It's here, oh my goodness it's here it's here it's here

Chapter 35: A New Vow

If Maeve still believed in the gods, she would think that dining with Robb Stark and his cold mother was probably the hell the Seven had planned for her. But her faith had died a slow death, drawn out over months of hardship and shame. Now, she wondered if there were truly gods, or if they were worth worshiping when they cared not for the people who believed in them.

Gods forgive my sinful thoughts, she still thought, fearful to tempt them with her doubts.

This was only an ill imagined mess of a dinner. The king had invited her and Jon to sup with him, along with his mother and sister, although Maeve thought it was more of an order. Who could deny a king? It was a great honour, but Maeve would have refused it she could. Robb Stark was either a stupid man or a man who enjoyed watching people squirm because from the first greeting, there was no warmth in the chamber.

It was awkward and silent around the table and all Maeve wished was to be done with the meal in front of her and back in the safety of the chambers she'd been given. Far from the Starks with her child in her arms.

The table was small, an intentional choice by the king to inspire warmth and kindness, friendship even. His lady mother sat at his left, and Jon at his right. Arya sat next to her mother and Maeve sat beside Jon. But for all the king's intentions, the meal was silent, the only sound was the scrape of forks against their platters.

"How is the child?" Robb asked cordially, trying to break the tension. Parents did seem to enjoy talking about their children.

Maeve appeared as startled as a mouse realizing the cat was preparing to pounce. Thankfully, it was Jon who answered.

"He is well." Jon replied, nodding stiffly. "Sleep and eating." Jon was all too aware of Lady Catelyn's sharp blue eyes watching him from across the table. As a boy, he'd done his best to stay out of her sight, knowing it would be worse for him if he crossed her path, though he can count on one hand the times she put her hands on him. He was her greatest shame, and it made her hate him. He wanted to keep Edrick safe from her.

So he did not tell Robb how the boy scrunched up his face when he was sleeping, or how strong his grip was, or how his foot fit in the palm of his hand. These were private. He would not allow Lady Stark room to tear them apart, to make them as filthy as she's made his love for Maeve out to be. If she was so embittered she could not see the beauty in loving someone, Jon was content to let her rot in it.

"What is his name again?" Arya asked. She remembered the baby, remembered how light it had been when she held it. It still baffled her how her brother had a son at all.

"Edrick." Maeve replied, clearing her throat when she realized how choked it sounded.

"Is it to be a Snow, then?" Catelyn asked, raising her fork to her lips to take a bite of the roasted pigeon they'd been served. Maeve's anger flared to life at the flippant remark.

"Well, my Lady, seeing as he was born in the west, it is only proper that his name be Hill." Maeve replied, a bite in her voice. The woman had called her baby an 'it' like a mongrel she could not be bothered with. She knew Catelyn Stark had hated Jon his entire life, but she would not abide her insults to her son.

"It is only proper that you and the child be sent away." Catelyn snapped back, setting down her cutlery with a clatter.

You'd like that wouldn't you, Maeve thought, nails digging into her palms. She wants Jon to be as miserable as he can, and if she can do that by sending his son away, then she will. If Catelyn Stark thought she would cow her into becoming that meek little septa once more, she had another thing coming. Maeve had suffered because she hadn't wanted to turn on her Order. She'd suffered because she'd been afraid. She'd gone hungry, she'd gone unwashed, she'd been attacked and sliced and threatened.

Septa Maeve had been weak. Though she did not begrudge her past, she now saw that the girl she had been did not suit the life that she now led. It would be a grief she carried with her the rest of her days, but Septa Maeve had believed and followed blindly and meekly and had suffered for it.

She would never have held Edrick in her arms if she had stayed that obedient and pious septa.

Now, she had a little boy to protect. And Maeve would not let some old, noble bitch threaten her son with a fatherless life. It surprised her how easily she loosed her venom.

"You call denying a baby for the chance to know his father proper?" She hoped Lady Stark caught the dig in that, understood that barely hidden reference to her husband's desire to keep his bastard son close to him. Jon's father had been good, whether it suited his wife or not. "It is good then, that you do not decide if a son knows his sire, or not."

"Enough." The king's voice was like a sword that cut through the rising tension around the table. "This is no time for such a discussion."

"When will there be time, then?" Lady Stark demanded, setting her fork down with a sharp 'clack'. "When your men tear this woman out of her chambers and abuse her because Jon Snow is your favourite?" Jon tensed beside her and Maeve felt sick, as though she might loose a bit of the food she'd swallowed down.

"Mother…" The king began, a warning in his voice.

"Robb, you cannot just ignore this and hope it goes away." The silence that followed was filled with something ugly, something that was better left unsaid. A part of Maeve wanted to claw at the surface further, a dark thrill going through her at the idea of exposing the true nature of her brother and mother to Arya Stark's eyes. Let her see what she was so quick to defend. But a larger part was afraid, afraid the king's annoyance at his mother would transfer to her. But Catelyn Stark had already tread too far, and King Robb had enough. Jon reached for Maeve's hand, his thumb running over her skin. She eyed it, suddenly taken by the fact that the skin there was so smooth, so clean.

Robb Stark fixed his mother with a look full of anger, cold as ice. "Lord Karstark called for your head when you freed Jaime Lannister. Jaime Lannister, who robbed one of my bannermen of all his sons." Catelyn tensed, jaw clenching. She leaned back in her chair, bracing herself, but she remained silent. "You are alive because you are my mother and I would not be known as a kinslayer."

"Robb, shut up!" Arya called, horrified. The little wolf's eyes were wild, at the edge of her seat and inclined more towards her mother.

The king ignored his sister, his voice losing it's cool, quiet tone and rising. "I think my men will be more offended that I treat with you, over allowing my brother to take a wife." Robb did not look away from his mother until the lady looked away first.

No one dared speak. Arya's chest heaved and her eyes were watery, and when she turned and scurried away from the table and out the door, the king gave a sigh. Maeve squeezed Jon's hand. He turned to Jon a beat later. "Marry soon, and marry quietly."

Jon nodded, solemn and silent.

"Do you think he's allowing us to wed just to spite his mother?" Maeve asked when they had returned to their chambers. After the kitchen girl who had been charged with watching over Edrick had been dismissed, the two had let a moment of silence pass between them before they spoke of that dreadful dinner.

"I don't know." Jon admitted, reaching out his hand to stroke the side of his wolf's face. "All that matters is that we can wed." The poor girl had been cowering in the corner nearest the door when they returned, watching the slumbering direwolf lying on the floor beside the bed. When the door had been opened, she bolted like a frightened deer, and the wolf had blinked it's eyes open lazily. Maeve was only too happy to see her baby sleeping soundly.

"I think it matters a little bit." She said, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "What will happen when he isn't angry at her anymore?"

Jon didn't think that would happen for a very long time. Catelyn's actions had made his brother weaker, both in fact and in the eyes of his men. Never mind the fact that her actions had cut her son to the bone. "It won't matter." He said instead. "The vows will be made and he couldn't unmake it."

"He's a king." She scrunched up her nose, confused. "A king could do anything he pleased."

"Robb won't. He'd be a fool to." It would make him like Joffrey, he said it himself.

Maeve sighed, looking at her feet. "We're going to marry in the southern way."

Jon's brows pinched. "Aye. There's no heart-tree here. They have a sorry excuse for a godswood." He meant it to lighten the heaviness in the air, but it did nothing.

Maeve shook her head, the short ends of her hair brushing over her shoulders. "It feels wrong to swear before the Seven. Like we're spitting on them."

Truly, Jon wouldn't object to a few well spat gobs being aimed at the Seven. A wicked grin tugged at his lips. "Think of it like this," he began, stepping closer. "We're making each other honest. Your gods can't begrudge a man for wedding the mother of his son, can they?"

The corner of her lips tugged up, a weak attempt at a smile. The gods can do anything they pleased.

Would they truly be able to marry, so easily, just like that? Men had long memories. Jon was not unloved among the Stark army, but she remembered how the man at the gate had spat the word 'bastard' at him. Part of her feared Lady Stark might be right—that one night, after a bit too much ale some man might act out his anger and hurt her to hurt Jon.

Once, she'd been a little girl, half in tears as old Septon Syvos told a sad tale about a Targaryen queen who had suffered such a terrible fate. She could not recall the name, but remembered she had had two little boys (an heir and a spare), both of them hardly old enough to sleep away from their mother. The men who broke into her apartments made her choose which of her sons would die, and when she finally made her choice, they killed the one she'd chosen to live so the living child would always know his mother had decided his life was worth less than his brother. The queen threw herself from a tower in the Red Keep not long after.

Maeve's heart was heavy for the poor woman, decades dead, and a fresh slice of fear traveled up her back. She pushed it away. Jon is here, she thought, Jon will protect us. And Ghost too. She looked back to the massive wolf, still guarding her son as he slept. It was not as hard as she feared to trust the wolf again, and truly, she trusted him more than she trusted any serving girl.

Her fear had nearly driven her to do the unthinkable, and it shamed her so deeply, she hadn't wanted to look upon the creature. How utterly foolish.

"You never even really asked me, you know." she said, forcing herself away from the terrible thoughts. Jon looked up at her, his eyes wide and surprised. "To marry you. What makes you think I even want to?" She meant it in jest, a way to tease him, but for a moment it was silent, his eyes studying hers.

"Your eyes." He said at last. Maeve frowned.

"What about my eyes?" They were grey and pale, hardly noteworthy. A septon once told her she had the look of blood and steel, a terrible omen. The old man was half out of his mind and had said nothing more, becoming distracted by a blue bird that had landed close by.

"I look at them, and I can tell." He did not explain further, and Maeve was curious of the secrets he could read in her eyes so easily. Jon grinned. "Besides, if you had no interest in being my wife, you would have said as much by now."

"You haven't given me a chance." She teased, a grin tugging at her lips.

"But if it will please you, I can get down on my knee and ask you properly for your hand."

Maeve fell silent and slowly, her smile faded. She didn't know what to make of his offer. It was a sweet offer, too sweet for someone like her. Perhaps she'd died in the siege and this was the afterlife.

"We're doing things all out of order, aren't we?" It was all she could think to say. A part of her didn't want to see him asking for her hand, because it somehow seemed wrong. She remembered how the high lords had reacted to her, and to her son. Edrick's existence posed a threat to them. What if Lady Stark was right?

A grin tugged his lips. "We'll get it right, eventually."

Maeve wet her lips. "Eventually." A promise of more to come, of days and years spent together, learning each other, growing with each other, making a life together. A wave of sweet hope took her, and she didn't fight it. It felt too good, too comforting and the look in Jon's eyes made her believe it could last longer than an hour. "I would like you to ask." She found herself saying, taken by a desire to experience the age old custom. She had no brothers and no father for him to ask, and so the choice was entirely her own.

Then he was on his knees before her. It did not escape her that she had a very powerful man on his knees in front of her. "Maeve, will you do me the honour of being my wife? To share my table, the warmth of my bed and my life?"

I can reject him now, the realization was sudden, mad and cruel. I can break his heart, I can send him away. The thought pained her, and thoughts of spending a life beside the man kneeling before her sent a shock of joy through her that she hadn't felt in ages. "Yes." She said finally. "Yes, Jon Snow, I will take you as my husband if you will take me as your wife."

Husband. Wife. Marriage had once been a dream hardly dared acknowledged. It would be a title they would both have to grow used to soon enough.

It happened fast, just as the king ordered.

Fearing that his brother would be persuaded into changing his mind or there would be another intervening force to halt them, Jon had a septon brought to their chambers before the sun rose.

Septon Lyall was a stocky man, middle aged, but his chain was heavy and clinked when he walked into the dark, windowless chamber. Maeve fidgeted when his eyes turned to her, a blush rising in her cheeks. The Seven Pointed Star said terrible things about women like her, but the gods were not without forgiveness, if the sinner could prove their shame and guilt.

Maeve could weep for the punishment they would inflict upon her to redeem her. Only through suffering, can we be forgiven. She looked away from the holy book in his hands.

But the septon didn't look like he knew all of her sins. Rather, he looked uncomfortable, just as fidgety as Maeve.

"I should confirm with the king. This is very unusual." He said with a shake of his head. He had a lot more hair than any other septon she'd seen. His hair was dark and thick and curly. He was younger than most septons she'd seen. He questioned Jon, the king's own brother; perhaps he was filled with more questions for the very gods he served. The half of her that wasn't terrified of his presence wanted to ask if he thought the gods were more forgiving than they were taught. If one truly had to surfer the worst in order to be absolved.

Jon's reply was very matter-of-fact. "The king has told me he wishes this marriage to take place quickly. And quietly."

Septon Lyall took a glace around the room. "I can see that."

"Shall we begin?" she found her voice, squaring her shoulders. Courage, she encouraged herself. A woman cannot wed without a certain amount of courage. These would be her final vows to the Seven. She would leave behind the past, and step forward with Edrick, and Jon at her side.

The first time she'd begged the blessing of the Seven, she'd bathed in holy oils, she'd fasted seven days, she'd prayed seven nights and seven mornings, she'd bound up her hair and donned her shawl the first time. Her hair was shorter now, than it ever had been. Her skin was clean but unsweetened, her dress was coloured green. Her body had carried and birthed a child, her breasts were heavy with milk.

Once a septa, then a mother and now a bride.

"Uh, we need a witness…" He shifted under Jon's heavy glare. "To…vouch for the ceremony's…validity."

"I suppose he doesn't count?" Jon's head inclined towards the wolf, lying in front of the blazing hearth, watching the holy man with unblinking red eyes. Maeve never heard such a startled sound come from a man in septon's robes before, nor had she seen one drop the Seven Pointed Star in order to grasp at the holy pendant at his neck and hold it out towards a direwolf like it was a proper shield.

"He won't harm you," she assured him. "I swear it. Please don't be afraid."

"He only eats fatter septons." Jon's dark utterance was thankfully too low for the holy man to hear, but all the same, Maeve shot him a stern glare and hit his chest with the back of her hand.

With a great sigh, Jon strode to the door and pulling it open, revealing the guard there who had fetched the maester. The man's eyes widened when Jon grabbed at his doublet, yanking him into the chamber with a stumble.

"Stand there and don't talk." Jon ordered, striding quickly to return to her side.

After a few moments, the septon collected himself and hastily started reading from the passage of marriage.

The world felt very far away when Jon's hands slipped into hers and Septon Lyall started speaking about the loyalties marriage demanded. His hands were warm in hers, his fingers firm and solid, but it was his face that made her feel at ease. Others might see someone stern and cold and prickly, because Maeve certainly had the first few months she'd known him.

And yet, there was something warm about him. Something kind, something good. It had drawn her in, impossible to resist. And somehow, this good, honourable man had fallen in love with a septa. He'd loved her even as she broke her vows, even as she tried to sever the bond between them. And the septa had loved him in return.

Jon wasn't the man he was, but neither was she the woman she had been. She still saw that same warmth in his eyes and it gave her hope.

With a brief brush of Jon's lips against hers, they were married.

Oh my goodness it happened it happened it happened it happened

it. HAPPENED