Chapter Text
Robert staggers drunkly out of their bedding chamber. Catelyn gets an unwelcome feeing of fear in her gut. She hopes that Cersei is alright. She does not know the man well, but she suspects a drunken, mournful Robert is not a pleasant partner in bed.
She is not given much time to contemplate the state of her new wife. The men quickly shove Catelyn through the door to her sedoretu’s bedding chamber.
The first thing that she notices is that the covers are white. She supposes it is easier for them to know the marriages were consummated when they can see the blood from the beddings clearly on the sheets. The sheets are no where near as pristine as before Robert and Cersei consummated the Morning Marriage. Cersei is already sprawled naked across the bed, lying in her own drying blood. She turns her head and looks to Catelyn.
“I suppose they expect us to consummate,” she says, a bitter sort of quality to her voice. Catelyn’s not sure what she’s so bitter about. She’s to be mother of the Seven Kingdoms, and mother of kings. It’s a position most morning women would have bent over backwards for.
“That would be traditional,” Catelyn says, her voice dry and gravely. It’s tradition to consummate each marriage on the wedding night, and Catelyn is nothing if not dutiful.
Even if they do plan on splitting their sedoretu between King’s Landing and Winterfell, it is Catelyn’s duty to bed her wife. She is less eager to admit how much the prospect appeals to her.
“Robert and I consummated,” Cersei says, her voice tight and pained. Catelyn sighs as she realizes what Cersei needs right now. Her wife needs a confidant. Catelyn has listened to many a problem, growing up as Lysa’s older sister. She can listen to a few more.
She does not respond, and waits for Cersei to vent.
If it were, she shudders at the thought, Robert in her bed, looking for a shoulder to cry on, she knows that the subject would be Lyanna.
Lyanna Stark’s ghost will haunt her sedoretu forever. Her disappearance and death took a huge toll on every member of their sedoretu to be, but Robert might have been hit hardest. He fancied himself in love with the wild girl. Catelyn still doesn’t know if he truly knew her. She knows that she didn’t.
Other than this night, she’s afraid she won’t be able to know Cersei either. They do plan on splitting the sedoretu.
Royalty have split sedoretus before, Catelyn reminds herself. This is nothing strange. The Targaryens split between King’s Landing and Dragonstone since they took up the practice of sedoretus. But it seems strange and startling to Catelyn.
She grew up with a nearly full sedoretu of parents, plus her uncle Brynden and her siblings. She always imagined that she would be evening lady of a great keep along with a full sedoretu of spouses and a slew of children. She almost had that, before the war. They had almost ruled Storm’s End, with Lyanna at their side.
But Brandon is dead, and Ned is to be lord of Winterfell. They cannot even all live in King’s Landing. Catelyn tries not to mourn the possibility too thoroughly, though. That ship sailed a long time ago.
“He called me Lyanna,” Cersei whispers, startling Catelyn out of her inner monologue.
“He called me her name as he pounded into me,” Cersei says, her voice growing from a whisper to a growl.
“That’s why he drank half of the wine in the Seven Kingdoms,” she spits, “because he wanted to pretend that I was her.”
“I’m sorry,” Catelyn tells her, trying to fathom a way to decrease her wife’s pain, “Robert is not over Lyanna.”
“Is not over?” Cersei says, with a bitter little laugh, “I think I puzzled that out for myself.”
“He loved her,” Catelyn says, though she doesn’t think that she speaks the truth, “perhaps he can love you too.”
“You’re an entertaining woman, Catelyn Tully,” she says, a hint of actual humor in her tone.
“Stark,” she says, “my name is Stark. Yours is Baratheon.” Cersei actually rolls her eyes at her.
“I’ll be a Lannister until I die,” she says. Catelyn sends her a confused look.
“The only one who wants to be a Baratheon is Robert,” Cersei says, “and perhaps Eddard. He seems far more enthralled with our evening husband than I am.” Their husbands had been childhood sweethearts, and it seems like they are the only ones particularly excited by the marriage. Now they’re to be separated. It gives Catelyn a bit too much comfort that they’ll all end up miserable.
“By the Seven,” Catelyn says, “this is quite a mess we’ve made ourselves.”
“I take no responsibility,” Cersei tells her, then she looks closer, “nor should you. This is our husbands’ fault.”
“Too true,” Cat responds. The other woman’s voice has started to take on a sensual quality, and Catelyn would probably have assented to anything she said.
“We’ll leave the fuck-ups to them,” she says, her lips ghosting over Catelyn’s ear, “and we can have fucking.” Catelyn can’t take it anymore. Such vulgar language in the other woman’s sensual, lilting voice sends her over the edge. She seizes the other woman’s lips in a kiss. Cersei kisses back, fiercely, and Cat lets out a little groan. Cersei is obviously experienced, though she doesn’t bother wondering who she’s been with.
Cersei fiddles with her lacings and rips off her deep blue dress before Catelyn even realizes what she’s doing.
There’s something invigorating about the way the other woman kisses, something that makes her want more and more. Catelyn’s hands twine in the other woman’s curls, and Cersei hooks her hands around her waist, and runs her hands firmly along her thighs.
She feels herself becoming moist, and she's not sure if she's more aroused or confused. Cersei hooks her finger's inside of her, and Catelyn hitches against her, trying to edge herself into the circular movements the other woman is making.
Her body goes pleasantly limp as she screams.
She doesn’t want Cersei to move. She doesn’t want her to, but she knows that she has to. They still have two marriages to consummate. She squeezes Cersei’s hand.
“I don’t want to move,” Cersei tells her. Catelyn agrees, but she’s always had to be the sensible one.
“I still have another bedding,” Catelyn says, knowing that she doesn’t sound overly excited about it. Cersei sighs loudly, but holds out her hand.
“You’re going to make me pull you off the bed,” Catelyn says, “aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Cersei says, with a hint of humor in her tone. Catelyn rolls her eyes, but she pulls her bride off the bed.
Cersei lets go of her hand before Catelyn even realizes that she’s still holding it.
Cersei exits the room, but Catelyn sits back down on the bed in all her naked glory.
“Good night, Catelyn,” Cersei says, a hint of humor in her tone.
“Call me Cat,” she says, a small smile crawling across her face. Cersei sends her a nod before she saunters off to her assigned bed chamber.
Catelyn sits back down on the bed. Her husband will be here for their own bedding shortly. They may have a traditional wedding night, but their sedoretu will never be proper.
Catelyn sighs as she lies flat on the bed, trying not to worry about what their split marriage will do to either them or the Realm.