Chapter 22

During his time in Winterfell, Kaelarys had learned much about the customs of the North. In the southern kingdoms, the Faith of the Seven held the majority of worshippers, but the North was the only kingdom that still believed in the Gods of the First Men.

The Faith will only call them the Old Gods in the future. At the moment, they probably deny their existence entirely. This will only happen in the future, under the Targaryen rule where they have to make somewhat amends with the north, but probably only after Maegor's rule, or during, who knows.

Maegor, in Kaelarys's eyes, had done everything right. The Faith had too much power in their hands, now and in the future; a bunch of fanatical idiots who couldn't distinguish between right and wrong.

Of course, he wasn't exactly qualified to talk about right and wrong when he owned slaves and all his wealth rested on the corpses of millions of slaves who toiled daily in the mines beneath the volcano. He knew that much.

But he also knew that it wasn't right, and they didn't. An improvement, at the very least.

But the fact remains that the Faith today and in the future will be far too powerful until Maegor crushes them. Only for Cersei to mess it up again, stupid bitch.

The Faith had the right to dispense justice, conduct inquests and trials, and pass judgment over all echelons of society, including kings. Like, which king would like that? They even had their private military army. But then again, as a noble, you could just do a trial by combat and choose your strongest champion, like the Mountain, and everything you do is justice in the face of the Gods. This alone says everything about them.

At the very least, the Gods give those poor souls hope. He didn't deny their existence. Hell, he should know best that gods exist, yet he doubted that gods were so cruel as to want to see innocent mothers and children burn. He believed that the gods probably didn't care about such matters at all.

And he wasn't even talking about the truly powerful gods, like the one who brought him here. Perhaps not even a god, but merely a powerful being, yet powerful enough to ignore all the so-called "gods" in this world and do as he pleased.

In comparison, the religion of the Northerners was quite beautiful. Incest (guilty), slavery, and kinslaying are strictly forbidden, there are no blood sacrifices, and the only ones made were of criminals who were hung on the trees after execution. They worship the trees and believe them to be gods, and that when they die, they become part of the godhood.

A simple, beautiful religion in comparison.

And their marriages are as pure as they can be, except for the part before the bedding.

It was for this reason that he stood where he was, with King Harren and Queen Elara at his side and Myranda in his arms as they watched the ceremony. The betrothed, soon to be husband and wife, were very nervous, as they were just simple people. The man, a blacksmith, an honorable profession, and the woman, a maid of House Stark.

The ceremony took place in front of a heart tree in the godswood. The bride's father, or the person standing in his place, escorted her to her future husband who awaited her by the weirwood tree. The heart tree, its white bark etched with a solemn face, stood as a silent witness to their vows.

The ceremony was short and intimate, with no priests to oversee it. The bride was escorted to her groom, who stood ready. The ceremonial conversation followed, establishing the identities of the bride, the groom, and the person giving the bride away.

The bride's father spoke first. "This is my daughter," he said, his voice steady with pride.

The groom responded, "I am her groom."

The father then asked, "Do you accept this man as your husband?"

The bride, her voice trembling with emotion, answered, "I take this man."

With those words, the bride and groom joined hands and knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads in a moment of silent prayer, seeking the blessings of the Old Gods.

When they rose, the groom gently removed the maiden's cloak from the bride's shoulders and replaced it with the bride's cloak, symbolizing her transition from daughter to wife. He then lifted her into his arms, a gesture of strength and protection, and carried her toward the feast that awaited them.

Kaelarys made sure that the feast would be that, a feast, something the now husband and wife would have never been able to afford, not in a thousand lifetimes, but he wanted to witness a grand wedding, and he was bored, but that was beside the point.

While the party was ongoing, he walked towards the heart tree. Despite all his time in Winterfell, he had not found the opportunity to visit the godswood. He had been busy with the children and other cough activities.

Myranda was with the King and Queen, leaving him alone.

The faces on the tree were eerie, and he had the feeling that they were watching him. No, he was sure they were watching him.

"Is it you, Three-eyed?" he said as his head snapped up to the bird.

"Ab-om-ina-tion," the bird screeched loudly, but not enough to attract the attention of others.

"Huh, so you do know about me. That's interesting. So, what now, are you going to dig yourselves even deeper into your grave?" he challenged.

"Be-gone. Path. Not. Clear. Any-more," it continued. "Song. Been. Dis-rupt-ted."

"Let's be honest here, whatever plan or song there ever was, I will be the better version of whatever tales of future songs you spun, so do me a favor and piss off." he growled as his eyes began to catch fire.

Squawking, the bird flew away.

He scoffed and turned to the ongoing feast to see if anyone had noticed what was going on, but by the looks and sounds of it, there were more important things happening over there.

On his way back, he met Wylam Umber stumbling toward him.

"There you are, my friend," Wylam laughed as loudly as a man his size would, putting his arm around Kaelarys's shoulders. "I was searching for you," he said, looking down at his horn and shaking it around a bit.

"It appears, my friend, I am in need of a refill. And you as well, hahaha!"

Wylam was the reason Kaelarys had come to the North. They were a rowdy bunch, barbaric some might say, but far better than the arse-lickers or the infested nest of snakes like the Freehold could be.

"Come," Wylam said, pushing him along. Some poor fellow who stood in their way was pushed aside like a bulldozer would move a car. As they moved through the crowd, Kaelarys saw a bunch of rowdy fellows wrestling, some dancing, and men just sitting together and drinking.

"Join us, Kaelarys!" Alaric called out, raising his mug in a toast. Alaric was a rugged soldier with whom he had trained in the past few days. Kaelarys raised his eyebrows slightly at the casual way they addressed him, but he let it slide. They were drunk after all.

Kaelarys took a seat, accepting a mug of ale. He clinked his mug with Alaric and the others and said with a grin, "The last to empty his mug crosses swords not only in battle, but in bed as well."

They all looked into each other's eyes before practically throwing their mugs to their mouths and drowning the contents. Wylam Umber was first, as expected, slamming his mug on the table and letting out a loud burp. "Hahahaha, no one drinks like an Umber!" he boasted, picking up his horn again and continuing to drink despite already having won the challenge.

Kaelarys was second, followed by the rest, and lastly, the youngest of House Tallhart. The crowd cheered with Umber ruffling Tallhart's hair while saying, "You need to train more to be considered a real Northerner if you can't drink like us."

As the mugs were emptied and the laughter echoed loudly Wylam Umber, still boisterous from his drinking victory, stood up and raised his horn. "It's time for the bedding!" he roared, to the cheers of the gathered crowd.

As everyone made their way to the bedding ceremony, Kaelarys seized the opportunity to snatch Myranda away. Amid the laughter and singing, no one noticed as they slipped out of the crowd and made their way back to the quiet corridors of Winterfell.

As they reached their chamber Myranda walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, threading her fingers through his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. Between the kiss and the fire from the stove, Kaelarys quickly started feeling a bit too warm and made quick work of undressing him and Myranda.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her thick body against him and fell down on the bed.

"Why don't we have our own bedding ceremony?" he joked cheekily and was rewarded with a big grin and a soon followed heated kiss.

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Nah, no more.