The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

9.03

Gabrielle smiles before passing between the vanity and chair to kneel at Sansa's feet, cupping the woman's face in her hands as tears well up in their eyes. Gabrielle imparts in true feeling, "I'm so happy for you, my sister. Stannis will treat you well, and should he not, I'll sever his balls."

Sansa laughs perhaps more loudly than necessary but it matters not as Gabrielle follows in her stead, overwhelmed in the emotions of this moment as tears run down the cheeks of both—but today, they are happy tears. Picking up the woman's hand and holding it firm in her own, Gabrielle leads Sansa from her chambers and down to the godswood as the midnight peaks around their silent ears.

Their feet beat upon the unbent stone floors over the course of hall after hall—beyond the chambers of their enemies alike: Daenerys and Tyrion and the rest. Sansa's white dress and grey Stark cloak are wrapped firmly about her shoulders, and yet, the fabric persists to brush the floor with gentle skirting, diminishing not from the beauty of the embroidery or the fabric itself. But as quiet as they are, no attention is paid to the deaf thump behind wooden doors, quickly passing into more of a shuffle as stone's replaced by snow in the wake of the weirwood trees.

Nodding with nothing more than a confident smile that nothing will change, Gabrielle's grasp on Sansa's arm is replaced by none other than the hand of Ned Stark—the father that could not walk her down the aisle the first two times...but none of those ones mattered—just this last one. Gabrielle lets them have their moment—whispers and promises on their lips—as she passes thus into the view of the godswood and the awaiting crowd.

But on that night, all that should be there are. And those who pose them harm simply vanish from their minds. Arya. Bran. Robb. Jon. Brienne. Pod. Davos. Tormund. Lord Royce. Gendry. The Hound. A collection of a few others...and Gabrielle as she stands next to Arya nearest the groom—not a question that she is family. Stannis stands beneath the blooming boroughs of the Northern and ancient tree, not ever in fear of the bleeding faces and tears of the present gods...but firm in this commitment for life as Sam stands to the side, meant to ordain the proceedings as only he should.

It is just minutes that pass in the wake of Gabrielle's arrival, but in those moments—words of power and history pass as promises between Stannis and Sansa, adoration in their blue eyes that are similar in intent but so different in color. And while Gabrielle never considered the man handsome, she understands now...why Sansa fell for him. The way he looks at Sansa as if she's saved him and built his future. The way he says his vows as if no greater relief has passed his lips. It is simply everything that woman has ever wanted—love and respect. And while they tried to keep the ceremony secret until the morning—as the vows are sealed, the six direwolves who've seen the rise, fall, and resurrection of Starks burst into howls that piece together the breath of the living and the dead alike.

But, as conservative as ever, this is the extent to which the revelry grows. The two newly vowed—once in a secret relationship and now bound in an undeniable truth—do not so much as rush off to their chambers but lead the others back in joyous silence to the Keep. People branch off as they go—to retire in their sleepy state—but Sansa is sure to lend a firm pulse of pressure to Gabrielle's hand before the woman herself splits into the next door chamber to her own. Their eyes resound in the joy of this moment—a moment they may never get to celebrate for the other—before splitting off and into their own quarters...one to her wedding night and the other to loneliness. And while Gabrielle can now understand the appeal of Stannis, she has never been more grateful for the width of the stone walls—that she won't have to hear their proclivities.

And yet—while Gabrielle has been lost to her pervasive happiness and the marking of history in which a Stark finally married a Baratheon—Jon Snow has been left in the rubble of his own making. They barely trusted him...why else would Arya have only told him of this immensely important even just a moment before it happened? Sansa wanted him to be there—they were still family—but she did not trust him not to tell the Dragon Queen.