"No children are going to happen," unless he misunderstands biology very badly. "—other than ours." Though maybe he's infertile? That would really bloody suck. Why is he even worrying about this it's not like this is common, and besides he's heard that infertile men can't even get it up and he demonstrably can.

"Nevertheless, that's my major stance on the matter. We can discuss the details later. As it is now, ah—there is the other wedding party." Yep, there comes the other, much larger wedding party, through the doors of the hall. Things are about to get much more loud and busy, and if she knows her sister, her left ear is going to be filled with excited chattering as Lysa tries very hard to like and enjoy a wedding she very much didn't want.

The Northerners all cheer as the new party arrives and start making bawdy jokes in the direction of Jon Arryn and Lysa Tully. More people! More party! More booze! That's how this works.

Something occurs to Alis. "How... does your sister feel about the bedding?"

She gives him a sardonic look.

"I think if a game were made of it, for a wedding that she wanted, she would find it delightful. Provided no one took too many liberties. But..." and she lets that sentence trail off leadingly.

"...hm. Excuse me a moment, milady."

Then he gets up and marches straight to Zakary Baratheon to have a whispered conversation with him.

Aw. He's very sweet. Yes, she thinks she likes her husband.

'Not exactly,' hm? And 'No children are going to happen'? What interesting language. And just who was Alisander Stark raised with since childhood? And who has he just gone over to get assistance from as easily as breathing? She knows the reason her uncle hasn't married, and it's not because he doesn't have any decent bridal prospects. It's that none of them appeal. Maybe she's wrong, they have every reason to be as close as brothers (closer, even, Brandon admitted to her that he'd barely even seen his brother since he was sent off to be fostered) but... maybe they have every reason to be closer.

Or maybe not! It's entirely possible that she's looking for a simple explanation, and the situation of her husband's heart is more complicated than that. She'll find out eventually.

But then Lysa is here and she has no more time for idle musing, and instead needs to hug her and tell her she's gorgeous and that her big sister is so, so proud. And patiently listen to her sister chatter about all of the little details of her wedding, which was apparently (almost) perfect. Her dress is exquisite and fits like it was made for her, and everyone said she was the prettiest bride they'd seen. The sept was perfect, the light through the seven stained glass windows was dim until they promised to love each other, and then the sun came out and they were painted in rainbows...

Anavett wears a fond, indulgent smile that doesn't let any of her own pain leak into it, and listens to all of the details of how Lysa greatly enjoyed the wedding that had been planned for her and Brandon. (Good. Let it be good for someone instead of just bitterness.)

Alisander is back soon enough, and when he's close enough to Lysa and Jon, he bows a bit to both of them and says, "Lord Arryn, Lady Arryn, congratulations to you two. I hope you will have a happy, prosperous life together." And produce heirs because this man's bad luck is getting ridiculous.

Jon doesn't even really look hopeful anymore, and is clearly too emotionally exhausted to be a properly excited groom. He's nonetheless doing his best.

"Thank you, lad. I will do everything in my power to make sure my Lady Wife is well provided for. And congratulations to you and your wife, I hope everything works out for you both. To a long and happy life, of prosperity and marital bliss." And he raises his cup in a toast.

"Thank you, my lord," says Anavett, raising her own cup to join the toast.

Alis walks around Anavett to grab his own cup and raises it with a tilt of his head before taking a sip of it and getting back into his seat. He leans in Anavett's direction again once they're done with the toast and whispers, "Zakary will make sure your sister's bedding will not be too unpleasant. He's a way with people."

She smiles, nods, and then closes the distance to gently kiss his cheek, because he's a sweetie. Then she can give Zakary Baratheon a thankful smile, and maybe also check to see if he reacted to the cheek kiss at all, because she's efficient that way.

He inclines his head and smiles broadly back at her when she smiles at him, and looks for all the world like he's very happy for Alisander.

That explains nothing, damnation. Fair enough, though.

And now for general feasting. If Alisander is going to be carrying her off early, she should try to get the pleasantries out of the way for him, shouldn't she.

He would appreciate that very, very much. Alis got a good wife, this isn't really what happens in real life but he supposes even real life has some people sometimes getting lucky.

(It occurs to him that perhaps he is overgeneralising from his own parents and from Jon Arryn's loveless marriages and perhaps marriages that work are more common than he thinks. Maybe.)

Technically speaking, he got this particular spot of luck because his brother was horribly choked to death by the Mad King Aerys, so maybe it doesn't entirely count, all things considered.

Regardless, this is the wife he has, and the wife he has will be perfectly warm and friendly and sociable for him. He can continue being taciturn, and she'll give him occasional openings to weigh in wisely and reasonably so it doesn't seem like he's being an antisocial grump. She'll even actually have some fun, because she does sincerely want to get to know his bannermen, and it seems like she's earned some degree of their respect, between the godwood wedding and the banter.

She will find a big fan in a man called Jon Umber, styled Greatjon because of how tall, broad, and strong he is despite only being a few years older than Alisander. At first he was throwing remarks of a more barbed nature at her, but her equally barbed responses seem to provoke great amusement in him and he eventually starts calling her "the shark", for how snarky and sharp she can be while also being extremely thick-skinned and resilient. A fine Lady of Winterfell, if you ask him, and Alisander had better treat her well lest she stab him in his sleep someday.

"If she stabs me in my sleep it will be because I deserved it," he says somberly. "'Tis my duty to ensure I won't." Which Greatjon finds acceptable enough to start calling Alis "young wolf", which up until now people had only been using in lecherous japes about their houses and not to refer to Alisander himself.

Greatjon is charming, if more than a little intimidating, and Anavett finds it terribly fun to finally get to break out her barbs properly. No doubt her father is scandalized; Lysa certainly is, and worried for her welfare besides. Which means she's not jealous, so that's... probably an improvement? She thinks? It's hard to tell, with Lysa, she tucks away all of her feelings deep inside and then suddenly breaks out with something crazy.

"I expect our marriage to be a happy one," she says, patting her husband's hand. Then she winks. "But no promises about not bring a knife to the bedchambers, hm?"

Alis takes a large swig of his mug to cover the blush that creeps up his face again. "'Twould only be appropriate for the Lady of Winterfell," he croaks.

“Good! I endeavor to be a proper Lady of the north.”

That’s an interesting thing to blush at. If she’s not mistaken, her husband is beginning to like her. He continues to be terribly cute.

He is not cute, he is the Warden of the North.

The afternoon wears on, and Alis gets more and more bothered by all the attention, until he eventually decides. "Gentlemen, ladies," he calls, his voice booming more loudly than one would think him capable of given most of his demeanour so far, enough to cause conversation to die down in waves and for the musicians to pause. "I wish to offer one more toast to Lord Arryn and his new lady for a joyful marriage; to Lord Tully and his House for their grace and hospitality, as well as their alliance; and to all of you, all of us, who have dared to dream of a realm no longer suffering under the thumb of the Mad King. To our glory on the battlefield, and to our success and plenty out of it. A toast, and a cheer!"

Which has exactly the effect he'd hoped for: the whole crowd cheering and toasting and clapping and stomping their feet, cries for victory and wealth and a good life.

"My brother is too modest," Zakary calls after the first round of cheers, "and refuses to celebrate his own happiness. So let us also add his new life as Lord of Winterfell and his marriage to the Lady Anavett to our cheers!"

Anavett raises her own cup to the toast, smiling, and then to give Alisander an opening, because he clearly wants to leave:

“Perhaps my lord husband doesn’t expect a happy marriage?” she teases, blatantly flirting. “Was it the comment about the knife that did it, or was it something else? How could I set this right?”

"Milady Anavett, I am looking forward to the bright future that is undoubtedly ahead of us. And I do believe I want it to start right now, with me showing you exactly what you shall do." And without even turning around he extends his arm back and lifts a warning finger in the direction of the Greatjon. "And I expect Lord Umber to want to suggest something right now that I should address." Then he turns to face his bannerman, who does indeed look like he was about to say something. "There shall be no bedding ceremony for us."

    "'Tis an ancient tradition!" he protests.

"This whole rebellion is aiming to break tradition, so what's one more to add? I am afraid that what a shark and a wolf get up to shall remain a secret to you, ser." And he picks his bride up once more, almost effortlessly.

        "Ahhhh, does milord wish to keep the sight of his lady all to himself? Or is he afraid that should he be exposed he will bring shame to his House?" teases another bannerman.

"I am perfectly confident in my sword, ser, as well as in the blade attached to my hip," which invites another round of laughter and jeering. "But perhaps you wish to see if I can use the latter while carrying my bride? 'Twould be an exciting new challenge."

    The Greatjon guffaws and says, "Spoken like a true Stark! Go on, lad, I will make sure these drunkards shan't bother ye and milady."

            "And who are you calling a drunkard, now?" a third person asks in mock outrage.

    "I have me a list! And your name is right at the top, Glover, else I ain't the Greatjon!"

She laughs, and arranged herself comfortably in his arms, looking to all the world like she belongs there.

“Far be it for me to deny a hungry wolf!” she teases, then gives a wave as she’s carried off.

Alisander himself remains quiet as they walk away, the sound of the party slowly dying off behind them. When they get to his room he does some manoeuvring to find his key, unlock it, open the door, lock it again, latch the door, and then carefully place his new wife on his bed.

Then he looks at her, has a few conflicting emotions warring for real estate on his face, and ends up deciding to not have any emotions at all and merely sit beside her on the bed.