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Arya had never liked weddings.
True, they had only actually attended one other wedding in their life, and, true, it had been pretty cool, but that one had been at Winterfell, and Gendry and Hot Pie had been there too, so it didn’t really count. This time around, Arya hadn’t been allowed to bring their friends with them, and even Jon couldn’t make it- apparently it was exam season up in Castleblack U and he was too busy to travel all the way to Riverrun-, so Arya’s main point of focus was how the hem of their dress brushed across their legs in an annoying way every time they moved.
A waiter appeared next to their table, taking their empty plate and stacking it on top of Sansa’s and Bran’s before disappearing again.
“I think that was the last one.”, Bran observed.
“Finally.” They responded. After five- five!- different lamb dishes being served in a row, they were more than ready for dessert. After dessert there’s the dancing, and after the dancing it’s acceptable to go home. Time was ticking by very slowly today. First, they had had to wake up at the crack ass of dawn and wolf down a quick breakfast in order to sit in a chair for at least an hour so their mother could style their hair. Then, after making sure everyone was fed, washed and dressed, the Starks had set off to Riverrun. The fifteen minute drive turned into a nightmare, both their mother and father worrying out loud about the seating arrangements, the center pieces for the tables clashing with the table runners, and Oh, gods, Ned, what if Robb’s late? I should call him. I should call him. After that, there was the Sept, which had been the worst part. The Septon asked for seven blessings seven times before actually beginning the ceremony (The weirdwood traditions don’t take half this time, they remembered thinking), and that took even longer than the blessings.
The reception had been the best part of the day so far. For two hours they had wandered in and out the long hall, into the gardens and through the hedge maze, exploring the place and the guests. Uncle Brynden and uncle Jon both wore blue ties and big smiles, and the Blackfish insisted on hugging Arya and all of their siblings as a greeting, along with Theon. An Umber, the one they called Smalljon, who would’ve been the biggest person they knew if they didn’t know the Hound, ruffled their hair when they walked past them. Aunt Lysa, who had pulled her hair back into a long, tight braid, showcasing her furrowed brows and the disapproving look in her eyes back in Winterfell only a few months ago, had let her hair curl around her shoulders for this occasion. It made her look more innocent, but Arya didn’t miss the way her smile twitched when she acknowledged Theon, or the way her hand tightened on her son’s shoulder when Sansa approached her to say hello and compliment her hair. Their cousin Robert was constantly picking at the suit he wore. He had thrown two tantrums in the period of time between the beginning of the reception and the serving of dinner for reasons unknown, and once, when Arya was looking for a bathroom, they heard him screaming in a high pitched voice, and when they returned to the hall, he was sobbing into his mother’s shoulder. One of the Manderlys, Wendel or something like that, was trying to get him to stop by hopping from one foot to the other in what looked like a weird dance, which, on top of not working, earned him an angry glare from Lysa.
Dinner hadn’t been half as bad as the Sept, but it dragged itself on for hours. Arya wanted to thank their father for the seating arrangements- they sat with Robb, Theon, Sansa and Bran, though Robb never stayed seated for too long, going from table to table, catching up with old friends from the North and talking with distant relatives,Theon following him, laughing at his husband’s jokes (His husband. Sometimes they forgot about that.) and making some of his own.
At least Arya didn’t have to make small talk about school or whatever with random guests. Bran seemed to feel the same way. He had brought his Nintendo and was playing Pokemon in between courses. Arya wished they had thought of that. All they’d brought was their phone, and it was close to dying due to them texting their friends all throughout the night.
There was no way Sansa didn’t notice the two of them, and on a regular day, she’d be condoning them for being rude or inappropriate or something like that, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. Arya frowned at their sister, who was currently busy staring at a random spot in the wall, probably lost in thought, She was old enough for it to be appropriate to bring a date to a wedding, and their parents had told her as much, but she had chosen not to. That sucked, though they could kinda understand why their sister hadn’t invited Margaery.
I’m never going into the family business, they typed. Their phone flashed a low battery warning. Arya sighed in frustration. They would gladly skip dessert, the cake, the dances and whatever else was coming if they could get out of these shoes, out of this dress, and into their bed, even if it was barely 11. They were exhausted.
Weddings are definitely not my thing, they added before sending the text.
When their uncle had taken Roslin to Christmas dinner at Riverrun, Arya hadn’t been too happy. Roslin was a Frey, and they knew better than anyone in their family how awful the Freys could be.
(“A bunch o’ greedy bastards, that’s what they are.” Lem had told them. Anguy and Tom had nodded in agreement. “Thinkin’ they own the streets, old Walder’ll set them on you if ya look at him wrong.”
“Set who?” Gendry had asked. Lem spat at the floor.
“The pigs.”)
Roslin wasn’t just a Frey- she was Walder’s own daughter, and Arya had hoped their uncle would break things off with her eventually, but that hadn’t happened. When they’d gotten engaged, they had run to tell the Brotherhood as soon as they could. Tom had dedicated a toast to their marriage, and laughed when Arya punched him on the shoulder. Even after Berric Dondarrion had taken them aside and assured them that Roslin was nothing to worry about, they still didn’t apologise to Tom.
But Berric had been right. Roslin would bring Catelyn flowers whenever she visited, and she played with Rickon whenever he asked. She never used Sansa’s wrong name and she never misgendered Arya. She officially won them all over when she brought the Harry Potter DVD collection for the Celebration of Seven at Riverrun, and they had had dinner while binge watching the series. Roslin cried when Sirius Black was first introduced, and again when Cedric Diggory appeared, and again when he died. Roslin cried a lot, they learnt. She had cried back in the Sept and she had cried when she and Edmure made their entrance at the reception, but she was smiling right now.
It was customary, they knew, that the bride and groom shared a table with their parents. However, Hoster Tully had died a few years ago, and Minisa more than a few years ago, so Brynden and his husband sat in their seats instead, keeping the newly weds company. Roslin’s mother had been her father’s sixth wife, and she had passed away before Arya had been born. Walder Frey, despite being very much alive, wasn’t present- their father had said he was too sick to make it.
At least that was a part of the ceremony they didn’t have to dread- being in the same room as the human embodiment of a cockroach. There were other Freys around, though. Two kids around Bran’s age had been hanging with Rickon for hours, and he seemed to be enjoying their company. They were sitting at the same table right now, and Rickon was laughing at something one of them had said. They had the same thin, brown hair and pale skin their family shared. Arya thought one of them was named Walder, but they couldn’t remember the other one’s name. Another two Freys, these ones much older, sat with the Smalljon, playing some some sort of drinking game. In every other table there was a pale skinned, thin haired brunette. They counted all of the ones they could spot. 11, They concluded.
guess how many freys are @ this wedding, they texted.
Hot Pie was quick to reply. 36, her message read.
11, Arya corrected.
that’s not enough of them, Gendry noted.
i counted them it’s 11, they replied. After sending the message, they looked around and counted again. 11. Their phone buzzed.
why are there only 11 of them? that’s weird, Gendry insisted.
Arya rolled their eyes. I’m not dignifying that with an answer, they thought. Gendry could be really stubborn when he wanted to, and he had a way of pushing their buttons like no one else. I know I’m right. I counted them.
Still, they had to admit he had a point. Only 11 of Roslin’s family members at her own wedding? That didn’t even make up 1/10 of the family. Something was off. Maybe it’s Walder, they considered, maybe he’s making them stay because he can’t come. It was a wild idea, but the only explanation they could think of.
“Where are you going?” Sansa questioned when they got up. “You know there’s still-”
“- dessert, yeah, I know. I just need to talk to dad about something.” They answered. Their sister shrugged and went back to staring at her wall as Bran mumbled about finding a shiny. Arya patted their skirt down and directed themselves to their parents’ table.
Their mother was seated on the same table as Aunt Lysa and her son, Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey, Roose Bolton, and three Manderlys, Wyman and his two sons. Their father, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
“Mum.” They called. "Where's Dad?"
Catelyn motioned towards her right with her head. “He went to the bathroom to freshen up. Why, is everything alright?”
They nodded. “Everything’s fine. Mind if I sit for a bit?”
Their mother shook her head lightly and pulled out their father's chair. Arya sat.
“Are you enjoying yourself so far?”
They nodded. "Yeah. Didn't really like that Septon, though. But the reception's cool."
Their mother hummed in agreement. "Septon Chayle doesn't stall so much. Your father had another one in mind, but this one was Roslin's personal pick."
"I didn't know Roslin was so religious." Arya scrunched up their face. "Are all Freys like that?"
"The Freys follow the Faith of the Seven." Catelyn said. "Though I don't know if they're all as devout as she is."
"Oh." Robert started crying again to their right. Arya thought it was something about cake. "Mum, just how big is Roslin's family?"
"The Frey family extends so vastly it defies the laws of men." Roose Bolton wore a pastel pink dress shirt beneath a red tie. It wasn’t a favourable combination. It reminded Arya of raw meat.
It took a lot of self control not to make a face at this guy. Who creeps on people's conversations like that? "Um." They weren't sure what to say.
A tune started playing. Roose Bolton pulled a phone from his pocket, took a look at its screen, and fixated his strange pale eyes on Arya again. "I apologise, this is important. You will excuse me, I hope."
They shrugged. "Sure?" The man sprung out of his seat and turned away immediately. What a weird guy.
Arya turned back to their mother. "Uh, what's his deal?"
Catelyn was frowning. "I've known Roose Bolton for 30 years, but I never quite figured that out." She sighed. "But he's right. Walder Frey had a myriad of children in his prime, which granted him numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I can't tell you exactly how many of them there are, but I can assure you, there's quite a lot of them."
They nodded. "Okay. But if there's so many of them, then, why aren't there more of them here? There's like, a dozen of them, I've counted."
Their mother seemed surprised. "Well, for one, Roslin's father is sick. He needs constant care-"
"-from every single on of his children? Why?" They interrupted.
Another sigh. Another furrowed brow. "Arya, your uncle... when he was younger, he and the Freys got into a messy situation. It was a long time ago, but Walder's a proud man, and he doesn't forget easily."
Catelyn took a sip from her glass. "What do you mean? What kind of things?" They questioned, confused,
“It’s a long story, dear. And now's probably not the best time." She caressed Arya's hair. "Oh, it look's like dessert's being served. You better hurry, or you won't have anything left for you when you get to your table."
They granted their mother a smile before getting up. “See ya, Mum.”
Sansa was nibbling on a lemon square when they got to their table. “Did you talk to Dad?”
They shook their head. “Mum.” Bran passed a bowl of chocolate mousse onto their hands. “Thanks.”
The three of them ate in silence. A waiter came by and filled their sister’s cup with wine. They wondered if they could get some wine for themselves. Probably not. Plus, they couldn’t drink here, in front of Sansa and Bran, they’d tell on them. Maybe outside, in the gardens… but for that they’d have to go into the kitchens and swipe a bottle. Way too much work for them to do alone, but if Gendry and Hot Pie were here they could manage it. Hot Pie wouldn’t steal anything, though. I could put her on watch for us. They yawned. What time is it?
It was 11:40pm, according to their phone. i talked 2 my mum abt the frey thing, they typed, slowly. she said smth abt my uncle and the fryes fighting??? idk . Before they could send their message, someone was clinking a knife against a glass cup. They lifted their head to the sound.
Marq Piper was the one making the noise. He had gotten up from his seat and walked over to Edmure and Roslin’s table. “Listen!” He called. “Listen. I’ve know Edmure, Edmure Tully” He pointed at their uncle. “for a long time. And you know, you know what- as his best man, it’s my duty to tell you, to tell you, Roslin-” he turned to the bride. “-that you guys were made for each other. Like, you’re soulmates! And I hope that you guys, that you have a lot of happy years together, because I love you guys. For real.” He raised his glass. “And I wanna make a toast! A toast to my best friend and his true love! To Edmure and Roslin! To love!”
“To love!” A few other voices repeated. The guests raised their glasses and drank. Arya tried to do the same, only to realise their cup was empty. Roslin was crying again. Music started playing.
They didn’t recognise the song. The bride and groom got up, and as they walked to the middle of the dancefloor, people started clapping. Arya had no idea why they were doing that, but they clapped as well. Roslin and Edmure were slow dancing now, and all that they could see was the white of Roslin’s dress, its train swirling across the floor, the veil swaying in the air. They heard a screech. And then they saw red.
It went flying towards the dancing couple. The first one missed them completely, but the second one hit the bride right in the back, and then people started screaming. Edmure and Roslin broke apart, and another tomato hit her, this time in the stomach. Arya didn’t think. Or better, they did think, and their only thought was to get underneath the table.
They tried pulling Sansa down with them, but their sister was already running away. Bran was right at her heels on his chair. Other guests were running too, to the left, to the right, to the bathrooms, to the entrance hall, to the parking lot. They were still screaming. Arya slid underneath the table in a blink of an eye.
What was happening? They weren’t sure. Was it dangerous? As dangerous as tomatoes can be. Vandalism. Who vandalizes a wedding? They lifted the tablecloth a little. In the opening to the gardens, they saw red. Bicycles. They counted one, two, three of them racing past, throwing tomatoes as they did. White skin, and brown hair, all of them. They dropped the tablecloth again.
It was over about a minute later. The shouting stopped, the pounding of feet against the floor couldn’t be heard anymore. They got up from their hiding spot.
The first thing they saw was Robb, mainly because he was difficult to miss. Their brother stood by his husband’s side, a tomato sliding down his chest, shaking a fist in the air, his face red with anger (and a little bit of tomato juice). “YOU BETTER RUN!” He yelled at what was now an empty garden. “YOU BETTER RUN, YOU BASTARDS!”
Theon’s eyebrows shot up when he saw them. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but they were quicker than him. “Where’s uncle Edmure? And Roslin?”
He shook his head. “Probably in the entrance hall. Or the bathrooms.”
Arya nodded. Looking around, they noticed they weren’t the only ones who had stayed in the hall. Dacey Mormont was dripping with red juice. Marq Piper was on his knees, trying to wipe his eyes from the substance. Smalljon was standing in the middle of the room, his once white shirt now completely red. He opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but then closed it again. Then he opened it. Then closed it. This went on for a while.
“Arya!” They twisted at the sound. Their mother was walking towards them, a tomato perched on her shoulder. “Are you alright? Robb?”
They looked down at themselves. The dress with the annoying itchy hem their mother had made them wear was still as baby blue now as it had been this morning. “I’m fine.”
"Me too." Robb added, still angrily staring outside. "What the hell was that?"
"Illegal, for one thing." Theon responded, his phone in his hand. "I'm calling the police."
Arya silently thanked the gods none of the members of the police force had actually seen their face during their time with The Brotherhood. Anguy said it was only a matter of time before you got caught in the act, but Arya wasn't scared. A door closed with a thunk and they turned around to see their uncle, his wife and two bridesmaids entering the long hall again.
They all looked a mess, but Roslin was the worst off. Her dress was covered in red stains, ripped a little at the bottom. She was carrying her veil in her hands, her updo was slowly falling apart, and although her makeup had surprisingly stayed in place, her face was a mess. She looked like she couldn't decide whether to start crying, shouting, or running. It was sad to look at her.
"What happened?" Edmure demanded. His suit was sprinkled with red all over, and his hair was sticking up in weird places. His face twisted wth anger. "WHAT HAPPENED?"
"We don't know." Robb replied. "We're calling the police." He motioned towards his husband and crossed his arms.
"YOU DON'T KNOW?" Their uncle burst. Their mother was quick to approach her brother and lay a hand on his shoulder.
"No one saw who it was, Edmure. It was all to quick to register." She said.
They opened their mouth, and then looked at Roslin. Her skin seemed even paler against all that red, and her brown hair was falling on her shoulders. They could see the tears tracks on her cheeks. They bit their lip.
"Yeah," They added, turning to their uncle. "it was to chaotic out here to make out what happened, Uncle."