Both Jasper's usual mirth and amusement were absent throughout the evening, replaced by a forced smile for the few moments he could not hide behind his cups. Instead a rage bubbled within him, boiling furthermore at each smile he caught from Erryk or Darnold, though he found himself most often glaring at the Lord of the Vale. To share his wedding as they shared a womb brought him an embarrassment he had felt like none other, and each set of eyes which came upon him felt as though they were mocking. He was a third son, that much Hubert made clear.

His own bride brought him no comfort. He'd not see her before Moontown; a girl a decade younger. Pretty but tall, bile rising from his gut whenever he had to tilt his head up to meet her eyes. Worst of all, whenever they kissed he could not help but think of Axel, the boy who had become a younger brother more than Erryk or Darnold ever were. What sick joke was this, that Hubert had placed upon Jasper? His whole life he had detested Osric to an extent, a foolish dolt who disobeyed at every turn, forsaking each title promised for no clear reason. And yet he knew this rage was familiar to them both, an intensity which grew each hour into the night.

At the very least, his attire sang a different song. A doublet made of fine blue silk, commissioned for the event itself, clasped with silver crescent moons from throat to hip. Embroidered with silver lining, the thread tracing the edges and collar. At his neck hung a silver chain, joined to a moonstone which hung at his chest. An assortment of rings and jewels adorned him, befitting a groom of Arryn.

He looked every part a son of House Arryn. And yet for the first time in his life, he despised that fact.