Work Text:
Catelyn shifted her fork again. She should have been happy for Edmure. He sat with Lady Roslin, beaming foolishly at his new bride. She lay her hand on top of his and they locked eyes for a moment before Roslin looks away, her cheeks flushed. From his chair, Walder Frey let out a another small chuckle at his daughter’s expense. Catelyn felt sorry the girl, she did not imagine Lord Walder or her relatives would be kind during the bedding. Robb observed them from alongside Danwell Frey and Marq Piper, who had just whispered something to Robb with a snide smile.
At her own table, her uncle’s grin was wide from both amusement and drink. It had been a long time since she had seen him genuinely happy. The death of her father and the troubles of the war had left his already severe features in tight terse lines. She wished she could share his respite, but grief hung over her still, heavy and unbidden.
To her right, sat Lord Bolton. He had been more talkative than usual, smiling and nodding at Brynden’s stories of Edmure’s misadventures. He listened intently, but something about him still bothered her. His amusement seemed more at Brynden’s expense than Edmure’s. The curl of his mouth came and went quickly, but the odd bemused look had remained in his pale eyes the whole night.
When Brynden excused himself briefly Roose turned to her, immediately making eye contact with her. There were unsettling moments when he reminded her of her expectations and first impressions of Ned. Brandon had been wild tempered and out spoken, while Ned was soft spoken and slow to act. In his moments of anger or determination his eyes were like Roose’s, hard and wintery. Yet despite his cold face and quiet ways, Ned had a great love in him that had surfaced quickly.
"I know this must be difficult for you," Roose intoned. His plate was still mostly full, though he had drank several glasses of lemon water. His expression softened slightly.
Catelyn nodded stiffly at Lord Bolton’s comment, not quite sure what to make of it. Roose tilted his head slightly, his lips pursing briefly.
"This is my first wedding I have attended without Lady Bethany," he continued, his voice soft as if making a confession.
Catelyn smiled gently at his words.
"I hope Lady Walda brings you comfort then," Catelyn offered, moving to lay her hand across his wrist. Roose glanced down at her hand briefly, instead taking it in his, his long slender fingers interlacing with hers. His touch was cold against her’s, and though he was not rough with her it felt difficult to refuse. His fingertips shifted and circled against the back of her hand, trailing over the curves of her knuckles, while his eyes continued to lock with hers.
"She certainly tries."
It was not a long time they spent like this, but Roose’s stare was heavy and knowing, yet revealed nothing of his own feelings. Cat drew her mouth into a thin grimace, her own eyes narrowing in response. His fingers swept over her skin as he drew back slowly, his lips twitching upwards briefly when the contact ends.
His face shifted back to it’s usual neutrality. The spectral sensation of his touch lingered in Catelyn’s hands, leaving her on edge. He was not an unthinking man, and the forwardness and intentionality of it still showed in his eyes.
Lady Walda and Ami tittered back and forth, Walda’s laughter high and squealing while Ami smirked holding her hands together as if to indicate a small object.
"I hope she grants you many trueborn sons," Catelyn bid, not allowing her discomfort to seep through. She didn’t care for the thought of appearing vulnerable to him.
Roose nodded, his eyes lighting slightly and something almost imperceptible passing over his countenance.
"You sent Eddard’s bastard to the wall along with his uncle, didn’t you?" asked Roose.
"He went of his own accord, I’m afraid," Catelyn hummed, correcting him with something close to a laugh.
"Of course. My mistake."
Edmure and Roslin continued to whisper to each other, something Edmure said making her face turn a new shade of red for her. Yet she seemed pleased by whatever it was, a wide grin coming over her as she looked slightly askance.
Edmure presented himself to Lord Walder, his head bowed as he spoke to him. Lord Walder smirked unevenly in response. He lifted a withered hand and twirled it idly at the band above, the music silencing for a moment.
"The bride and groom would like a vertical dance, before the horizontal one, heh,” chuckled Lord Walder, clearly enamored with his own jape.
Robb stood, knowing very well he would be expected to dance. He came to Catelyn’s side, surrounded by a flurry of Frey girls. Sarra and Serra stood respectfully behind with their matching pocked faces, while Ami and Fat Walda each tugged at his sleeves. Shirei followed her sisters, sweet faced, but clearly confused. Robb gave his mother a lopsided look, doing his best to appear happy with the situation.
"Mother, I’ve come to request you join us on behalf of Lord Walder’s daughters," Robb explained with all the politeness he could muster. Ami prodded at his rib’s playfully, while he did his best to keep standing straight.
Cat paused, not truly wishing to join them, but hesitant to give Lord Walder an excuse to take insult. Fat Walda jostled forward slightly, craning to pop her head over Robb’s shoulder. Her previous rambunctiousness faltered a little as she turn to Roose, her voice still squeaky in it’s softness.
"My lord husband as well, if it pleases him."
"Excuse me, Lady Catelyn," he hummed with a slight baring of teeth.
Roose rose to her, laying a thin hand on her shoulder. Her rosy face lit up as he looked down to her. Catelyn could see know that her dress had been made to match the shade of Lord Bolton’s cape. The open and genuine admiration in her face struck Catelyn as odd, and left her wondering what Roose could have possibly done to make her feel so.
For a fleeting moment there was a plea in Robb’s eyes as he looked to her, the pain of it cutting and immediate as the grief and rage he had previously swallowed surfaced briefly. Catelyn got up slowly, steeling her face into pleasantry.
There was some debate over which song was to be played. Jon Umber, now further into his cups, insisted the Lusty Lad was fitting, while Robin Flint saw Alysanne more fitting. Lord Walder’s head bobbed side to side, bored by the decision, the band setting on Let Me Drink Your Beauty.
Edmure and Roslin bowed to each other as the music began, their fingers then brushing as their hands met overhead. After some commotion, Robb had paired with Joyeuse, while the other girls had gone off to their husbands or found bannermen to affix themselves to.
Black Walder has been in far better spirits than before, and he was not as unpleasant to behold as Petyr or Edwyn. He came before Catelyn with a graciousness she had not ever see him display.
"If I might, Lady Catelyn…" he trailed off. Catelyn suspected he cared as little for this as she did, and would make a suitable match as such. When the dance began they touched as much as needed for the illusion of participation.
Catelyn watched as Joyeuse moved tentatively, Robb’s am across her waist then back again, as she spun along side him. Catelyn paid little mind to her own dance, as did Black Walder who had taken to staring at Ami and Smalljon to their left. There was a shift among the dancers as Ami, much of her own volition, decided it was her turn with Robb. Joyeuse glanced uncomfortably once to Catelyn, before Smalljon took her hand. From Joyeuse’s other side, Fat Walda leaned over.
"He’s an Umber. Ami said he’s just as big as his father."
It had been sometimes since she had danced. Ned had ineptly led her, moving disjointedly through the great hall of Winterfell. He had always been clumsy at it, but he held her gently and told her how well Southron men must have danced to keep up with her. She had laughed at that and kissed him on the cheek, his fingers brushing briefly along the nape of her neck.
Ami brushed against Robb slightly more than she should have, Black Walder’s face contorting slightly. She pulled back from him with a titled smirk, Black Walder’s attention fully on her. As Walda took Ami’s place, Black Walder moved to her immediately, leaving Catelyn rather suddenly unattended.
There was a coldness against her hand as she felt a firm grip on her. Roose’s long fingers now again touching hers.
"I’m afraid Lady Walda is occupied."
She resumed dancing out of instinct rather than desire, aware that Roose had placed himself very close to her. He was a poor dancer, but felt surprisingly familiar and intimate. Roose’s hand’s gripped low on her waist, brushing the start of her hips. It was too hard, the way he held her, hard like his strange eyes and the way they bore down on her; hard like her first winter away from home; hard like the hands of the quiet boy much shorter than his brother that stood in his place.
She was breathing faster than she should have, when they drew closer again. A faint smile drew across Roose’s lips as Cat’s hair brushed against his bare hand, and for a brief moment he leaned down slightly. She expected him to make some remark about the situation, some forward comment, but instead he was silent, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. She felt on edge, and despite everything, his strange eyes, his roaming hands, the gentle warmth reminded her of something else entirely. She thought of Ned, with his grey eyes and stiff arms and the way he would laugh into the nape of her neck, flustered by his own clumsiness. She remembered kisses that followed, nuzzled into the same spot, Ned’s beard bristling against her bare skin.
She was flushed, and when he squeezed the curve of her hip it was not unpleasant. Her expression remained unchanged, despite the blush to her cheeks and she kept her on eyes matched with Roose’s as they danced.
It seemed endlessly long, Fat Walda’s giggles continuing through her dance with Robb. Lord Walder gave Roose a knowing nod as Roose’s hands fit snugly around her lower back. Catelyn held back a glower at Walder, the brazenness of it needled at her. His encouragement of Roose was no doubt meant as a slight. Roose’s face flickered briefly.
Walda whispered something to Robb, her lips nestled against his ear and he laughed, stepping back slightly. As she strode over to where Cat danced, Roose’s hands crawled back to the middle of her waist and his grip loosened. His eyes remained just as invasive though.
"I'll be taking my husband back now, my lady," Walda said, her tone jovial rather than knowing. Her face had reddened and for a moment Catelyn could see what a man could find appealing in her, though she seemed rather unsuited to Roose's icy nature. She was certainly enthusiastic and quite young compared to him.
"He is yours Lady Walda," she replied, happy to be done with it. As Roose let go of her, his glance flicked over Catelyn once more and a faint heat pooled in the base of her stomach at it.
"Thank you for indulging me, my lady," said Roose, which of them he was speaking to unclear. Walda took him by the hands quickly, tugging him outside the dance. Catelyn stepped aside as well, sitting back down while Walda chuckled and regaled Roose with some fancy that struck her.
The discomfort in her did not reside. Roose occasionally glanced up from his litle bride to look in Catelyn's direction. When he sat back down next to her he said nothing. The serving girls circled the hall, the band continued to play, and Brynden again laughed at Edmure's folly. A strange sense of haziness settled over her, almost as if she was dreaming. Brynden said something to Roose but she did not here it. Instead she stared ahead to where Robb was ending his dance with Sarra Frey.
Her son still talked with the girl as he seated. He was well, perhaps even happy. She came back to the conversation around her as Edwyn Frey paced past them with long angry steps and Dacey Mormont eyed him with want from the next table.