Winterfell, the Great Hall.
The other northern lords had already scattered in twos and threes.
When it came to a wedding involving the Starks and the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, it was not their place to linger.
Once they had departed, only the Starks and the Glovers remained in the vast hall.
Whether it was because the fire in the hall's hearth burned too fiercely, Sansa's cheeks were flushed crimson. She kept her head lowered, not uttering a word.
Yet her ears were pricked high, listening intently to her mother, Galon, and Robett discussing her upcoming marriage.
"Lady Catelyn, I have only just returned, and Uncle Robett has been stationed here at Winterfell...
Thus, I fear preparing the wedding on such short notice might prove difficult.
Furthermore, the Glovers still need to prepare the bride-price and gifts..."
Galon had intended to postpone the wedding for a brief period, if only to give himself enough time to make proper preparations.
However, Catelyn shook her head, cutting him off once more.
"Times have changed, and the status of both you and Sansa is no longer what it once was. The usual customs no longer apply to either of you."
Galon fell silent.
In a standard northern wedding, Galon would offer a bride-price that satisfied House Stark.
Sansa would then remove her maiden's cloak embroidered with the direwolf crest, and Galon would drape a cloak bearing the silver fist of House Glover over her shoulders.
This signified Galon's protection over Sansa.
It meant: From this day forth, my hearth burns for you, my walls stand for you, and my sword swings for you.
Yet currently, all male heirs of House Stark were dead, save for Bran, who had lost his ability to sire children and was presently unaccounted for.
If Catelyn did not wish to hand Winterfell over to the bastard Jon Snow, she had to bring a Glover into the family through matrilocal marriage.
They would use the children born of their union to inherit the Stark name and lineage.
Normally speaking, such weddings had occurred many times throughout northern history, typically used when a higher-ranking noble family took in a consort from a lesser house.
Mature, established rites existed for such occasions.
It merely required Sansa to undo her Stark maiden's cloak, after which Galon would drape the cloak representing the adult House Stark over her, completing the ritual.
The symbolism was clear: Galon actively relinquished the power of House Glover, pledging his loyalty to Sansa as a vassal while integrating himself into Winterfell.
The problem, however...
Was exactly as Lady Catelyn had stated: Galon's standing was no longer what it once was!
At present, his titles and honors included:
Galon of House Glover of the North, the Bear Slayer, King-Protector, the God-Favored, Supreme Commander of the Riverlands and the Vale, Conqueror of the Iron Islands, Tide-Caller of the Trident, End of the Lannisters, Hand of the King to Gendry I, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and Warden of the North.
Even setting aside the titles, honors, and positions earned from his war achievements, Galon was still the recognized Warden of the North and King-Protector appointed by King Gendry Baratheon!
Indeed.
Owing to the rampant wildling raids in the North and the realities of Winterfell, Gendry had fully entrusted the duties of Warden of the North to Galon before departing King's Landing.
Furthermore, Galon was shrouded in a holy aura of divine favor.
While in King's Landing, had Galon not been consumed by endless affairs of state, the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor would likely have tried to drag him over to serve as the holy Son of the Seven.
At this very moment, with Galon's soaring prestige, even if Catelyn wished for him to marry into her house as a consort, neither the North, King's Landing, nor the Faith of the Seven would permit such a thing.
It was both an insult to a Hand of the King who possessed boundless military merit and a desecration of a holy son favored by the gods.
Therefore, after a brief moment of thought, Galon understood the true meaning behind Lady Catelyn's words.
Thus, he spoke up to ask, "Then what is your intent, Lady Catelyn?"
Catelyn had clearly prepared a comprehensive plan long beforehand.
"Galon, you and Sansa shall wed as equals.
Her bride's cloak will be embroidered with both the direwolf of Stark and the silver fist of Glover.
In this way, she will be your wife, yet also the ruling Lady of Winterfell.
However! You must swear to me in the name of the gods that one of the sons born to you and Sansa will bear the surname of Stark!"
Before Galon could answer, Robett Glover suddenly interjected from the side.
"My Lady, what if they have only one child? Or what if they only have daughters?
Do you intend to leave Deepwood Motte without an heir?"
Catelyn replied with absolute certainty, "Galon is a man favored by the gods. Joined with the noble bloodline of House Stark, he will surely sire many children!"
At these words, scenes of numerous children surrounding her and calling her mother instantly flashed through Sansa's mind, causing her face to flush even deeper with embarrassment.
Galon was somewhat speechless.
He had no idea where Catelyn derived such confidence.
Nevertheless, he turned to reassure his uncle, Robett.
"Uncle Robett, if Sansa and I have only one child, then Gawen will be my heir to Deepwood Motte.
By the way, while I was in the Riverlands, I arranged a marriage alliance for Gawen to forge the Vale alliance.
The lady is the granddaughter of Lord Royce of Runestone in the Vale, and she is the same age as Gawen."
Robett was instantly overjoyed.
"Runestone? The granddaughter of Lord Royce himself?"
Galon nodded. "Yes, she is the daughter of Ser Andar. You may speak with him about it later."
Robett nodded excitedly.
Runestone was a primary vassal of the Vale, and the current Lord Royce was the Warden of the Vale. Their family status was far higher than that of the Glovers of Deepwood Motte.
For Gawen Glover to marry into the Royce family was truly marrying above his station.
Of course, this was because Robett had not yet fully realized how exalted Galon's standing had truly become.
Galon smiled slightly seeing his uncle's excitement.
He shifted his gaze back to Lady Catelyn, meeting her expectant look, and gave a solemn promise.
"My Lady, I swear in the name of the gods that I shall abide by this vow!"
Hearing this, Catelyn let out a long sigh of relief.
"Good!"
"I plan to hold the wedding for you both before the heart tree this afternoon. What do you think?"
Galon was taken aback once again.
"My Lady, is there a need for such haste?
I still need to return to Deepwood Motte to prepare the bride-price, and Sansa needs time to embroider her bride's cloak.
Could it be... that your health..."
He looked at Catelyn's pale face and could not help asking out of concern.
Before Catelyn could reply, Arya, who had just been grieving for her father, suddenly spoke up out of nowhere.
"You avenged father and brother, bringing victory and honor to the North. That is the finest bride-price anyone could offer.
As for the bride's cloak, Sansa has been embroidering it late into the night every single day. She finished it long ago.
From what I see, she can hardly wait to marry you."
Sansa immediately glared at Arya in embarrassment and anger, denying it against her true feelings.
"You... what nonsense are you talking about! I... I did not!"
"You didn't?"
Arya could not stand seeing Sansa looking so bright and pleased with herself, and she blurted out in a huff:
"Then why don't the two of us just swap? You go and marry the king, and I'll marry Galon instead. How about that?"
"Arya!"
Catelyn glared fiercely at her reckless younger daughter, but then caught her breath and began to cough violently.
"Cough, cough..."
Frightened, Arya and Sansa rushed to Catelyn's side to stroke her chest and soothe her.
"Mother, please don't get excited. I won't say it anymore..."
After a long while, Catelyn sighed internally.
How could she not understand the thoughts of her youngest daughter?
Just as Ned had said, the Arya standing before her was just like Lyanna of old, with the wild wolf blood of the Starks surging in her veins.
Any political marriage would be a cage to her.
Yet Catelyn had no choice.
For the sake of the house, someone had to make sacrifices.
Forgive me, Arya, please forgive me... she murmured in her heart.
Once she managed to steady her breathing, she looked at Galon and managed a faint smile. "Galon, what is your opinion?"
Galon acted as though he had not heard Arya's outburst and replied immediately.
"I shall yield to your arrangements, My Lady."
"Good!"
Catelyn showed a satisfied expression.
"Then let it be this afternoon. The northern lords are all present, so they can all stand witness together."
Galon nodded and agreed.
Before long, Maester Luwin arrived hurriedly in the Great Hall after settling the army.
Hearing Catelyn's arrangements, his brow smoothed out, and a warm, congratulatory smile appeared on his face.
"Congratulations!"
"My Lady, I shall go inform the castle at once. Tonight, we shall hold a grand feast to celebrate the union of Glover and Stark!"
With that, Maester Luwin scurried back out with sprightly steps.
Soon, the entirety of Winterfell fell into a state of revelry.
The banquet originally intended to celebrate the North's victorious return was instantly transformed into the wedding feast for Galon and Sansa.
When Jon stepped out of the crypts, this scene of joy was precisely what met his eyes.
"A wedding feast?"
"Holding the wedding this afternoon?"
"Galon and Sansa?"
Before he had even finished grieving for his father, Jon found himself stumbling right into the wedding of his lord and his sister.
"This... this is far too sudden..."
Jon muttered in bewilderment, then quickened his pace, running off to find Galon.
When he found him, Galon was in a guest chamber changing into formal attire, preparing to head to the Godswood.
"Jon?"
"You came at the right time. Hand me that tunic over there."
Jon instinctively handed over the tunic resting on the chair.
Only after Galon took it and put it on did Jon react, asking, "Why are you and Sansa getting married so quickly?"
"Lady Catelyn's health is poor, and I must soon head to the Wall to fight the wildlings and the Others," Galon explained with a sigh as he buttoned his tunic.
"That is why Her Ladyship urged me to marry without delay."
He glanced at Jon, walked up to him, and suddenly changed the subject.
"Jon, have you thought about what you want to do next?"
Jon answered without hesitation, "Of course I am coming with you to fight the wildlings and the Others."
Galon chuckled, speaking with deep meaning.
"The wildlings are merely a minor threat, easily quelled.
And as for the Others, there will come a day when they are all defeated.
When that time comes, what do you plan to do? You cannot remain my squire for your entire life, can you?"
Jon froze.
Soon, his expression fell into disappointment.
Jon assumed Catelyn had spoken to Galon again, urging him to send the bastard away.
"I have nothing special I want to do. Where do you want me to go?"
For a moment, Jon felt entirely disheartened.
Galon looked at him and understood his thoughts after a brief pause.
He picked up the velvet formal cloak Sansa had prepared for him, draped it over his shoulders, and smiled.
"Do you still remember Ramsay Snow?
House Bolton betrayed the Starks and betrayed the North.
Now, Roose Bolton has been slain at the Twins, leaving only his bastard alive.
I intend to launch a campaign against the Boltons in the name of punishing oathbreakers."
Jon's eyes lit up instantly.
"You want me to lead the campaign against the Boltons?"
"Indeed, and more than that!"
Galon finished adjusting his cloak, stepped forward, patted Jon on the shoulder, and looked straight into his eyes.
"Once Ramsay is captured, I shall use my authority as Warden of the North and ruler of Winterfell to strip House Bolton of the lands of the Dreadfort.
When that happens, how would you like to become the Lord of the Dreadfort?"
Jon's body trembled violently.
"Me? Lord of the Dreadfort?"
"No—that's impossible!" He shook his head like a pendulum. "Even if you agree, the others will object."
"Especially the vassals of House Bolton—they will surely protest fiercely."
Galon laughed. "That is my concern! All you need to do is fight a splendid battle and capture Ramsay alive."
"As long as your victory is decisive, I can convince the rest."
Meeting Jon's excited eyes, he offered another word of reassurance.
"Jon, do you remember our first meeting at the bell tower?"
Jon nodded.
"I complained to you about my standing back then.
And you told me that low birth is no disgrace, and that a true hero knows when to yield and when to rise!
I have kept those words engraved in my heart to this day."
Galon nodded approvingly.
"Now, your opportunity has arrived!
Whether you can become a true hero depends entirely on how well you fight this battle at the Dreadfort!
I will have my uncle grant you two thousand Glover soldiers, combined with the forces of Winterfell, making a total of four thousand.
As long as you win, you can found a house of your own, just like the Justmans of the Riverlands!"
Jon felt his blood boil with passion.
He declared without a second thought, "Good, I will go! I will bring that oathbreaking bastard back to you!"
Galon smiled with satisfaction.
"Let us go. It is almost time. Sansa and the others should already be at the Godswood."
Galon fastened his groom's cloak, secured the knot, and led Jon out, walking briskly toward the Godswood.
A moment later, they arrived before the dark waters of the Godswood.
By now, numerous nobles who had heard the news were already waiting there to witness the ceremony.
Everyone smiled, offering their blessings as they parted to make a path for Galon.
Galon nodded slightly to the crowd. Stepping through the falling snow, he walked unhurriedly toward the ancient weirwood tree.
There stood Sansa, draped in the grey and white bride's cloak of House Stark, breathlessly beautiful.
Galon gazed at Sansa in all her finery, his expression freezing for a moment as admiration flashed in his eyes.
His pace quickened, and within a few short breaths, he stood by her side.
Their eyes met.
Each could feel the warmth and devotion of the other.
At that moment, Maester Luwin stepped forward to represent the bride's family and officiate the wedding.
"Who comes before the gods?" Maester Luwin asked in a solemn, formal voice.
"I am Galon of House Glover, coming here in this name to claim my bride!"
"Who comes to be joined?"
"Sansa of House Stark, coming here in this name to be joined!"
Then, at Maester Luwin's signal, Galon turned and unfastened the maiden's cloak from Sansa's shoulders.
Jeyne Poole stepped out from the side, holding a new bride's cloak in her hands.
Galon reached out, unfolded the cloak without haste, and gently draped it over Sansa's shoulders, tying the fast knot securely.
"Witnessed by the Old Gods, two hearts are bound as one!"
Before the gaze of all assembled, Galon and Sansa stood before the carved face weeping red tears upon the heart tree.
Beneath the falling snow, they embraced tightly and exchanged their marriage kiss.
At that very moment, the red leaves of the ancient heart tree rustled softly in the wind, and the weeping face seemed to come alive with divine grace.
A single red leaf drifted down through the wind and snow, landing softly atop Sansa's head.
The blessings of the North echoed through the air.
Soon after, a grand feast commenced in the Great Hall of Winterfell.
The warm hearth, the savory roasted meats, and the rich wine finally washed away the grief and tension of recent days.
Greatjon stood atop a chair, boisterously recounting the heroic deeds of the King-Protector to everyone present.
Andar dragged Galon into drinking toast after toast while boasting about his duel with Galon during the Trial of Seven.
Jeyne Poole, Beth Cassel, and a group of handmaidens gathered around Sansa, whispering gossip they had overheard, frequently drawing shy blushes and playful annoyance from the bride.
Amidst the singing of the bards, the lords raised their goblets and drank to their hearts' content.
"To the King-Protector!"
"To the King-Protector!!"
Amidst the resounding cheers, the feast gradually drew to a close.
Late at night, inside the bedchamber of the main keep.
The hearth fire crackled, casting a warm, intimate glow over the room.
Sansa sat by the edge of the bed, nervously twisting her fingers.
When Galon pushed the door open and entered, she raised her head, her eyes filled with both maidenly bashfulness and the devotion of a wife.
"Galon..." she called out softly.
"Sansa..."
Galon walked over to her and gently lifted her chin.
No words were needed.
Galon pulled her into his embrace, kissing her deeply.
As their breathing quickened, garments slipped away.
Under Galon's gentle guidance, Sansa shifted from her initial trembling to a passionate response.
On this night, Galon fully possessed the noble lady of the North, becoming the true master of Winterfell.
__________
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