Wolf Song: Chapter Two
Rating: PG-13 (might be changed in later chapters, fyi)
Characters: Rose, the 9th Doctor, Jackie Tyler, Mickey Smith, Lynda Moss, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Donna Noble, and many more!
Pairing: Rose/Doctor, Amy/Rory, perhaps others
Summary: There were stories about the Doctor of house Tardis, stories that made her shiver.
A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me! This story takes place in a Game of Thrones-inspired alternate universe! Enjoy!
Prologue: Goodbye Stars ( Chapter One )
Rose
Rose Tyler of house Powell woke on the morning of her wedding with the strangest feeling. She'd dreamt of Idris, which was odd in itself. When Rose was a child she had an imaginary friend, well, more like an imaginary nanny, she named Idris. She watched over Rose when the little girl played, sang her to sleep at night, and told her stories about the lands beyond Winterskeep. She was more of a surrogate mother than anything. Jacquelyn loved her daughter and tried to provide for her, but she couldn't always be around when Rose needed a mum. The day-to-day business of running Winterskeep kept her busy from first to last light, and often beyond. Rose understood, she really did-but she was lonely. Most of the other children wouldn't play with her; their parents warned them away because she was the daughter of the lady of the castle. Mickey was too old to play with her, and Keisha and Shireen had to watch their little brothers and sisters, so Rose was left on her own most of the time. That was when she played with Idris, and together they explored every nook and cranny of Winterskeep.
The dream was strange, though. She hadn't thought of Idris in years, not since she'd turned twelve years old and the Doctor had given her Kaynine as a nameday present. Oh, the filly had been left anonymously, but it wasn't her mum or anyone else in Winterskeep, so she knew it had to be the Doctor. But after that she'd been preoccupied with training her and learning to ride her, and she'd forgotten all about her childhood friend.
In her dream Idris looked like she always had-tall for a woman, with her long black hair piled haphazardly on her head. Her dress was long and beautiful, but looked like it had been made from rags. She looked like a wild woman, like a child of the forest. Her feet were bare because she said she liked to walk in the dust, and she was singing. She was always singing. She sang more than she spoke-lullabies and ballads and loves songs and old ghost stories to lull Rose to sleep or keep her awake at nights whilst she waited for her mum to say goodnight.
Idris was trying to tell her something, something important. Something that she couldn't quite remember. She was wandering the corridors of Snowlight like she did when she was small and they came to visit the Doctor (they'd only been once, her mum refused to go back). She remembered a vivid blue, like the sky in the east at sunset, and strange metallic pillars that stretched up to a ceiling that reminded her of a forest canopy. There was a soft hum, like the purr of a contented cat, and the golden light and a song that seemed to vibrate every atom of her being.
And then she woke up. The sun had not yet risen but she felt like she'd slept for weeks. She was getting married today.
The preparations passed in a blur of movement, most of it directed around her. Rose felt like one of the life-size dolls she saw in the dressmaker's shop-a serving girl (a shy little thing named Lynda, Lynda-with-a-y) bathed her and plaited her hair into complex braids. She wove clear and blue beads through the strands until it looked like Rose was wearing a wig of gold and jewels. Lynda helped Rose to dress and smiled and ducked her head when Rose thanked her. Jacquelyn was, of course, less than impressed, but her mother was always like that and Rose had learned not to take offense.
"You'll do," her mum said as she eyed Rose up and down appraisingly. "Now come on, girl! Can't be late for the ceremony, not with everyone waiting on you." There was no advice, no heartfelt words her mum shared with her. They'd gotten that all out beforehand when they'd first arrived at Snowlight. It had been strange, seeing her mum uncertain, but Jacquelyn had called Rose into her room and asked her one final time if she was certain of what she was doing. She gave her mother the same answer that was behind her choice to forgo the veil. It was traditional for the bride to wear a long, sheer cloth over her face, so that the first man to see her on her wedding day was her husband. Rose refused. She was going into this marriage with her eyes wide open, unclouded by any illusions or romantic notions, and she wanted everyone present to understand that. She looked like her mother, like the women of the South with their fair hair and dark eyes-but she was her father's daughter through and through. She understood what this union meant for her and for the Doctor. The Lords of the North liked to keep the three families closely related. They had, after all, come from one house and though they would never merge again blood ties helped to maintain the close relationship between the lands. The Doctor's family, house Tardis, had managed to evade mingling for several generations, but now he needed an heir. The kingdom had been rocked by the battle for the throne, and Robert was not a strong king. The last thing Snowlight needed was unrest from within as well as without. She was young and healthy and his equal, and she could bring him into the fold. Her gran was a Stark, the youngest daughter of the then-Lord. If anyone threatened any of the three houses the others would be honor bound to assist.
Power in the Seven Kingdoms was balanced on the edge of a knife. For now the North and the South were equally matched-the Starks had ties to the Tullys, as Lady Catelyn was the oldest daughter of Lord Tully and the Prentices-Jacquelyn's family, were common born but incredibly wealthy merchants. Should the Lannisters and their allies move against the North the three houses would be well armed and fed. It was the only match possible, really, she and the Doctor. The game of thrones decreed it and as the saying went, there was no middle ground. You won, or you died.
Given a choice between the two, she'd rather win.
The Tylers held to the old gods, as did the Starks and the rest of the North. Rose wasn't sure which gods the Doctor prayed to, but the handfasting was to take place in front of the weirwood tree in the heart of the godswood. Although it ended there, it began in Snowlight hall with her presentation to her husband-to-be. She couldn't suppress a tiny nervous shiver that ran down her spine. She felt odd, awkward, out of place. The dress was too soft and too pretty for her tastes-she preferred simple clothing made from materials that could take abuse. She felt strangely naked standing in front of so many people, even though she was wearing many more layers than usual. Her armor had been stripped away and replaced with something designed to make her look weak.
Rose raised her chin. She was a Tyler, and there was fire in her-from her mother-but steel as well. The huge double-doors swung open and she walked down the aisle that stretched to the dais at the front of the hall-where her husband-to-be was waiting. He was dressed all in blue, as she was, but it was deeper than hers, almost navy. It set off the pale blue of his eyes, which shone like chips of ice. He wore his hair cropped short, but he allowed a beard to cover his cheeks. It was well-trimmed and highlighted the sharp curve of his cheekbones. He was not handsome, not like Jaime Lannister-but there was something compelling about him. He looked like a Lord. He wore authority like a garment drawn around him, and when she met his eyes she found that she could not look away.
She stopped at the foot of the dais. She was listed as the petitioner, although it grated on her nerves to have to appeal to him when she had just as much rank as he did. She knew the realm's opinion of women-beautiful, delicate creatures-and found it depressingly hilarious. Obviously whoever came up with that idea had never met Jacquelyn Tyler. She ran Winterskeep as well as any man could, and better than some Lords did. She was sharp and brash and never, ever backed down. The words she had memorized were just that, words, but she hoped that the Doctor didn't expect her to abide by the letter of them. Her actual personality would come as quite a shock if he did.
"I, Rose of the house of Powell, stand here before you," she declared, her voice even and pitched to carry. "I am of sound mind and body, daughter of Petyr and Jacquelyn Tyler and heir to the realm of Winterskeep." She raised an eyebrow-a challenge. "Will you consent to take me as your wife?"
The hint of a smile flashed across his face, so fast that she wouldn't have seen it had she not been staring at him. Good, she wasn't sure she could live with a man who lacked a sense of humor. He took a step forward. "I, the Doctor of house Tardis, Lord of Snowlight accept your proposal, Rose Tyler of house Powell. Plainly speaking-I will." He held out his hand. She slid her palm across his and twined their fingers together as she ascended the dais to stand next to him.
They led the procession to the heart tree in the center of the godswood. Like all of the Northern woods it was a wild place. Jacquelyn had told Rose stories of the godswood where she grew up. It was a garden, she said, a beautiful place with attendants who kept it clean and orderly. But, her gods were the seven, the gods of the southron. The old gods, the gods of the first men and the children of the forest held sway in the North, and their altars were living trees with eyes carved in the bark and leaves like bloody hands. Rose loved it. She'd gone to Winterskeep's godswood to think or to play ever since she was small. Shireen and Keisha wouldn't go with her, they were too afraid. They said that the weirwood watched them, but Rose always felt that it was safer in the tree's wooden gaze. She was never alone in the godswood-the old gods watched over her and Idris was there, just beyond the furthest tree.
The heart tree of the Snowlight godswood was in a clearing at the precise center of the forest. A brook flowed through the clearing and split it in two. There were ponds a bit further downstream and the chirping of frogs and burble of water formed a sort of music, accompanied by the soft brush of the wind through the canopy of leaves above them.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had been chosen to perform the ceremony. It was short-all handfastings were-but the words were as old as the godswood itself, perhaps older. He was their equal, and thus the only one qualified to bind them together. He was also Rose's cousin and the Doctor's friend. He stood with his back to the weirwood. As they were coming together, Rose and the Doctor faced the ancient tree.
"Know you now that the words you speak here, the vows you will take, have power," he began. "You have come here with the intention of binding yourselves to each other. Is this true?"
"It is," Rose and the Doctor answered in unison.
"You have come here of your own free will, without coercion or force?" he continued.
Once again, they answered in unison. "We have."
Eddard held out the cords. There were three-one made of braided blues and another of white and silver-the colors of their respective houses. The third was red, the color of the weirwood leaves and representative of the gods to whom they swore. "These cords symbolize the vows that you will make-they are the ties that bind, in the eyes of the kingdom, and the eyes of the gods. Though you can cut cloth and twine, you cannot cut an oath, not with any sword in the kingdom." He glanced from one to the other. "Do you still wish to continue, being so warned?"
"I do," Rose answered in a firm, clear voice.
"I do," the Doctor acknowledged. His accent was strange-she couldn't quite place it, but amazingly expressive. It was harsh, but warm as he spoke.
Eddard nodded. "Then face each other and hold out your hand."
They obeyed. Rose clasped the Doctor's right hand in her left. He was staring at her with those ice-pale eyes again, and just like before she was drawn in by the intensity they held. He was ice-he was a man of the North, after all-but she thought she saw fire there too. Fire wrapped in ice, what conundrum was that? It was almost as good as fire wrapped in steel.
Eddard turned to face the Doctor. "Will you honor her above all others?" he inquired. "Will you share your joys and sorrows with her, your laughter and your pain, your riches and your debts? Will you make her the head of your household, most beloved and prized? Will you care for her always? Will you bind your life to hers, as long as there is breath in your body, in the sight of the gods and the kingdom?"
"I will," the Doctor answered, but his eyes were on hers.
Lord Stark turned to face Rose. Her heart was beating so loudly that she thought he must hear it, they all must. But then he was speaking and this was important so she pushed the fear down and locked it away. Not today, not now. She could fly to pieces later, in the privacy of her own room, not in front of her family and her soon-to-be household.
"Will you honor him above all others?" Eddard asked Rose. "Will you share your joys and sorrows with him, your laughter and your pain, your riches and your debts? Will you hold him as your Lord, beloved and most prized? Will you support him always? Will you bind your life to his, as long as there is breath in your body, in sight of the gods and the kingdom?"
"I will," she replied, and she thought for a moment that the Doctor's icy eyes softened.
Lord Stark wrapped the cords around them-the blues of house Tardis, then the white and silver of house Powell, and finally the blood red godscord. "You are bound together," he declared. "When you came before the heart tree you were two, but now you are one-one flesh, one spirit. Remember your vows, and find joy in each other."
The ceremony was, of course, followed by a feast. Rose and the Doctor left the godswood still bound, but as soon as they returned to Snowlight proper Jacquelyn undid the knots and sent the cords off with Lynda. They would be hung above their bed, a reminder of this day and their oaths. The important part of the day was done, and Rose allowed the nerves she'd been ruthlessly suppressing to bubble up again. The focus of the crowd that had come to witness their marriage had turned to the food and entertainment that the Doctor provided. She took the time to observe those around her. A tall, brash, ginger-haired woman sat at the Doctor's right-Donna Noble, his steward. It was unusual for a woman to hold that position, but then his entire household was unusual. Donna had been present when the betrothal documents had been signed, and her first impression of the woman-strong and opinionated, but kind-seemed to be holding. She could pick out a few other familiar faces in the throng: Ser Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, first Knight and head of the castle guard. She'd heard of him before, he was rumored to be an extremely skilled swordsman and a brilliant tactician. Then there was Sarah Jane Smith, one of his bannermen-well, bannerwoman in her case. She was the lady of a powerful house in the South of Snowlight and respected as clever and capable, if a bit overprotective.
The Starks were familiar faces, although it had been some time since Rose had seen them last. She noticed that Jon Snow wasn't in attendance and her heart went out to him. She'd grown up without a father, and he without a mother (and as a bastard in his father's house with a woman whom all knew was rather less than fond of him). She felt for him, although she liked all of her cousins well enough, Jon and Arya were her favorites. Arya Stark was a girl after her own heart. Since her father's death Rose's mum had her instructed in the use of weapons. You don't need to know how to use a sword to die on one, Jacquelyn always said, but if you can, you might just live to see another day. She was no knight, no Ser, but she could hold her own well enough, and on the field of battle honor too often fled. Her father taught her that the day he died. It was a hard lesson-one she didn't intended to repeat. Arya was like Rose when she was young-half wild. Perhaps that was why Lady Catelyn kept away-she didn't want her youngest daughter to be influenced by a woman who was less than ladylike.
It was late, very late, and she'd had more wine than perhaps wise when the Doctor finally stood and offered her his hand. "My lady?" he asked, and his eyes shifted to the door.
Rose accepted his hand (and the offer of escape) with a smile and stood. They bid the revelers good night and departed. The walk to their rooms seemed endless and Rose found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She knew what came next and it wouldn't do for her to fall asleep in the middle of consummating their marriage. Oh, she knew about sex. She'd listened to Keisha and Shireen compare notes-which bloke was gentle, which liked it rough, which had a wife in the town outside Winterskeep's walls, which visited the same whore almost nightly-and she'd overheard Mickey talking with his friends about girls-which one liked a bit of sweet talking, which one liked presents, which one was happy to let a man of the guard in whilst her husband was away-but she was a lady, and her virginity was marked as an asset. Like an asset it had been carefully guarded for this moment.
The Doctor had family once, a wife and a daughter. It was better, she supposed, that at least one of them knew what he was doing. His hand had slipped into hers as they walked without her noticing. She blamed the heat radiating from her face on the wine, when she noticed. Rose couldn't help sizing him up a bit. He was tall, much taller than she was, and lean. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow. He had a swimmer's build, or a runner's, and she would bet he was a good deal faster than he looked, and probably quite a bit stronger. She contemplated how he would feel beneath her hands-if she would be able to trace the planes of his body outlined in sharp relief under his skin.
He stopped in front of a door and pushed. It swung open. The room was large and airy. Thick rugs covered the cold stone floor (it was always cold, even heat of high summer) and tapestries covered the walls, different ones from the suite she'd been occupying. The bed dominated the room. It was large enough for three people, she thought, and covered with plush blankets and what seemed like a hundred pillows. She realized as she turned in the center of the room that the Doctor had remained in the doorway. Rose dropped her eyes and held out her hand to him. He took it, but used it to pull her back closer to him.
"There's a passage that connects our rooms," he told her softly, and nodded to the plain wooden door that was set into the far wall across from the bed. "I'll be there if you need me." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Rose." And then he was gone.
Characters: Rose, the 9th Doctor, Jackie Tyler, Mickey Smith, Lynda Moss, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Donna Noble, and many more!
Pairing: Rose/Doctor, Amy/Rory, perhaps others
Summary: There were stories about the Doctor of house Tardis, stories that made her shiver.
A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me! This story takes place in a Game of Thrones-inspired alternate universe! Enjoy!
Prologue: Goodbye Stars ( Chapter One )
Rose
Rose Tyler of house Powell woke on the morning of her wedding with the strangest feeling. She'd dreamt of Idris, which was odd in itself. When Rose was a child she had an imaginary friend, well, more like an imaginary nanny, she named Idris. She watched over Rose when the little girl played, sang her to sleep at night, and told her stories about the lands beyond Winterskeep. She was more of a surrogate mother than anything. Jacquelyn loved her daughter and tried to provide for her, but she couldn't always be around when Rose needed a mum. The day-to-day business of running Winterskeep kept her busy from first to last light, and often beyond. Rose understood, she really did-but she was lonely. Most of the other children wouldn't play with her; their parents warned them away because she was the daughter of the lady of the castle. Mickey was too old to play with her, and Keisha and Shireen had to watch their little brothers and sisters, so Rose was left on her own most of the time. That was when she played with Idris, and together they explored every nook and cranny of Winterskeep.
The dream was strange, though. She hadn't thought of Idris in years, not since she'd turned twelve years old and the Doctor had given her Kaynine as a nameday present. Oh, the filly had been left anonymously, but it wasn't her mum or anyone else in Winterskeep, so she knew it had to be the Doctor. But after that she'd been preoccupied with training her and learning to ride her, and she'd forgotten all about her childhood friend.
In her dream Idris looked like she always had-tall for a woman, with her long black hair piled haphazardly on her head. Her dress was long and beautiful, but looked like it had been made from rags. She looked like a wild woman, like a child of the forest. Her feet were bare because she said she liked to walk in the dust, and she was singing. She was always singing. She sang more than she spoke-lullabies and ballads and loves songs and old ghost stories to lull Rose to sleep or keep her awake at nights whilst she waited for her mum to say goodnight.
Idris was trying to tell her something, something important. Something that she couldn't quite remember. She was wandering the corridors of Snowlight like she did when she was small and they came to visit the Doctor (they'd only been once, her mum refused to go back). She remembered a vivid blue, like the sky in the east at sunset, and strange metallic pillars that stretched up to a ceiling that reminded her of a forest canopy. There was a soft hum, like the purr of a contented cat, and the golden light and a song that seemed to vibrate every atom of her being.
And then she woke up. The sun had not yet risen but she felt like she'd slept for weeks. She was getting married today.
The preparations passed in a blur of movement, most of it directed around her. Rose felt like one of the life-size dolls she saw in the dressmaker's shop-a serving girl (a shy little thing named Lynda, Lynda-with-a-y) bathed her and plaited her hair into complex braids. She wove clear and blue beads through the strands until it looked like Rose was wearing a wig of gold and jewels. Lynda helped Rose to dress and smiled and ducked her head when Rose thanked her. Jacquelyn was, of course, less than impressed, but her mother was always like that and Rose had learned not to take offense.
"You'll do," her mum said as she eyed Rose up and down appraisingly. "Now come on, girl! Can't be late for the ceremony, not with everyone waiting on you." There was no advice, no heartfelt words her mum shared with her. They'd gotten that all out beforehand when they'd first arrived at Snowlight. It had been strange, seeing her mum uncertain, but Jacquelyn had called Rose into her room and asked her one final time if she was certain of what she was doing. She gave her mother the same answer that was behind her choice to forgo the veil. It was traditional for the bride to wear a long, sheer cloth over her face, so that the first man to see her on her wedding day was her husband. Rose refused. She was going into this marriage with her eyes wide open, unclouded by any illusions or romantic notions, and she wanted everyone present to understand that. She looked like her mother, like the women of the South with their fair hair and dark eyes-but she was her father's daughter through and through. She understood what this union meant for her and for the Doctor. The Lords of the North liked to keep the three families closely related. They had, after all, come from one house and though they would never merge again blood ties helped to maintain the close relationship between the lands. The Doctor's family, house Tardis, had managed to evade mingling for several generations, but now he needed an heir. The kingdom had been rocked by the battle for the throne, and Robert was not a strong king. The last thing Snowlight needed was unrest from within as well as without. She was young and healthy and his equal, and she could bring him into the fold. Her gran was a Stark, the youngest daughter of the then-Lord. If anyone threatened any of the three houses the others would be honor bound to assist.
Power in the Seven Kingdoms was balanced on the edge of a knife. For now the North and the South were equally matched-the Starks had ties to the Tullys, as Lady Catelyn was the oldest daughter of Lord Tully and the Prentices-Jacquelyn's family, were common born but incredibly wealthy merchants. Should the Lannisters and their allies move against the North the three houses would be well armed and fed. It was the only match possible, really, she and the Doctor. The game of thrones decreed it and as the saying went, there was no middle ground. You won, or you died.
Given a choice between the two, she'd rather win.
The Tylers held to the old gods, as did the Starks and the rest of the North. Rose wasn't sure which gods the Doctor prayed to, but the handfasting was to take place in front of the weirwood tree in the heart of the godswood. Although it ended there, it began in Snowlight hall with her presentation to her husband-to-be. She couldn't suppress a tiny nervous shiver that ran down her spine. She felt odd, awkward, out of place. The dress was too soft and too pretty for her tastes-she preferred simple clothing made from materials that could take abuse. She felt strangely naked standing in front of so many people, even though she was wearing many more layers than usual. Her armor had been stripped away and replaced with something designed to make her look weak.
Rose raised her chin. She was a Tyler, and there was fire in her-from her mother-but steel as well. The huge double-doors swung open and she walked down the aisle that stretched to the dais at the front of the hall-where her husband-to-be was waiting. He was dressed all in blue, as she was, but it was deeper than hers, almost navy. It set off the pale blue of his eyes, which shone like chips of ice. He wore his hair cropped short, but he allowed a beard to cover his cheeks. It was well-trimmed and highlighted the sharp curve of his cheekbones. He was not handsome, not like Jaime Lannister-but there was something compelling about him. He looked like a Lord. He wore authority like a garment drawn around him, and when she met his eyes she found that she could not look away.
She stopped at the foot of the dais. She was listed as the petitioner, although it grated on her nerves to have to appeal to him when she had just as much rank as he did. She knew the realm's opinion of women-beautiful, delicate creatures-and found it depressingly hilarious. Obviously whoever came up with that idea had never met Jacquelyn Tyler. She ran Winterskeep as well as any man could, and better than some Lords did. She was sharp and brash and never, ever backed down. The words she had memorized were just that, words, but she hoped that the Doctor didn't expect her to abide by the letter of them. Her actual personality would come as quite a shock if he did.
"I, Rose of the house of Powell, stand here before you," she declared, her voice even and pitched to carry. "I am of sound mind and body, daughter of Petyr and Jacquelyn Tyler and heir to the realm of Winterskeep." She raised an eyebrow-a challenge. "Will you consent to take me as your wife?"
The hint of a smile flashed across his face, so fast that she wouldn't have seen it had she not been staring at him. Good, she wasn't sure she could live with a man who lacked a sense of humor. He took a step forward. "I, the Doctor of house Tardis, Lord of Snowlight accept your proposal, Rose Tyler of house Powell. Plainly speaking-I will." He held out his hand. She slid her palm across his and twined their fingers together as she ascended the dais to stand next to him.
They led the procession to the heart tree in the center of the godswood. Like all of the Northern woods it was a wild place. Jacquelyn had told Rose stories of the godswood where she grew up. It was a garden, she said, a beautiful place with attendants who kept it clean and orderly. But, her gods were the seven, the gods of the southron. The old gods, the gods of the first men and the children of the forest held sway in the North, and their altars were living trees with eyes carved in the bark and leaves like bloody hands. Rose loved it. She'd gone to Winterskeep's godswood to think or to play ever since she was small. Shireen and Keisha wouldn't go with her, they were too afraid. They said that the weirwood watched them, but Rose always felt that it was safer in the tree's wooden gaze. She was never alone in the godswood-the old gods watched over her and Idris was there, just beyond the furthest tree.
The heart tree of the Snowlight godswood was in a clearing at the precise center of the forest. A brook flowed through the clearing and split it in two. There were ponds a bit further downstream and the chirping of frogs and burble of water formed a sort of music, accompanied by the soft brush of the wind through the canopy of leaves above them.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had been chosen to perform the ceremony. It was short-all handfastings were-but the words were as old as the godswood itself, perhaps older. He was their equal, and thus the only one qualified to bind them together. He was also Rose's cousin and the Doctor's friend. He stood with his back to the weirwood. As they were coming together, Rose and the Doctor faced the ancient tree.
"Know you now that the words you speak here, the vows you will take, have power," he began. "You have come here with the intention of binding yourselves to each other. Is this true?"
"It is," Rose and the Doctor answered in unison.
"You have come here of your own free will, without coercion or force?" he continued.
Once again, they answered in unison. "We have."
Eddard held out the cords. There were three-one made of braided blues and another of white and silver-the colors of their respective houses. The third was red, the color of the weirwood leaves and representative of the gods to whom they swore. "These cords symbolize the vows that you will make-they are the ties that bind, in the eyes of the kingdom, and the eyes of the gods. Though you can cut cloth and twine, you cannot cut an oath, not with any sword in the kingdom." He glanced from one to the other. "Do you still wish to continue, being so warned?"
"I do," Rose answered in a firm, clear voice.
"I do," the Doctor acknowledged. His accent was strange-she couldn't quite place it, but amazingly expressive. It was harsh, but warm as he spoke.
Eddard nodded. "Then face each other and hold out your hand."
They obeyed. Rose clasped the Doctor's right hand in her left. He was staring at her with those ice-pale eyes again, and just like before she was drawn in by the intensity they held. He was ice-he was a man of the North, after all-but she thought she saw fire there too. Fire wrapped in ice, what conundrum was that? It was almost as good as fire wrapped in steel.
Eddard turned to face the Doctor. "Will you honor her above all others?" he inquired. "Will you share your joys and sorrows with her, your laughter and your pain, your riches and your debts? Will you make her the head of your household, most beloved and prized? Will you care for her always? Will you bind your life to hers, as long as there is breath in your body, in the sight of the gods and the kingdom?"
"I will," the Doctor answered, but his eyes were on hers.
Lord Stark turned to face Rose. Her heart was beating so loudly that she thought he must hear it, they all must. But then he was speaking and this was important so she pushed the fear down and locked it away. Not today, not now. She could fly to pieces later, in the privacy of her own room, not in front of her family and her soon-to-be household.
"Will you honor him above all others?" Eddard asked Rose. "Will you share your joys and sorrows with him, your laughter and your pain, your riches and your debts? Will you hold him as your Lord, beloved and most prized? Will you support him always? Will you bind your life to his, as long as there is breath in your body, in sight of the gods and the kingdom?"
"I will," she replied, and she thought for a moment that the Doctor's icy eyes softened.
Lord Stark wrapped the cords around them-the blues of house Tardis, then the white and silver of house Powell, and finally the blood red godscord. "You are bound together," he declared. "When you came before the heart tree you were two, but now you are one-one flesh, one spirit. Remember your vows, and find joy in each other."
The ceremony was, of course, followed by a feast. Rose and the Doctor left the godswood still bound, but as soon as they returned to Snowlight proper Jacquelyn undid the knots and sent the cords off with Lynda. They would be hung above their bed, a reminder of this day and their oaths. The important part of the day was done, and Rose allowed the nerves she'd been ruthlessly suppressing to bubble up again. The focus of the crowd that had come to witness their marriage had turned to the food and entertainment that the Doctor provided. She took the time to observe those around her. A tall, brash, ginger-haired woman sat at the Doctor's right-Donna Noble, his steward. It was unusual for a woman to hold that position, but then his entire household was unusual. Donna had been present when the betrothal documents had been signed, and her first impression of the woman-strong and opinionated, but kind-seemed to be holding. She could pick out a few other familiar faces in the throng: Ser Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, first Knight and head of the castle guard. She'd heard of him before, he was rumored to be an extremely skilled swordsman and a brilliant tactician. Then there was Sarah Jane Smith, one of his bannermen-well, bannerwoman in her case. She was the lady of a powerful house in the South of Snowlight and respected as clever and capable, if a bit overprotective.
The Starks were familiar faces, although it had been some time since Rose had seen them last. She noticed that Jon Snow wasn't in attendance and her heart went out to him. She'd grown up without a father, and he without a mother (and as a bastard in his father's house with a woman whom all knew was rather less than fond of him). She felt for him, although she liked all of her cousins well enough, Jon and Arya were her favorites. Arya Stark was a girl after her own heart. Since her father's death Rose's mum had her instructed in the use of weapons. You don't need to know how to use a sword to die on one, Jacquelyn always said, but if you can, you might just live to see another day. She was no knight, no Ser, but she could hold her own well enough, and on the field of battle honor too often fled. Her father taught her that the day he died. It was a hard lesson-one she didn't intended to repeat. Arya was like Rose when she was young-half wild. Perhaps that was why Lady Catelyn kept away-she didn't want her youngest daughter to be influenced by a woman who was less than ladylike.
It was late, very late, and she'd had more wine than perhaps wise when the Doctor finally stood and offered her his hand. "My lady?" he asked, and his eyes shifted to the door.
Rose accepted his hand (and the offer of escape) with a smile and stood. They bid the revelers good night and departed. The walk to their rooms seemed endless and Rose found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She knew what came next and it wouldn't do for her to fall asleep in the middle of consummating their marriage. Oh, she knew about sex. She'd listened to Keisha and Shireen compare notes-which bloke was gentle, which liked it rough, which had a wife in the town outside Winterskeep's walls, which visited the same whore almost nightly-and she'd overheard Mickey talking with his friends about girls-which one liked a bit of sweet talking, which one liked presents, which one was happy to let a man of the guard in whilst her husband was away-but she was a lady, and her virginity was marked as an asset. Like an asset it had been carefully guarded for this moment.
The Doctor had family once, a wife and a daughter. It was better, she supposed, that at least one of them knew what he was doing. His hand had slipped into hers as they walked without her noticing. She blamed the heat radiating from her face on the wine, when she noticed. Rose couldn't help sizing him up a bit. He was tall, much taller than she was, and lean. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow. He had a swimmer's build, or a runner's, and she would bet he was a good deal faster than he looked, and probably quite a bit stronger. She contemplated how he would feel beneath her hands-if she would be able to trace the planes of his body outlined in sharp relief under his skin.
He stopped in front of a door and pushed. It swung open. The room was large and airy. Thick rugs covered the cold stone floor (it was always cold, even heat of high summer) and tapestries covered the walls, different ones from the suite she'd been occupying. The bed dominated the room. It was large enough for three people, she thought, and covered with plush blankets and what seemed like a hundred pillows. She realized as she turned in the center of the room that the Doctor had remained in the doorway. Rose dropped her eyes and held out her hand to him. He took it, but used it to pull her back closer to him.
"There's a passage that connects our rooms," he told her softly, and nodded to the plain wooden door that was set into the far wall across from the bed. "I'll be there if you need me." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Rose." And then he was gone.