries to ignore the jests and taunts coming from all corners as Robb leads her to her seat. There is a full wine cup waiting for her and she does her best to not snatch it up and drain it right there. As it is, she drinks more than her usual one cup, preferring the wine even to food.
Robb is on her right and her two good-sisters on her left. Sansa alternates between giving her shy smiles and stealing glances at Ser Uncle in his golden armour. Arya seems put out by the whole affair, stabbing her food roughly with her fork and staring suspiciously at Caroline.
“You like sewing, I bet,” is all the little girl says (though, to be honest, she more snarls than says it).
“Arya!” Sansa looks scandalized, a look that Caroline thinks is one she dons often when Arya is about.
Caroline laughs at little at that, despite her shaky nerves. “I don’t like sewing,” she answers, but catches the disappointment on Sansa’s face quickly as well, “nor do I hate it. It’s fine, every now and then. I do prefer either being outside, with my siblings, or inside with my books.”
Arya looks mildly placated and Sansa is obviously overjoyed. “Is that why Robb had the library-“
“Arya!” and this time it is her husband who is scandalized. Robb gives Caroline a pained smile and then turns an annoyed glare onto his sister. “Be a good little girl, and shut up before you ruin all my surprises.”
That Robb has any surprises is a surprise to Caroline. And she feels almost as if she should defend little Arya from her brother’s rebuke. But when Robb is looking at Arya, his glare quickly turns into an affectionate grin and Arya might stick her tongue out at her brother, but she’s still smiling at the end.
“She’s always like that,” Sansa whispers in apology, face contrite and hands folded neatly on her lap. This is one is ever a lady, all manners and courtesies and endless worries. Caroline smiles to show she is not offended, thinks of her dear Myrcella far away in King’s Landing, and fights back a batch of new tears.
The dinner passes by quicker than she realizes. One minute she is thanking Robb for another cup of wine and listening to Sansa list all her favourite songs when the music ends abruptly. There’s a loud, raucous bellow from one of the Umber men and Caroline’s hands tighten on her cup.
“Are you all right?” She turns and sees Robb looking at her in concern. Perhaps her face is as white as her knuckles.
“Fine, my lord,” Caroline tries for a smile, but falters when she sees the flood of people coming their way. Robb squeezes her hand and she can’t stop the faint “they’re coming” from escaping her lips.
There’s a mix of Storm lords and Stark bannermen lifting her seat into the air. Caroline tries her best not to fall off or anything else undignified. She grips the edges of her seat tightly, offering the wedding guests milling around her a blush and a shy smile. Robb is gone in a flutter of gowns and giggles and Caroline feels hands pulling off her slippers. She looks, instinctively, for Father, as if he could save her from this even when she knows he cannot.
Father is not in the hall. Uncle Renly is laughing and dancing and doing his best not to have to look at her. And then there is Ser Uncle, eyeing her in a way that makes her feel as if her clothes were already gone.
She’s outside the hall when they start reaching for her skirts. Caroline shuts her eyes and tries not to flinch when she hears the sound of the silk tearing. There’s a lot of laughter all around, some drunken jests and more than one bawdy joke. A pair of hands grab her by the waist and Caroline opens her eyes to see Ser Ronnet Connington lifting her from the chair.
“Wedded and bedded, that’s how it goes dear princess!” is shouted in her ear and there’s a hand ripping open her bodice, another three removing her skirts, and that many more trying to remove her smallclothes.
It’s a bit like being molested by an octopus.
She’s down to her shift and only then does she slap away some of those hands. “Some things are only for my husband’s eyes,” she laughs, forcing mirth when she feels none. One of the Karstarks howl in approval and she’s slung over some northerner’s shoulder and sped along the corridors of Winterfell.
Caroline’s back on her feet soon enough, the blood having rushed to her head so as to make her a little dizzy at first. She knows she’s in Robb’s bedchambers, doesn’t need to see straight to know that. She hears the feminine giggles first and knows without looking that Robb is already there. There’s a few more bawdy jokes, a whirlwind of silks, velvets, and damask, and then the doors slam shut.
And then she’s alone with her husband.
~0~
The women have stripped him down to nothing, and he doesn’t seem embarrassed. Caroline knows she is blushing, feeling awkward and unsure, and she doesn’t know why. There’s a strange truth to all this, because she has her maidenhood intact and is always too well chaperoned for anything untoward to happen. She feels every inch the shy and skittish bride on her wedding night.
But there’s the other side of it as well.
Caroline wasn’t much older than fourteen when she lost her virginity in that other world. She had been a sophomore and the boy had been a senior and Tyler’s parents’ bed had been real comfy that night of the party. And while the first time might have been slightly obscured because of all the liquor, Caroline did remember feeling good.
She hadn’t been shy about sex ever since. In fact, she downright enjoyed it.
So, she doesn’t really know if this fluttery feeling in her belly is nerves or just excitement. What she does know is that she would gladly welcome another cup (or jug) of wine at the moment.
But then his hand is on her shoulder. “Caroline?”
When she turns to face him, she doesn’t try to cover up. The shift is thin and no doubt he can see almost everything through it. It seems absurd to play the part that much when she’s not that uncomfortable. She’s grown up in this world, being taught about what was expected of her on her wedding night. Husband’s rights and consummation clauses are things she already knows.
So, she looks into his eyes instead.
He is nervous, that much she knows without feeling the slight quiver in his hands. But he’s also a little flush with wine and the way he is looking at her is something she’s not unfamiliar with. That he keeps sneaking in that amazed look here and there is perhaps the only new experience to be had.
He touches her cheek and her eyes drop demurely, but really she’s taking in the sight of his body. Her eyes travel down his strong shoulders and the muscles in his abdomen and the obvious sign of his excitement. She feels something familiar start to build in the quickened beating of her heart.
“Caroline,” and he says it so softly that she looks up to catch his eyes. “You are stunning, my wife.”
The title is awkward on his lips, tumbles out with less grace than the other words. Caroline smiles and tries it herself, to see if she can do better. “Thank you, my husband.”
Her voice catches just for a second, and a giggle leaves her throat without her permission. Her cheeks feel afire and maybe Robb’s chuckling a little bit when he leans forward, just a little bit. Caroline feels her breath catch in her throat, her heart stutter and start again, and then she turns her face upwards, just a bit, to meet him.
Someone moans softly, and she isn’t sure who. But Robb keeps his fingers lightly touching her cheek and feeling his lips against hers gives Caroline enough courage to put a hand on his chest.
He pulls back, breathing heavy. Her chest is heaving also. She feels like the shift is scratching too harshly against her skin, that she needs it off right now. Robb’s fingers clench in the thin material of that offending fabric and her hands move to grip his shoulders tightly.
Robb moves his mouth to her neck, kisses her softly under her ear. “My wife,” he whispers against the nape of her neck and her legs are shaking.
“R-Robb,” and perhaps there is some pleading in her voice because he pulls her right flush against him. She does not falter as he leads her to the bed, steps back and holds her breath when he begins to pull the shift up and over her head.
He bends down, kisses her more fiercely than before and she can feel her lips bruising. Her back hits the edge of the bed and Robb lifts her before seating her on it. He breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against hers, and his right hand settles on her hip.
“Lay back, love,” and how they’re to pet names so quickly, she doesn’t know. But she likes the sound of it on his tongue, likes the weight on his hand on her hip, and lays back as he asks.
His lips return, but to the underside of her breast. Her breathing quickens again, and his left hand glides up her side to cup her other breast. She arches a bit, closes her eyes, and tries to focus on the just-right feeling of it.
He follows her onto the bed soon enough, his knee nudging apart her legs. There’s a sliver of fear before she conquers it, feels him settle between her legs and push against her entrance.
“It will hurt,” he warns her, and she almost tells him that she knows, that she remembers. But she just nods instead, kisses him hard and desperately as he pushes past her maidenhood.
She has not remembered as well as she should, or the alcohol had numbed the memory. It hurts far more than she recalls, and the soft cry of pain and the few teardrops that escape her are all too real.
Robb stills, hands gripping her hips and his mouth at the nape of her neck. “Relax, my love.”
Her body had tensed up without her even realizing it. She struggles to follow his advice, trying to force her muscles to loosen and soften again. It’s much harder than she thought it would be, and the process slower still. Robb begins to move again, small thrusts that her body soon adjusts to. Her breathing starts to even out as the pain recedes bit by bit. Soon there are sighs where there were gasps, and Robb takes that as encouragement and moves faster.
It starts to feel like she remembers, the dull but delicious ache between her legs and the shivers of pleasure that cover her as Robb pushes in further and further. Her back starts to arch, her hips trying to meet his for each and every thrust. Caroline turns her head, tries to smother her moans into the pillows because as good as she feels, she knows that there is a hallway of people listening at their door.
Robb groans appreciatively around a mouthful of her left breast and she throws her arms around his neck, digs her fingers into his curls, and drags his lips up to meet her own. She kisses him hard, catches his bottom lip between her teeth and bites down. A drop of blood hits her tongue, the taste of copper filling her mouth, and she feels herself fall over the edge suddenly, almost violently.
Robb follows her, and when her breathing evens and she comes back to herself, she hears the sounds of cheering from the corridor. She sends a dark look towards the closed door and Robb laughs into the crook of her neck. “They won’t be there tomorrow,” he promises.
But I will be, is left unsaid and she cannot fight off the smile that erupts.
~0~
Father lingers for two more weeks, and then even he cannot ignore the grumblings of his Storm Lords.
They walk, arm in arm, early on the morning of his departure. Caroline is still not used to the chill of the north, not even in her new dresses of much thicker material. She thinks the warm corridors of Winterfell are to blame. She forgets, sometimes, where she is and walks free of her cloak and furs. But just one step outside reminds her.
Father doesn’t mind as she leans into him, seeking shelter from the cold. He laughs and tugs her close and assures her that she will soon adjust. ‘It’ll become a part of you. Just look at Cat-a girl from the Riverlands and yet does she seem anything but a lady of the north?”
Caroline agrees; Lady Catelyn is almost as much a part of Winterfell as the stone walls. The lady is everywhere, her footsteps etched onto the grounds as Caroline’s had been in King’s Landing.
“Will you write to me?” she asks him as they near the stables and the awaiting party. “You know I will write to you, but will you write to me?”
Father graces with her a watery smile. “Of course, sweetling-anything you want. Just don’t get too upset by the scratches on the paper. There’s a reason I had you write all my papers.”
Caroline laughs, a bout of mirth tinged with hysteria settling on her shoulders. She tightens her hold on Father’s arm and bites her tongue to keep from begging him to stay. The king needs to be back in the capital, not dwaddling in the north because his daughter would miss him if he goes.
And she will, miss him that is. More so than she ever thought possible.
Her uncles are waiting for them in the courtyard, as is her husband and new family. Uncle Renly smiles wickedly at her before grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around. Caroline can’t help a squeal of shock, or the giggles that follow when she is back on her feet.
Uncle Renly pinches her cheek. “Now that is the smiling, happy niece of my heart. Smile often sweetling, there’s not a person in the whole world who could deny you with that smile of yours.”
“You’re a terrible flatterer, Uncle.”
“Not at all!” He winks at her. “You’re the only one who deserves it. I’ve seen plenty of people deny your father, often because of that smile of his.”
“It’s a long way back to King’s Landing,” Father warns, mock-threatening. “Best watch that tongue, little brother.”
Father moves to say his goodbyes to Lord Eddard and Caroline is left looking at Ser Uncle. He looks impeccable in hid gold armour and pristine white cloak. Caroline does not have to look to know most of the ladies in the yard, Sansa included, are watching him with shy looks and reddening cheeks. He knows it as well, that blinding smile on his face as usual. But his eyes are hard, sharp pieces of green glass and Caroline knows how far they have to travel to reach home.
“Princess,” he bows when she approaches and it’s an effort not to roll her eyes because he’s being childish now.
“Ser Uncle,” Caroline looks at him, unsure. She has never got on well with Ser Uncle. She is overly suspicious and he keeps too many secrets to be trusted. But, he is her uncle, and he traveled half the kingdom to see her wed.
She darts in, before she can change her mind, and kisses his cheek. He looks as surprised as she feels, and that toothy grin is soon aimed at her. “Now don’t tell me you’re to miss me, niece.”
She doesn’t yet know, so she settles on a smile of her own. “Have a good journey, Uncle. Be happy-be good.”
And she might glance at Father when she says that last part, and Ser Uncle might lose some of his smile, but she wants him to understand her.
“Farewell, Caroline,” are his last words to her before he mounts his horse. Caroline turns and sees Robb smiling at her from beside the Lady Catelyn. She joins him quickly, eyes watering when Father comes for his farewell embrace.
“Please Father, take care,” she mumbles into his shoulder, arms locked tightly around his neck.
“It will be hard, without my daughter, but I will try.”
And with one final kiss on her cheek, King Robert mounts his horse and rides out of the gates of Winterfell.
Robb reaches for her hand and squeezes it comfortingly. “It’ll be all right, my love.”
It’s only when he wipes her cheek clean does Caroline realize she’s crying.
~0~
author: Eena
disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em.
category: Game of Thrones/Vampire Diaries (the first, right? *Bounces happily*)
characters/pairing: Caroline, Caroline/Robb Stark
spoilers: Season One for GoT, Up to 3.03 for TVD
summary: It is a world without Elenas, Bonnies, Moms, Tylers, Matts, Stefans, and yes, even Damons. It is a world where she is overwhelmed by a surging seas of constant companionship. The loneliness is the same.
~0~
He has a large family, her betrothed does, and while not as fruitful as Walder Frey, the Starks are numerous still. Three brothers (Jon, Bran, and Rickon) and two sisters (Sansa and Arya) is what she will gain in the marriage, though Lady Catelyn insists that it is just two and two, with a half-brother as well.
Caroline’s never really liked the word ‘bastard’, though she’s used it plenty in that other world. Here the word takes its actual meaning, and it seems doubly cruel to always point out to children that they are somehow less because their parents aren’t married. The added insult of the generic surname is something Caroline outright despises, but is nothing she can change. And she can say nothing on the subject because she knows there are far too many Storms, Waters, Hills, Stones, and probably a few Flowers born with Father’s black hair and blue eyes.
They are all obviously curious about her, the younger ones stare at her openly. She offers them small smiles and when Lady Catelyn pulls her away, she knows they are all dying to follow. It’s easier to look at them, easier than looking at Robb-looking at him just makes her blush and stutter and feel like the young girl she is supposed to be.
Her rooms are already made up, and they are, of course, right next to Robb’s rooms. Lady Catelyn escorts her there, out of the cold while Father leads Lord Eddard off elsewhere and everyone else needs to see to the remaining bridal party. Annie and Ruby are just steps behind her, but so is Ser Uncle.
Lady Catelyn tells them of the feast planned for tonight, asks Caroline if the room is to her liking, and smiles when Caroline tells her it is. The lady excuses herself to tend to other matters, but does not leave before taking one of Caroline’s hands in her own and squeezing it briefly. “I am very happy; we all are.”
Caroline thinks that they don’t know her well enough to be so happy just yet, but she’s always been pleased to please, and this occasion is no different. She blushes and thanks Lady Catelyn, who smiles wider and presses a hand to Caroline’s cheek quite tenderly.
“Every bit as beautiful as they said; you’re practically the image of Her Grace at this age.”
She’s not, and she’s still too angry with Mother to pretend that she is. But Ser Uncle is right at the doorway, and he nods like he agrees. “She has the luck of my sister’s looks, doesn’t she? What a treasure His Grace gives to the north.”
Lady Catelyn knows what Ser Uncle says without saying, but keeps her smile nonetheless. “Yes, we are very honoured.”
“Happy and honoured,” Ser Uncle keeps talking, ignoring the warning look Caroline gives him. “My, the north is gracious these days.”
Lady Catelyn spares him a sidelong gaze that is one part proud and two parts shrewd. “Yes, well, some part of the kingdom should be.”
“You shouldn’t pick fights,” Caroline says when they are alone, save for Annie and Ruby unpacking while they listen to every word.
“Is that an order from my princess?” Ser Uncle’s smile is all teeth and false cheer.
“Your niece,” but she’s not, not really, “and Mother is not here and it is my wedding-and she’s not here!”
If her lip trembles ever so slightly, if her eyes water for a brief second, Ser Uncle says nothing. He does stop smiling his toothy smile, looks resigned and weary and frustrated. “It takes you fourteen years to start acting like a child.”
She turns her back on him, crosses to the window of her new room and looks out at her new home.
“I’m not acting, Ser Uncle.”
~0~
It takes only a week to finalize all the preparations.
Caroline awakes in the morning with the knowledge that Robb is next door, also waking to the same day. The thought pulses through her brain and she imagines all sorts of things that flash by so quickly she barely understands them. She contemplates going back to sleep, to hide under the covers until her stomach settles. But Annie and Ruby are already up and tugging away her covers.
She threatens to have them imprisoned in a black cell if they don’t leave her be. But for some reason they don’t believe her, just laugh and giggle and pull her from her bed.
The bath is already waiting and Caroline’s thrown into scented, almost scalding hot water. Her maids start to scrubbing and Caroline starts to praying though she’s not sure what she prays for.
(She won’t admit, not even to herself, that she prays for the one thing she’s been praying for since she left King’s Landing. And Mother is still not here.)
Her dress has been laid out on her newly made bed by the time she emerges, smelling of roses and honey. It is white silk with a finely stitched golden lace cover. It had taken almost three months for the dress to be made, because Mother disliked this or that about it. The final product is simply beautiful, the satin slippers and jewelry all designed to complement it.
Annie pulls the dress over her head and laces up the back while Ruby pats down the skirts and puts Caroline’s slippers onto her feet. Thick, golden bracelets go onto her wrists and several rings on her fingers. She refuses to remove Uncle Stannis’s ring, and Robb’s necklace, keeps them both though they do not really match. Annie and Ruby shake their heads, but then turn to her hair.
Annie begins to braid, making thin and thick braids here and there. Ruby is the one to join those braids, to loop them around and create a crown out of her blonde locks. Ruby coaxes the remaining loose strands into tight curls and Annie starts pinning golden trinkets into the braids.
Ruby is pinching her cheeks, turning them rosy and comely for the big day, when Annie opens the door to let Father enter. He is dressed in his finest clothes, his crown sitting prominently on a head of black curls that actually appear to be properly combed today (Uncle Renly’s doing, she’s sure). His beard is trimmed and neat, and his steady footsteps let her know that he has not yet begun his drinking. He looks every bit the king today, and he comes to her with a heavy golden cloak in his hands. He unfurls it to show her the Baratheon stag on the back.
“It’s the same cloak I gave your mother,” he explains as Annie takes it from him. Caroline holds still as the maids drape it over her shoulders, lifting her chin upwards so they can fasten the clasp at her neck. “I never noticed, until now, how much it suits you.”
He is trying, this day, and that is more than he ever does for Mother. But Caroline is his daughter, his favourite child, and she never expected anything less from him. She goes to stand before him and gives him her gentlest smile. “Don’t worry, Father; white and grey suit me just as well.”
Father smiles, though it takes an effort, and pulls her into a tight embrace. Caroline hugs him back, her arms not nearly long enough to circle his girth. “You’ve gotten even fatter.”
It is enough to make him laugh before he leads her out the door.
~0~
There is no septon at her wedding, no hall or sept either. There is only the godswood and the heart tree, with its white face and red eyes and mouth.
(It reminds her of things, of monsters with mouth dripping red liquids not so innocuous as sap. It reminds her of when she was a monster like that, and it causes her shame instead of the usual longing for that other world.)
The guests are all tightly packed into the godswood, the Starks and their bannermen on one side and Baratheons and Storm Lords on the other. Uncle Renly stands next to Ser Uncle near the front, both clad in the golds of their houses. They both smile at her, Uncle Renly in that encouraging way of his and Ser Uncle in that toothy way of his.
Robb waits for her by the heart tree, and he certainly looks the part of northern lord today. He is clean-shaven, impeccably dressed, and wrapped in furs. There’s a sword at his hip, chains around his neck, and rings on his fingers. Even his face is different today, solemn and grave, a bit of his father’s ice.
But his eyes still look at her with that look.
Father leads Caroline straight to him, sighs a sigh of heavy resignation before kissing her cheek and stepping back to stand beside Lord Eddard. She has to stop herself for reaching out for him again, for grabbing at his arm and pulling him close. She feels wildly unprepared for what is about to happen, a knee-jerk reaction to flee bubbling in her belly.
Robb takes her hand and helps her kneel before the tree. She supposes it is just as well, because in her beautiful dress she would have not been able to run very far without being caught.
Oaths, prayers, and vows follow, and Caroline is still unsure regarding the absence of a septon. But she was taught her part on the way to Winterfell, recites from memory now, and then closes her eyes and waits.
Robb’s hands are warm when they unclasp her cloak. She feels a burst of cold at her back before it is gone, chased away by the white and grey cloak being settled on her shoulders now.
She knelt a Baratheon; she rises a Stark.
And the cheers of the guests sound oddly like the howling of wolves.
~0~
What is the wedding feast but noise, drinks, and uncoordinated dancing?
Caroline’s face feels strained, for the smile she must always keep. Her feet also hurt, because there seems to be no end to available dancing partners. She dances with Robb, dances with Father, dances with Lord Eddard, dances with Uncle Renly, dances with little Bran, dances with the ward Theon-she even dances with the half-brother Jon, who is sullen and unsure and awkward throughout.
But there are still more after that. A black brother from the Wall, now her Uncle Benjen; Father’s Storm Lords; Lord Eddard’s bannermen-she cannot keep track of all the names and loses count of how many dances she dances. When Robb pulls her back to the high table, to sit at his side for dinner, she is so grateful that she gives him a wide, genuine smile.
It makes her husband stumble, which makes her blush, and since this was a wedding, everyone sees and laughs. She ducks her head and tries to ignore the jests and taunts coming from all corners as Robb leads her to her seat. There is a full wine cup waiting for her and she does her best to not snatch it up and drain it right there. As it is, she drinks more than her usual one cup, preferring the wine even to food.
Robb is on her right and her two good-sisters on her left. Sansa alternates between giving her shy smiles and stealing glances at Ser Uncle in his golden armour. Arya seems put out by the whole affair, stabbing her food roughly with her fork and staring suspiciously at Caroline.
“You like sewing, I bet,” is all the little girl says (though, to be honest, she more snarls than says it).
“Arya!” Sansa looks scandalized, a look that Caroline thinks is one she dons often when Arya is about.
Caroline laughs at little at that, despite her shaky nerves. “I don’t like sewing,” she answers, but catches the disappointment on Sansa’s face quickly as well, “nor do I hate it. It’s fine, every now and then. I do prefer either being outside, with my siblings, or inside with my books.”
Arya looks mildly placated and Sansa is obviously overjoyed. “Is that why Robb had the library-“
“Arya!” and this time it is her husband who is scandalized. Robb gives Caroline a pained smile and then turns an annoyed glare onto his sister. “Be a good little girl, and shut up before you ruin all my surprises.”
That Robb has any surprises is a surprise to Caroline. And she feels almost as if she should defend little Arya from her brother’s rebuke. But when Robb is looking at Arya, his glare quickly turns into an affectionate grin and Arya might stick her tongue out at her brother, but she’s still smiling at the end.
“She’s always like that,” Sansa whispers in apology, face contrite and hands folded neatly on her lap. This is one is ever a lady, all manners and courtesies and endless worries. Caroline smiles to show she is not offended, thinks of her dear Myrcella far away in King’s Landing, and fights back a batch of new tears.
The dinner passes by quicker than she realizes. One minute she is thanking Robb for another cup of wine and listening to Sansa list all her favourite songs when the music ends abruptly. There’s a loud, raucous bellow from one of the Umber men and Caroline’s hands tighten on her cup.
“Are you all right?” She turns and sees Robb looking at her in concern. Perhaps her face is as white as her knuckles.
“Fine, my lord,” Caroline tries for a smile, but falters when she sees the flood of people coming their way. Robb squeezes her hand and she can’t stop the faint “they’re coming” from escaping her lips.
There’s a mix of Storm lords and Stark bannermen lifting her seat into the air. Caroline tries her best not to fall off or anything else undignified. She grips the edges of her seat tightly, offering the wedding guests milling around her a blush and a shy smile. Robb is gone in a flutter of gowns and giggles and Caroline feels hands pulling off her slippers. She looks, instinctively, for Father, as if he could save her from this even when she knows he cannot.
Father is not in the hall. Uncle Renly is laughing and dancing and doing his best not to have to look at her. And then there is Ser Uncle, eyeing her in a way that makes her feel as if her clothes were already gone.
She’s outside the hall when they start reaching for her skirts. Caroline shuts her eyes and tries not to flinch when she hears the sound of the silk tearing. There’s a lot of laughter all around, some drunken jests and more than one bawdy joke. A pair of hands grab her by the waist and Caroline opens her eyes to see Ser Ronnet Connington lifting her from the chair.
“Wedded and bedded, that’s how it goes dear princess!” is shouted in her ear and there’s a hand ripping open her bodice, another three removing her skirts, and that many more trying to remove her smallclothes.
It’s a bit like being molested by an octopus.
She’s down to her shift and only then does she slap away some of those hands. “Some things are only for my husband’s eyes,” she laughs, forcing mirth when she feels none. One of the Karstarks howl in approval and she’s slung over some northerner’s shoulder and sped along the corridors of Winterfell.
Caroline’s back on her feet soon enough, the blood having rushed to her head so as to make her a little dizzy at first. She knows she’s in Robb’s bedchambers, doesn’t need to see straight to know that. She hears the feminine giggles first and knows without looking that Robb is already there. There’s a few more bawdy jokes, a whirlwind of silks, velvets, and damask, and then the doors slam shut.
And then she’s alone with her husband.
~0~
The women have stripped him down to nothing, and he doesn’t seem embarrassed. Caroline knows she is blushing, feeling awkward and unsure, and she doesn’t know why. There’s a strange truth to all this, because she has her maidenhood intact and is always too well chaperoned for anything untoward to happen. She feels every inch the shy and skittish bride on her wedding night.
But there’s the other side of it as well.
Caroline wasn’t much older than fourteen when she lost her virginity in that other world. She had been a sophomore and the boy had been a senior and Tyler’s parents’ bed had been real comfy that night of the party. And while the first time might have been slightly obscured because of all the liquor, Caroline did remember feeling good.
She hadn’t been shy about sex ever since. In fact, she downright enjoyed it.
So, she doesn’t really know if this fluttery feeling in her belly is nerves or just excitement. What she does know is that she would gladly welcome another cup (or jug) of wine at the moment.
But then his hand is on her shoulder. “Caroline?”
When she turns to face him, she doesn’t try to cover up. The shift is thin and no doubt he can see almost everything through it. It seems absurd to play the part that much when she’s not that uncomfortable. She’s grown up in this world, being taught about what was expected of her on her wedding night. Husband’s rights and consummation clauses are things she already knows.
So, she looks into his eyes instead.
He is nervous, that much she knows without feeling the slight quiver in his hands. But he’s also a little flush with wine and the way he is looking at her is something she’s not unfamiliar with. That he keeps sneaking in that amazed look here and there is perhaps the only new experience to be had.
He touches her cheek and her eyes drop demurely, but really she’s taking in the sight of his body. Her eyes travel down his strong shoulders and the muscles in his abdomen and the obvious sign of his excitement. She feels something familiar start to build in the quickened beating of her heart.
“Caroline,” and he says it so softly that she looks up to catch his eyes. “You are stunning, my wife.”
The title is awkward on his lips, tumbles out with less grace than the other words. Caroline smiles and tries it herself, to see if she can do better. “Thank you, my husband.”
Her voice catches just for a second, and a giggle leaves her throat without her permission. Her cheeks feel afire and maybe Robb’s chuckling a little bit when he leans forward, just a little bit. Caroline feels her breath catch in her throat, her heart stutter and start again, and then she turns her face upwards, just a bit, to meet him.
Someone moans softly, and she isn’t sure who. But Robb keeps his fingers lightly touching her cheek and feeling his lips against hers gives Caroline enough courage to put a hand on his chest.
He pulls back, breathing heavy. Her chest is heaving also. She feels like the shift is scratching too harshly against her skin, that she needs it off right now. Robb’s fingers clench in the thin material of that offending fabric and her hands move to grip his shoulders tightly.
Robb moves his mouth to her neck, kisses her softly under her ear. “My wife,” he whispers against the nape of her neck and her legs are shaking.
“R-Robb,” and perhaps there is some pleading in her voice because he pulls her right flush against him. She does not falter as he leads her to the bed, steps back and holds her breath when he begins to pull the shift up and over her head.
He bends down, kisses her more fiercely than before and she can feel her lips bruising. Her back hits the edge of the bed and Robb lifts her before seating her on it. He breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against hers, and his right hand settles on her hip.
“Lay back, love,” and how they’re to pet names so quickly, she doesn’t know. But she likes the sound of it on his tongue, likes the weight on his hand on her hip, and lays back as he asks.
His lips return, but to the underside of her breast. Her breathing quickens again, and his left hand glides up her side to cup her other breast. She arches a bit, closes her eyes, and tries to focus on the just-right feeling of it.
He follows her onto the bed soon enough, his knee nudging apart her legs. There’s a sliver of fear before she conquers it, feels him settle between her legs and push against her entrance.
“It will hurt,” he warns her, and she almost tells him that she knows, that she remembers. But she just nods instead, kisses him hard and desperately as he pushes past her maidenhood.
She has not remembered as well as she should, or the alcohol had numbed the memory. It hurts far more than she recalls, and the soft cry of pain and the few teardrops that escape her are all too real.
Robb stills, hands gripping her hips and his mouth at the nape of her neck. “Relax, my love.”
Her body had tensed up without her even realizing it. She struggles to follow his advice, trying to force her muscles to loosen and soften again. It’s much harder than she thought it would be, and the process slower still. Robb begins to move again, small thrusts that her body soon adjusts to. Her breathing starts to even out as the pain recedes bit by bit. Soon there are sighs where there were gasps, and Robb takes that as encouragement and moves faster.
It starts to feel like she remembers, the dull but delicious ache between her legs and the shivers of pleasure that cover her as Robb pushes in further and further. Her back starts to arch, her hips trying to meet his for each and every thrust. Caroline turns her head, tries to smother her moans into the pillows because as good as she feels, she knows that there is a hallway of people listening at their door.
Robb groans appreciatively around a mouthful of her left breast and she throws her arms around his neck, digs her fingers into his curls, and drags his lips up to meet her own. She kisses him hard, catches his bottom lip between her teeth and bites down. A drop of blood hits her tongue, the taste of copper filling her mouth, and she feels herself fall over the edge suddenly, almost violently.
Robb follows her, and when her breathing evens and she comes back to herself, she hears the sounds of cheering from the corridor. She sends a dark look towards the closed door and Robb laughs into the crook of her neck. “They won’t be there tomorrow,” he promises.
But I will be, is left unsaid and she cannot fight off the smile that erupts.
~0~
Father lingers for two more weeks, and then even he cannot ignore the grumblings of his Storm Lords.
They walk, arm in arm, early on the morning of his departure. Caroline is still not used to the chill of the north, not even in her new dresses of much thicker material. She thinks the warm corridors of Winterfell are to blame. She forgets, sometimes, where she is and walks free of her cloak and furs. But just one step outside reminds her.
Father doesn’t mind as she leans into him, seeking shelter from the cold. He laughs and tugs her close and assures her that she will soon adjust. ‘It’ll become a part of you. Just look at Cat-a girl from the Riverlands and yet does she seem anything but a lady of the north?”
Caroline agrees; Lady Catelyn is almost as much a part of Winterfell as the stone walls. The lady is everywhere, her footsteps etched onto the grounds as Caroline’s had been in King’s Landing.
“Will you write to me?” she asks him as they near the stables and the awaiting party. “You know I will write to you, but will you write to me?”
Father graces with her a watery smile. “Of course, sweetling-anything you want. Just don’t get too upset by the scratches on the paper. There’s a reason I had you write all my papers.”
Caroline laughs, a bout of mirth tinged with hysteria settling on her shoulders. She tightens her hold on Father’s arm and bites her tongue to keep from begging him to stay. The king needs to be back in the capital, not dwaddling in the north because his daughter would miss him if he goes.
And she will, miss him that is. More so than she ever thought possible.
Her uncles are waiting for them in the courtyard, as is her husband and new family. Uncle Renly smiles wickedly at her before grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around. Caroline can’t help a squeal of shock, or the giggles that follow when she is back on her feet.
Uncle Renly pinches her cheek. “Now that is the smiling, happy niece of my heart. Smile often sweetling, there’s not a person in the whole world who could deny you with that smile of yours.”
“You’re a terrible flatterer, Uncle.”
“Not at all!” He winks at her. “You’re the only one who deserves it. I’ve seen plenty of people deny your father, often because of that smile of his.”
“It’s a long way back to King’s Landing,” Father warns, mock-threatening. “Best watch that tongue, little brother.”
Father moves to say his goodbyes to Lord Eddard and Caroline is left looking at Ser Uncle. He looks impeccable in hid gold armour and pristine white cloak. Caroline does not have to look to know most of the ladies in the yard, Sansa included, are watching him with shy looks and reddening cheeks. He knows it as well, that blinding smile on his face as usual. But his eyes are hard, sharp pieces of green glass and Caroline knows how far they have to travel to reach home.
“Princess,” he bows when she approaches and it’s an effort not to roll her eyes because he’s being childish now.
“Ser Uncle,” Caroline looks at him, unsure. She has never got on well with Ser Uncle. She is overly suspicious and he keeps too many secrets to be trusted. But, he is her uncle, and he traveled half the kingdom to see her wed.
She darts in, before she can change her mind, and kisses his cheek. He looks as surprised as she feels, and that toothy grin is soon aimed at her. “Now don’t tell me you’re to miss me, niece.”
She doesn’t yet know, so she settles on a smile of her own. “Have a good journey, Uncle. Be happy-be good.”
And she might glance at Father when she says that last part, and Ser Uncle might lose some of his smile, but she wants him to understand her.
“Farewell, Caroline,” are his last words to her before he mounts his horse. Caroline turns and sees Robb smiling at her from beside the Lady Catelyn. She joins him quickly, eyes watering when Father comes for his farewell embrace.
“Please Father, take care,” she mumbles into his shoulder, arms locked tightly around his neck.
“It will be hard, without my daughter, but I will try.”
And with one final kiss on her cheek, King Robert mounts his horse and rides out of the gates of Winterfell.
Robb reaches for her hand and squeezes it comfortingly. “It’ll be all right, my love.”
It’s only when he wipes her cheek clean does Caroline realize she’s crying.
~0~