✅️ The Last Velaryon - Robb Stark

49 - Wedding of Hope

Chezney's pov

The weight of the simple, embroidered gown felt heavier than any silks I'd ever painstakingly ironed for Haelesa. Today wasn't about silks, though. Today was about me, Chezney, former handmaiden, soon-to-be wife of Tyrion Lannister. The thought still sent a shiver of disbelief, and a thrill, down my spine.

I adjusted the wildflower crown Haelesa herself had woven for me, its fragrant blossoms a stark contrast to the cold stone walls of Riverrun. I could hear the murmur of voices and the clinking of goblets drifting up from the courtyard below, the air thick with anticipation and the savory scent of roasting meat. It was a Stark celebration, through and through, even though the groom was as Lannister as they came.

Just a few short years ago, I'd been folding Haelesa's travel cloaks, whispering encouragement as she navigated the viper's nest of King's Landing. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be standing here, about to marry the Imp.

"Are you quite alright, Chezney?" Haelesa's voice was soft, a welcome sound amidst the rising tide of my nerves. She stood before me, her Velaryon eyes twinkling with genuine joy. She wore no crown, no elaborate gown, just a simple dress of grey wool, but she radiated an aura of strength and compassion that could fill any room.

"Just... overwhelmed," I confessed, my voice a shaky whisper. "This is all so... unexpected."

Haelesa stepped closer, taking my hands in hers. Her touch was grounding. "Unexpected, perhaps. But not undeserved. Tyrion loves you, Chezney. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you."

My cheeks flushed. It was true. Tyrion, with his sharp wit and even sharper mind, looked at me with a tenderness that melted away my anxieties, at least for a little while. "And I love him," I admitted, my voice gaining a little strength. "But... will this actually work, Haelesa? A Lannister and... well, me?"

Haelesa squeezed my hands. "It will work if you both want it to. Love is a powerful thing, Chezney. More powerful than houses or titles. More powerful than blood." She paused, a shadow flickering across her face. "Robb and I know that better than anyone."

A pang of sympathy tightened my chest. Robb, her husband, the King in the North, was downstairs overseeing the arrangements. He had been surprisingly gracious about the match, considering the long and bloody history between their houses. But the war had changed him, hardened him.

"Thank you, Haelesa," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

She smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that chased away the shadows. "Now, let's get you married. I believe there's a certain Lannister dwarf who's rather anxious to make you his wife." She winked and moved to retrieve the small posy of white roses she'd gathered for me. The ceremony was held by the waters edge of Riverun.

The air was cool and damp, scented with pine and damp earth. Banners of Stark, Velaryon, Baratheon and Tully fluttered in the breeze, a stark reminder of the uneasy alliance that had brought us all here. Tyrion looked... well, Tyrion. Smaller than most men, but with a presence that dominated the space around him. He stood tall, his mismatched eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. He wore a doublet of crimson and gold, the Lannister colours, but the customary sneer was replaced with a nervous smile that tugged at my heart.

Robb stood before the heart tree, his face solemn. He looked every inch a king, his shoulders broad, his jaw set. He was still so young, I thought, to carry such a weight. He spoke the ancient words of the Old Gods, his voice clear and strong. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger... I call upon you to witness this union..." I barely registered the words, my gaze locked on Tyrion. He looked almost... vulnerable. It was a side of him I'd only glimpsed in stolen moments, in the quiet hours of the night when the masks he wore for the world had finally fallen away.