When, at last, a Redwyne ship bearing the House Tyrell sigil docked in the harbour, Jon could barely breathe past the nerves that seemed to tighten his chest and throat. He could not recall ever being so frightened in his life. And that was beyond silly, was it not? He was not facing some great foe or heading into battle. He was meeting the girl who, in a few days, would be his Lady Wife. But in a way, was that not as good a reason to be afraid as any other? If she disliked him, there would be nothing to do. They would still be bound to one another for the rest of their days. Whenever he let himself think on marriage, all he could think of was the playful love between his Uncle Benjen and Aunt Dacey, or the quiet, affectionate companionship between his father and Lady Catelyn. But then he would always remember how much Lady Catelyn had loathed him. It had been years since he had last been as constantly aware of the circumstances of his birth as he had been for the past few sennights. No matter what name the king had bestowed upon him, he had still been born a Sand. Lady Margaery likely had not forgotten it either. What Lady of a Great House would want to be wed to a bastard, even a legitimised one?
Loras had picked up on his fears and done his best to dispel them, telling him over and over again about Margaery's kindness and wit and graciousness, but all that had truly done was make everything all the more daunting. If Loras had told him Margaery was homely and simple, Jon might have been able to feel some confidence in their union, but as it was all he could comprehend was that he was utterly unworthy. And as she stepped into view, that belief was only further reaffirmed.
She was beautiful, with golden brown curls and eyes that were somehow blue and gold all at once. Her face bore an impish smile. She was as tall as he, if not a little taller, and looking at her, he knew he would never think of her as a girl again. She was a woman grown, and even looking upon her made him feel young and awkward and so unworthy all he wanted was to shrink into the nearest crack in the cobbled courtyard. For all that she was of an age with him, a few moons older at most, in that moment he could not help but feel like a foolish child.
It took great effort to keep his hand from shaking as he bent over hers and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His stomach twisted with nerves, and he thought he said something or other, but he did not know what and knew he would never be able to recall it. Whatever it was, she responded with a gracious smile, her voice both strong and sweet.
He was not ready for this, he realised. Not at all. He was a boy still. How could he wed a woman? How could he even think to bed her? It was all he could do not to flush when he remembered the awkward talk Uncle Benjen had had with him a few moons back, when they had first been informed that the wedding would take place soon. He was not ready at all, and for all that the smile on her face remained unwavering, he thought she knew too. She must.
He could not imagine she would look at him and see anything but a fumbling, frightened child.
Loras stepped past him to greet his sister while Jon managed to somehow keep hold of his courtesies for long enough to greet the rest of the Tyrells and their retinue. Feeling almost nauseous, he offered his arm to Lady Alerie and led the way into the Stone Drum with Uncle Arthur falling silently into step behind him.
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