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The Wedding
Cole sat at the round table with Durran and Ghost sitting on either side.
The wedding was held in the hall of the Tower of the Hand. When Cole arrived, quite a few people had already gathered.
Servants led them to their seats and brought wine glasses and plates.
He noticed people constantly glancing their way, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable.
Durran and Ghost seemed unable to adapt to such formal occasions. They sat upright with feigned seriousness, occasionally taking small sips from their wine glasses.
Suddenly, a commotion arose in the hall. Cole saw Tyrion walking in from the doorway, holding Sansa Stark's hand.
The groom wore black velvet adorned with golden spiral patterns and a necklace with rubies and lion heads around his neck. His expression was solemn yet striking.
The bride wore an ivory gown with silver satin trim, sleeves trailing to the ground, and a white velvet cloak decorated with pearls. A silver necklace secured the cloak chain around her neck, with the direwolf sigil embroidered on her headdress.
Cole noticed Tyrion looking in his direction. He smiled and nodded slightly to the little lion. The bride also glanced his way, and though she disguised it well, her eyes betrayed despair and lingering sorrow.
The Eye of Time had gifted him with vision far beyond that of ordinary men. Even without deliberately focusing it, his sight remained unnervingly keen.
They walked to the wedding altar where the septon stood between statues of the Mother and the Father, praying to the Seven Gods.
Candlelight wavered and danced, casting the hall in dim light. Cole saw tears in the girl's eyes, a misty veil of sadness.
He shifted his gaze away. It must be truly difficult for this highborn lady to marry Tyrion.
The newlyweds exchanged cloaks, with a blond boy standing in place of Sansa's father.
Joffrey Baratheon, the Great.
He was tall, fair-haired and pale-skinned, quite handsome in appearance. But people could not be judged by appearances alone. This youth was rotten to the core—cruel and volatile.
Sansa Stark had once adored him, but his true nature had quickly revealed itself.
Tyrion's cloak looked remarkably heavy—red velvet embroidered with rubies and gold thread. Sansa stood too tall, and Tyrion couldn't reach her shoulders.
He walked behind the bride, intending to place his cloak upon her shoulders to symbolize his eternal protection, but even with his short arms raised high, he couldn't reach.
Cole could see sweat beading on Tyrion's forehead. He moved slowly, clearly anticipating the embarrassment that awaited him.
Tyrion gently tugged at the bride's skirt, hoping she might bend slightly.
But the bride seemed oblivious and remained standing straight. He pulled again, but still no response. Cole saw his face flush crimson.
Cole reached out to call a servant to bring a chair, noticing the mounting embarrassment on Tyrion's face.
Seeing this, Ghost suddenly stood, grabbed a nearby chair, pushed through the crowd, and brought it forward.
Everyone looked puzzled at this unexpected intervention. Ghost placed the chair down and resumed his solemn position behind the silver-haired young man.
Cole saw Tyrion cast him a grateful look.
The groom stood upon the chair and draped the scarlet lion cloak over the bride's shoulders.
The septon held a crystal high, gleaming in the candlelight. "Here, in the sight of gods and men," he proclaimed loudly, "I solemnly declare Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be the one who comes between them."
The ceremony concluded, and the feast began.
The Tyrells arrived late.
The newlyweds sat at the center of the high table, and guests came forward offering congratulations.
Tyrion acknowledged them with a somber nod, mostly drinking alone.
Cole approached with a glass of wine, raising it in toast. "Congratulations, Tyrion."
The little lion forced a smile. "Thank you." Whether he thanked Cole for the blessing or for helping alleviate his embarrassment remained unclear.
Cole drained his glass, stepped back, and sat quietly in the corner with the knights of Dragonstone.
Musicians began to play, and the nobles took to dancing.
King Joffrey and his future queen Margaery danced hand in hand, the entire hall swept up in the joyous music. Prince Tommen and Queen Cersei joined others on the dance floor.
Jon's eyelids twitched. He had never attended a wedding before. No one married on the Wall, and he had never learned any noble dances. He lowered his head and sipped his wine.
Suddenly, footsteps approached. Countless eyes turned in his direction, and the corner of the hall instantly became the focus of attention.
With golden curls and a luxurious gown, the queen stood before their table. She pulled out a chair and sat down gracefully, having just finished dancing with her father, Lord Tywin.
She smiled, her lips glistening. "Ser Jon, why not join the dancing?"
Cole suddenly sensed trouble. What did Queen Cersei want? Did she hope to witness his humiliation?
He glanced toward Lord Tywin, seated at the high table with an expressionless face, his eyes also fixed in Jon's direction.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. I fear I've had too much wine," Cole replied politely.
"Dancing can sober you, my lord," she insisted, her eyes blazing with something like command.
Cole began to speak but stopped himself. Slowly rising to his feet, he extended his hand in formal salute. "Might I have the honor of asking the queen for a dance?"
She placed her delicate hand in his palm, and they walked to the dance floor.
She moved to the music.
Gods, what should he do?
Jon's eyes flickered, and the dance floor seemed to freeze momentarily. He observed the men's movements and the women's steps.
No one could have imagined that the lord of Summerhall would dance so well.
He used the Eye of Time to learn the dance steps, absently responding to Cersei's whispered words.
She appeared to enjoy the dance immensely. They moved close together, and occasionally she would press against Jon, falling into his arms. The scent of her perfume filled his senses, stirring something in the young man's heart.
He was no eunuch, but a man. And Cersei was undeniably beautiful.
When the song ended, he returned to his seat somewhat wearily. Never had he imagined using the Eye of Time for dancing.
Fortunately, he had avoided embarrassment.
The music changed its melody, but the dance floor remained active.
Cole noticed countless eyes looking at him with desire. He pretended not to notice and drank deeply.
"Time for the bedding ceremony! Let's strip her and see what this she-wolf has to offer my uncle!" King Joffrey suddenly shouted.
"I want no bedding ceremony," Tyrion said quietly but firmly.