Targaryens are known to have queer costumes, an unusual tradition in which the brother and sister wed each other in order to secure the line of succession as pure as possible. Well, it is not always the Targaryens that have such habits, who says tha...
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~129 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
WINTERFELL The Great Hall of Winterfell had never been so alive.
The high wooden beams stretched above the grand feasting tables, adorned with flickering candles that cast warm golden light upon the guests. The long hall was lined with thick evergreen garlands intertwined with fresh winter berries, filling the space with the crisp scent of pine. Furs of direwolf, bear, and fox lay over the stone benches, offering warmth against the Northern chill, while torches mounted along the walls blazed with a steady glow, illuminating the faces of the gathered lords and ladies.
Every seat was filled, the great lords and ladies of the North gathered in celebration of their liege lord's wedding. House Dustin of Barrowton was present, with Lord Roderick Dustin clad in rich brown wool lined with heavy fox fur, his sister beside him in a gown of deep green with golden embroidery at the sleeves. Lord Cerwyn, a man of stern demeanor, wore a dark grey cloak clasped with a silver pin, while his wife sat beside him in muted blue, a sign of her simpler Northern tastes. The Glovers of Deepwood Motte sat near the high table, Lady Glover herself resplendent in dark red wool lined with heavy sable, her graying hair braided neatly atop her head as she oversaw the hall with satisfaction.
The Mormonts had arrived in force, their women standing tall among the crowd. Lady Alarra Mormont wore a thick black dress, lined with white fur, her belt bearing the sigil of her house: a bear carved in iron. Her daughters, dressed in similar hues, were already deep in conversation with the lords of the Wolfswood. Lord Locke of Oldcastle wore dark green wool, trimmed with wolf fur, his young son standing beside him in brown leathers, eager-eyed as he looked around at the grandeur of the gathering. The Flints of Widow's Watch, the Ryswells, the Reeds from Greywater Watch—lords and ladies from across the North had come to witness their Warden's marriage, each dressed in fine but practical Northern fashion, their garments woven of thick wool and fur, designed for warmth rather than ostentation.
At the head of the table, Cregan Stark rose to his feet, raising his cup high. The hall quieted, all eyes turning to the Lord of Winterfell. Jocelyn, seated beside him, glanced up with a curious smile as he cleared his throat.
"To my wife," Cregan said, his deep voice carrying through the hall. "To my sweet, stubborn, reckless, and infuriatingly fast wife—who nearly gave me a heart attack more times than I can count." Laughter rippled through the guests as Jocelyn rolled her violet eyes, though her smile was wide.
Cregan continued, his gray eyes softening as he gazed down at her. "But more than that, to the woman who has brought light back to these halls, who has stolen my heart completely, and who, Gods help me, I will cherish for the rest of my days."
