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The tears ran down Roslin's face. She stood as far away from him as possible, avoiding the bed entirely.
"What is it, sweetling?" Edmure asked, as gently as possible. Perhaps it was his cock, which stood erect now that Roslin was sans clothing. She had a slim figure, good enough for him - but not for Cat, who insisted that girls with large hips made better wives.
Edmure wondered if Cat had felt as Roslin did at her wedding to Eddard Stark. He laughed. His sister wouldn’t cry over a little thing like losing her maidenhood. Especially if she was duty-bound to do so. All the same, he ought to have asked her about it.
He turned his attention back to the still-weeping Roslin. None of the girls he'd had back home ever seemed nearly so sad to see him naked, but nearly all of them were whores. Roslin was of higher birth than them, and a maid besides.
Maybe she thought it was too small. Or floppy. It was entirely possible, Edmure reflected ruefully. Once upon a time, he would’ve compared cocks with any man - he’d been pretty proud of his fish until that singer - that singer , he didn’t want to think about it right now, his manhood would leave him all over again.
Edmure sighed. She was obviously not willing, but he'd best get this over with now.
"Roslin, I have to consummate this marriage, you know that," he ventured.
She shook her head.
Now what was that supposed to mean? No, you don’t have to consummate the marriage? No, you do, but I don’t want to bed you? No, I don’t like your cock? No? He found himself wishing again that he’d asked Cat for advice, however awkward it might’ve been.
Wrapping a sheet around his lower half to hopefully make her more comfortable, Edmure walked across the room to where his young wife stood. I’ll ease her into it. She won’t even have to look at my cock.
“Come, you’re the lady of Riverrun now. Everything will be fine.”
He kissed her, at first chastely, like he had in front of all those people at the wedding; then he slowly became more forceful, until she finally opened her mouth under his and returned the kiss with a pale imitation of his fire.
But a kiss was a kiss, and it gave Edmure license to grab a breast. Or two. Roslin’s didn’t quite fill his hands, but they were nice and firm when he gave them a squeeze. She gave a little whimper of pain and pushed him away, and he stopped immediately; sex was always fantastic, but if Roslin really didn’t want him, for whatever reason, he’d leave her be. Other men raped as much as they ate, and were lauded as heroes for it, but Edmure had never felt the need to become one of them.
Everything was quiet between the two of them, quiet enough that Edmure could hear the music being played outside. They’d picked up “The Rains of Castamere”. He’d not been fond of singers since that one , and Walder Frey’s were some of the worst, but all the same, he listened - there was nothing else to listen to.
And who are you, the proud lord said, that I should bow so low?
Only a cat of different coat, that’s all the truth I know.
It sounded ominous for some reason, and Edmure thought he felt something clench in his gut, but he shook it off. Of course it would be ominous. Tywin Lannister was a pretty ominous man.
Then he heard a yell.
A woman, screaming “ Mercy! ”
Perhaps the singers had decided to put on a little show? It was out of place, to be sure.
Edmure started back to look for his clothes, and he heard Roslin squeak a few words, the first full sentence she’d said to him since they’d come here. And an unexpected one, too.
“My lord! Our marriage! We must... consummate it!”
Edmure turned back towards her, grinning.
“Changed your mind, have you?” He took her in his arms and whisked her into bed, quick as a leaping trout. A couple of screams rang from outside, but he took no notice of them - Roslin was suddenly being quite pliable. He brought his finger down to the mound at the juncture of her thighs and felt his cock, which had gone soft, become hard as a mast again. She wailed a bit when he broke her maidenhood, louder when she saw the blood, but when he climaxed, she stayed quite calm. Edmure smiled as he thought of the son this night would surely make, and when they were done, he hugged Roslin to his chest as she fell asleep, content.
A child. He almost couldn’t believe it. They would have to make certain of her pregnancy, of course, and any number of things could go wrong - but a child . Edmure thought of his nephew and king, and wondered whether he and his wife had made an heir yet. Surely they had - from what he understood, Robb married the Westerling girl because he might’ve gotten her with child. Should Robb die - no, he wouldn’t think about things like that, not now. Not on his wedding night.
The lack of wailing and weeping and moaning once more allowed Edmure to hear the sounds outside.The singers weren’t singing anymore, thankfully. It was eerily silent, except for some footsteps here and there.
And suddenly, a rush of men burst into Edmure’s idyll, and it wasn’t silent anymore.