BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

XXII. THE WHITE WEDDING

XXII.  THE WHITE WEDDING

"IT'S TIME."

Those words sent chills down Amodera's spine. She was nervous, as much as she hated to admit it. Every bone in her body was forged with iron: she was strong, confident, brave. She was a Commander. And yet, there was a man that could make her feel so afraid -- afraid to lose him and afraid to love him. But Jon was good. Wholeheartedly, unwaveringly good. It was hard to find a good man in a world so cruel, but Amodera had found one and she couldn't let him go. They were in the endgame now.

Snow crunched underfoot as Sansa and Arya led her through the courtyards of Winterfell and to the godswood, avoiding as many people as they could. The ceremony would be small -- the Stark family and a priest were all they'd cared to include. Everyone else had to prepare for the war, or would undoubtly not approve. Many of the Northern Lords had willed Jon to marry their daughters. To hear he was marrying someone unnoble would be shock enough, but to be marrying a Wildling -- that could anger them, despite everything they'd been through together. After all, the North remembers all.

No, this was the best they could hope for, and in truth, it was all they needed. Amodera only wished Tormund were there. He was her friend; family, even. She didn't even know if he was alive. They'd heard nothing from him since the attack on the Wall. But she'd lost too much; she had to believe he was making his way back to Winterfell -- leading her people while she could not.

As she walked, her thoughts drifted back to Mance Rayder. He'd been like a father to her; taught her to fight, to hunt, to live. He'd warned her of the men beyond the Wall. 'Southerners', he'd called them -- though she supposed they were all Southerners now. But Jon was different. Amodera believed in him with every fibre of her being, as he did with her. This was her fate and she accepted it was open arms.

The godswood was lined with torches, guiding her way to Jon, who stood by the weirwood tree awaiting his bride. Candlelight flickered across her face as Sansa led her towards him, and in that moment, he thought he was dreaming. Something this pure, this good, couldn't happen without a catch. But here she was -- the woman he loved, clad in white furs and linen. She looked like on of the Gods themselves, fallen to earth, and he could not take his eyes off her.

Ser Davos had stepped in to oficaiate the ceremony, with no paternal member of the family. War had taken much from the Starks, but they had found each other, after everything. That, in itself, was a miracle. As Amodera reached them, she gifted Jon a loving smile, before turning to See Davos as he began to speak. "Forgive me for any mistakes, I'm not too familiar with the ways of the Old Gods." He stated, a gruff smile upon his lips as he glanced down at the leather-bound book in his hands. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

"Amodera Vanaheim, Commander of the Free Folk." Amodera stated, her voice fiercely proud and strong. That was her identity, her voice, and she would not lose it in marriage.

"And who comes to her?"

"Jon Snow, of House Stark." Jon declared, gazing at Amodera. She was the first woman he had loved in a long time. His knees felt weak as he watched her, as if they might bow to her strength. She was fearless; lionhearted. He would follow her to the depths of hell is that was what she willed.

"Amodera, do you take this man?"

Amodera looked across at Jon, with more love and affection than she had felt for anyone or anything in her whole life. How far they'd come -- from the shores of Hardhome, to Kings Landing, to Winterfell and to the frontline of the Great War. So much had divided them, and yet, they had found one another -- time and time again. She loved him, and he loved her, and in the end, that was more powerful than swords, or dragons, or the Dead. "Yes," she began, a smile playing upon her lips, "I take this man."