It took Arya very little time to find Maester Vyman, but in that time Eddmina's mind had spiralled from each pain she endured.

The pains had become agony, and each one had her mind reeling back to the Twins. By the time the maester arrived her fisted hands had scratched at her arms until they were red raw and she could barely speak her throat was so tight, save the few hummed tunes she used to distract herself. Instinct had kicked in too, because she desperately wanted to pace the room as she had in her tower cell. Unlike in her tower cell however, she had to catch herself against the walls or the furniture whenever she stumbled or lost balance when the aches hit too much. If she had been in a calmer state, she might have noticed the sheer unnerved concern both the Maester and Garlan regarded her with.

"Her grace needs as much rest as she can get," she heard Vyman telling Garlan, who watched her pace nervously, as if knowing he should do something but unsure what. "She is in for a long and possibly perilous night if she does not calm herself now."

If she was more in-tune with what he was saying she would have been furious, but she barely knew he was there, barely knew Garlan was there, because instead all she could focus on were the ghosts of the past. Labour was more agonising than she remembered it to be, though in truth she remembered very little about the first time, save that she had forced herself not to scream so not to scare her little brothers no matter how painful it got. She remembered holding Tyrell hands while her childhood maester tended to her,  her direwolf curled in the corner of the room, and her twin brother sat outside waiting to see her. It was a blur of blood and misery, like most of her recent life had been, but she knew deep down no matter her fears of mortality, she had felt safe.

The wedding had made sure she'd never feel safe again. Another contracting cramp seized her so harshly that she gasped and nearly stumbled, and suddenly she was no longer in Riverrun but back in that hall, Frey hands restraining her, forcing her to look at the bodies as they carried her off. They threw a sack over her head that had robbed her of air, and each time a cramp took her breath away she felt as if she was back in that blind darkness, her fate in someone else's hands as they carried her away. Perhaps while she battled that memory it would have been helpful if someone hadn't tried to catch her from losing her balance, because instead of registering that it was merely Garlan trying to help, she was back at the mercy of the Freys, and they were grabbing her, taunting her, repeating over and over in her ear that they had killed all the traitors except for her.

With as much strength as she could muster she pulled herself away from Garlan, eyes wide in fear and fierce determination to fight, and if not for him grabbing both of her hands to restrain her she would have hit him. Holding her hands as tightly as he was doing was unhelpful too, because then she remembered all the times Lannister guards had bound her hands. It was undignifying, it was humiliating, and like a mad beast she pulled against his grip. Like a steadfast knight, however, Garlan remained holding her, one of his hands wrapped around both of her wrists while the other gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. Lord Tywin had done that to her a great deal too, but that had felt like control, domination, whereas Garlan merely seemed desperate to get her attention.

Perhaps if she was more herself the mere act of looking at him would have calmed her down, but one look at him and she was back at the doors, throwing her weight against them, smelling the blood of their friends, seeing the arrows protruding out of his back. He had promised to get them both home and back to Willas and Leonette, yet there they were, broken and changed. She would have done anything to be the girl who had left Riverrun all those months ago once more, but instead she had become a monster, and Garlan a strange shadow of himself.

"Your grace-" maester Vyman attempted to approach, but jerked back the moment she thrashed in Garlan's grip again.

"Get off me," she screamed, though her voice sounded more like a sob, not noticing her vision becoming blurred with tears. "Let go of me, get off me."

"Not until you look at me," Garlan insisted firmly, unwavering. Even though she didn't, he continued, "I see that place every night, every time I close my eyes... eye. Fuck, I wonder if I'll ever get used to saying that? Doesn't matter, all that matters is that I understand, I know. Any time my scars hurt, any time I get a headache, I'm back there. Blood doesn't make me faint anymore but it makes me remember, and I... I see my father every night cursing me for not getting out of there and getting home. I understand, Edda."

"Your father didn't even like me, but he..." she began, but trailed off, shaking her head. Garlan grimaced, his one remaining eye closing as he took a deep breath, clearly gathering courage. "I thought I would be dead by now, I thought I wouldn't have to do this."

"Yet you fought to keep both of you alive, and I am so very glad of that," Garlan replied calmly, and when he forced a small smile she felt a little of her fear release. "We are not there anymore, though it may seem that way sometimes. Perhaps we'll never truly leave, but we can try."

"You fucking Tyrell's and your fucking wisdom," she cursed, managing a bitter laugh as a tear slipped down her cheek, remembering another Tyrell who had been called 'wise'. As another cramp seized her she let out a small cry, falling into him. "I don't want to do this. I want my mother."

"Arya has gone to find her," he reassured her, removing his hand from her chin to instead stroke her hair. It was brotherly, it was kind, and it made her want to cry more.

"I want your mother," she whispered, hating herself for exposing that weakness, even more so when she saw him grimace. "I want your brother. Why didn't you go home? Do you think they all hate us for not going home?"

"I owed a debt to the brotherhood for bringing me back, and I felt as if there was too much unfinished here," he said, his voice a quiet, shaken sigh. "Or, at least that's what I told myself. How could I go home without you or my father? I was not going home without you, and I was not letting them see me like this. I suppose the vain truth was that I didn't want my wife to see how ugly I am and see the monster I am now."

Eddmina would have hit him and told him to see sense. She would have told him that despite her fear and reservations he was still Garlan, and simply for being him he was still beautiful. She would have told him that men had endured worse mutilations than losing eyes and being covered in scars, that his family would not care how he looked just as long as he was alive. She would have told him over and over again just how much she loved him and how glad she was that she didn't have to be alone anymore, but instead the only noise she made was another groan as another cramp coursed through her.

With that pain Garlan finally managed to overpower her, and as she grimaced he swept her into his arms and carefully carried her back to the bed, and as he gently laid her back down she didn't have the energy to fight back, nor did she argue when she saw Vyman approach the bed, holding a small vial. She could hear him telling her it would help, that it would take the pain away, but all she could think of was when one of the Frey's had approached her with Moon Tea. His brother had pinned her down, forcing her to the floor on her back, pinching her nose so she would be forced to open her mouth for him to pour the tea down her throat. She couldn't remember how she ended up overpowering them, couldn't remember how they ended up dead and drowned at her feet, but she could remember how their sister-Freys had screamed and fled, and how she had wrapped her arms around her belly and sang softly to calm herself down despite her constant shaking. The sight of Vyman's vial took her back, and instinct made her pull away, shaking her head.

"It will not hurt, Edda," Garlan reassured her again, both of his hands taking one of hers. "It'll stop the pain, it'll make you sleep without seeing that place."

The idea of sleep without nightmares was a distant memory, but an appealing one. A childish desire to put an end to her suffering was the only reason why she took the vial and drank it, and was relieved when the effects quickly kicked in. Her pain eased, and she felt her focus dwindling as her eyes grew heavy, though she was still very much aware of Garlan holding her hand. She wasn't paying any attention to what her brother and the maester were discussing, all she cared about was that she wasn't in any pain, and when she finally gave in to closing her eyes, she didn't see the Twins, nor did she see her twin.

"Garlan," she called, her voice tired and drawn, and she forced herself to squeeze his hand. "Please don't leave me again. I want you to stay."

"Of course, my Queen, sister," he vowed, squeezing her hand back.

It was a strange sort of sleep that followed, one that she wasn't completely settled in, one that made her still feel awake. She did not see any horrors, nor smell any blood, but it was not the blank empty dreams she remembered enjoying from her last stint of dreamwine usage. Instead, she felt as if she was floating, caught in a calm sea that reminded her of her honeymoon, seeing vague blurred images and faces, hearing distance voices, but never dipping below the surface into discovering what was truly happening. It was peaceful, at least, and beat suffering nightmares.

She wasn't sure how long she floated through vagueness until finally images cleared, and she found herself stood before the weirwood of Winterfell, though yet again she was unable to run to the men who knelt before it. Trying to call out their names, her voice was drowned out by the sound of a wolf howling, and she was so used to the sound of that howl that she knew exactly who it was. Honour was somewhere, calling out to her, but Eddmina couldn't see her. The maester's concoction prevented her from panicking over it, even if she looked around  desperately, wanting so badly to see her wolf. She tried calling out Honour's name, but her tongue didn't want to work, feeling like lead, so instead she had no choice but to savour the sound of the howl, wondering when she had last heard a direwolf call.

The wolf she couldn't see, but the figures sat before the weirwood she could. The last time she had seen the godswood her uncle and aunt had told her she couldn't go to them, but they were not there to hold her back. She tried to run, but found herself falling onto the mudded floor, staring up at the sky through the red leaves of the godswood. In the gaps, she saw a bird soar through the sky, followed by two more. Their wings were strange, as were their tails, and the screeching noises they made to each other were very much unlike any bird call she had ever heard before. Even so, she watched them soar, and listened to her wolf howl, until she felt the ground shift as if the mud was a mattress and someone was lying down to join her.

"Some good it did, legitimising me," a voice joked, and though she couldn't look anywhere but the sky she knew it was Jon. She was unable to turn her head to look at him no matter how desperate she was to see his face, but she felt him take her hand all the same. "You legitimised me to be a Stark, but I will never carry that legal name. I have your blood, not your name."

Once again she was unable to ask him what he meant, or even say his name. She wanted to see his face the way she had seen her aunt and uncle, wanted to see how much he had changed in their years apart before getting struck down by his own brothers, but she couldn't move, and when she felt him get up to leave she couldn't do anything to stop him.

"I will look after her, but we need you, the north needs you, then there is another cause that needs me," he said firmly, before his voice trailed off completely.

She was alone, with nothing but the strange looking birds in the sky and Honour's distant howl, until the ground shifted again. This time no one took her hand, but she could at least glance over and see why; the man who had joined her didn't have a hand to take hers with. Jaime looked at her, winking, and she so desperately wanted to tell him how sorry she was, until he began to laugh.

"It was my own fault, I should have never left home," he told her. "We leave and chase glory, then glory spoils us and leaves us for dead. My fate was just longer coming than I deserved. I thought I had gotten away with my dishonour until I met you and you forced me to come to terms with it. I am only sorry I could not live to see the people we would have made each other into."

"Jaime," she managed to croak out. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be," he shrugged. "We will end up with the same fate. We will still share blood one day, we will still share a son."

The nonsense he spoke she was unable to question, because he had disappeared into the wind, replaced in mere seconds by a woman. Tall, slender, tanned, she was a face Eddmina had not seen in months and was a sight sweet enough to bring her to tears. Talisa was the goodsister she should have had, the woman she should have allowed her brother to love. If she had not meddled, if she had just left Robb to love his Volanti healer, Jeyne would have remained innocent and alive, and Robb's fate would have most likely been the same. Just as she had been with Jaime, Eddmina felt desperate to apologise, to spout how sorry she was for all that had happened, for preventing her and her brother from enjoying the happiness they deserved.

"You did what you thought was right," Talisa reassured her quietly, wearing a smile Eddmina had often enjoyed to see. "And you will continue to do so. My boy needs you, your boys need him. Will you promise to look after him until I see him again?"

Perhaps Eddmina would have agreed if she understood what exactly Talisa was asking of her, but she had vanished just as Jaime and Jon had, and Eddmina was left with nothing but the sky and her confusion. The strange looking birds were still there, circling and dancing with each other, but they had been joined by two more, and then another, and then another, until there were at least nine of them taking to the skies. She would have been more than content to lie and watch them until the place faded and she woke, but she could hear someone calling her name, a mere whisper on the breeze at first, until the unfamiliar voice grew louder, and then-

"Mother!"

Eddmina didn't feel herself sit up, nor did she feel herself climb to her feet, though she still couldn't move properly, as if her boots had fused to the snowy ground. That had happened once when she had battled with her brothers in a snowball fight, beating them until she realised the snow had fallen so harshly that her boots had gotten buried, and despite laughing uncontrollaby at her entrapment both Robb and Jon had to heave her free. They had laughed, she had scowled and gotten revenge by throwing another snowball down the backs of their cloaks, and Eddmina knew she would do anything to go back to that time. How desperately she wished she could hear their laughter again, even if it was at her expense. She would have cried, if not for-

"Mother!"

No one had ever called her that, though she knew whoever was calling that title was trying to summon her. Whoever it was, they were nowhere to be seen, because as she looked around the godswood, all she could see was the great weirwood tree. There were still two male figures knelt before it, the two men she knew were her father and brother, except... Robb's hair had never been that dark, nor that curly. The man knelt next to her father was also too small to be Robb, seeming more like a boy than a man, his shoulders more slender, his build more slight. His hair was the exact shade of hers, and the curls were tight ringlets that reminded her of her youngest goodbrother. She recalled all the times she had run her hand through her son's hair, her fingers detangling his curls, though compared to the boy knelt by her father, Uther's hair was more like waves. How desperate she was to see what the boy looked like, to know who he was, but no matter how much she wanted to see what colour eyes he had, he did not turn to look at her.

Nor did the other man knelt by the tree, though he was a distance away from her father. He was at least to the side of her, so she could see the silhouette of his face, see that his nose was as long as hers and his eyes were as green as Willas', though the rest of his features were hidden behind his shaggy shoulder-length chestnut hair. What she could see of him was beautiful, and it made her heart ache and yearn to run to him. He was as young as the boy with her father, yet there was a dutiful frown on his face that aged him.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins," the kneeling boy spoke, his voice a soft Reach accent. "It shall not end until my death..."

His voice trailed off, and was hidden behind a quiet melodic song. Eddmina couldn't tell what the words to the song were, but whoever was singing it had a voice far sweeter than her own, a little deeper and warmer, and far nicer for Eddmina to listen to. She looked around to see if she could spot who was singing, and her eyes landed on a young girl sat cross-legged on a large rock next to one of the streams, wearing a black dress with a white rose embroidered on the collar. Her hair was a mass of curls, the perfect blend of Hightower auburn and Tully red, and though her eyes were closed as she sang she wore a daring smirk. Sat at the side of her on a twin boulder was another boy, his hair just as curly but darker and cropped short, and she couldn't see his eyes either as he was focusing on the shield upon his lap. From the distance that she was stood, Eddmina could vaguely make out the colours of the Tully coat, but a paint brush was in his left hand, and he was running the bristles over the silver trout, staining it golden.

If her throat hadn't have felt so tight she may have called out to them, any of them, desperate to know who they were, why they were in her godswood, and just why her insides ached longingly at the sight of them all. The noise of more howling was helpful in drowning out the need for knowledge, even more so when two wolves ran straight past her, almost knocking her to the floor again, one of them grey and white and the other as black as night. They bounded off into the woodland, and following them was the sound of shrieking laughter as two little girls sprinted after them. One of them wore green, the other crimson. The green girl's hair was so dark she could have been Dornish, though it curled in the exact same way Uther's did, and Eddmina had seen a flash of blue as the little girl ran with wide, excited eyes, and while the crimson girl had the same eyes, her hair was a mane of golden ringlets tinged with chestnut. They held hands as they ran after the wolves, and disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.

"Mother!"

That call was more urgent, more impatient, as if whoever was calling it was bored. For the first time in what felt like forever, Eddmina felt a sharp tug on her hand. All the others who surrounded her had never one glanced her way, as if she was a mere phantom in their private paradise, but another pull on her hand made her turn and look behind her, where another young girl stood, staring up at her with mis-match eyes of blue and green that twinkled with overwhelming intelligence. It was like looking at Willas whenever he was about to burst into a soliloquy about his favourite bird. The girl had his hair colour too, though it fell pin-straight down her back and to her hips, and though she was dressed in a simple grey gown she was embellished with a maester's chain that was so long it had to be looped around her neck four times to stop her from tripping. Across her right cheek was a birthmark stain the colour of Arbour wine, mimicking the silhouette of Dorne.

Her hands were outstretched, cupped together delicately, and as Eddmina looked her up and down the girl opened up her hands to show her a small butterfly perched between her two palms. As it opened up its wings it shone gold, shimmering in the faint sunlight of the godswood. It featured no other markings, solid gold as if it was a trinket, but within moments its wings spread and it darted into the air, making the girl gasp in delight, watching it fly away into the sky before she turned to Eddmina with a grin.

"There's a shrub over there covered in them!" The girl enthused, still grinning up at Eddmina. It still startled her that all the others couldn't see her, but the girl was talking to her as if she had known her forever. "Come and see them! I counted twenty-four!"

The hands that had once held the butterfly darted to grab hold of one of Eddmina's, and despite previously being unable to move, one tug from the insistent girl had her following eagerly. She couldn't feel her feet move, couldn't feel herself walking, but the godswood moved around her anyway, all while the girl who held her hand chatted away about butterflies. It made her think of Willas' hounds, the ones he'd named after his favourite insects, the ones they used to walk through the woodlands in the early days of their marriage. It was a sweet memory, made all the sweeter by the way the girl kept turning and grinning at her as if to just remind her that she could still see her.

Before they had chance to reach the butterfly shrub that the girl was so enthusiastic about, the godswood echoed with a noise Eddmina knew well. It was a noise she had heard countless times in her dreams, a noise that echoed in her mind whenever dark memories conquered her and shoved her into the abyss. The scream that shook the world around her was engraned into her very being, and Eddmina felt herself grip onto the girl's hand tighter, finding a strange sort of safety with her, but when she looked to see the girl's grin and take in her company she found her disappeared. She looked around, knowing that her father was only feet away by the tree, but he too had gone, as had everyone else, even the strange birds from the sky. Everything had blurred, even the face of the tree had become unrecognisable. It felt as if night had fallen, darkness surounding her, though the only thing that didn't fade was the scream as it instead shifted into a noise she didn't know, but one she was sure was a sob.

"Oh, gods, oh no," a woman sobbed, and it was the same voice that had made the scream, a voice she had heard her whole life but rarely heard so distressed; her mother. "No, not a girl... I needed, we needed... gods, not a girl..."

If Eddmina had been more aware of what was happening it might have felt more like a twisting knife in her chest, but in truth she felt nothing but numbness. Even when she could hear the sob and the curse over and over, and she could feel a dull ache in her lower back, she felt nothing. The darkness that had surrounded her turned to a vague greyness as if she was in a storm cloud, until it began to grow lighter, and soon the lines between reality and dream was blurred. She was used to that, used to not knowing when she was in a nightmare and when she was merely living, but it felt more surreal than usual, until it was like a sweet relief to feel her eyelids open, the dim candlelit room welcoming her back to her real life.

Even so, the voice that had been sobbing was still present, distant and unintelligible, but it was still most definitely her mother. It took a moment for her to remember that her mother was actually alive and her voice was not just leftover nonsense from whatever strange dream she had endured. The fog of such a deep surreal sleep hung over her, a strange sense of loss dawning on her as she remembered the figures who had inhabited the godswood, especially the butterfly girl, but despite her softened senses she knew it was her mother's voice coming from only feet away. It was her mother who she had mourned, and before she felt able to even process a thought, she had pulled the covers away and had stumbled to her feet.

As soon as she was upright she felt a contraction tear through her, reminding her exactly why she had been given poppy's milk and dreamwine, but the pain didn't stop her following where her mother's voice was coming from. The room was entirely empty, though she didn't feel the betrayal of realising Garlan had left her alone, because instead she was focused solely on fleeing to the door, knowing her mother's voice was coming from the hallway. Her hand reached for the handle, ready to open up the door and throw herself at her mother to spout apologises and adorations, but something made her stop, that being the sound of Garlan swearing.

"What is the point of you being here then?  Garlan hissed furiously in a way she'd rarely heard him be before. "Why even come to Riverrun if you knew she was here?"

"I have every right to be here, this is my home," her mother replied curtly with a sneer. Eddmina had never heard her mother take that tone before, least of all to someone she was meant to trust.

"As it is hers," he shot back, still infuriated. "She was asking for you, she is scared. Do you know how rare it is to see her actually admit to being afraid?"

"Of course I do, I have known her far longer than you and your traitor brother-" her mother's voice was so cold Eddmina felt the hairs on her arms raise to attention.

"Watch yourself," Garlan practically snarled, defensive.

"You watch yourself," she snapped back. "It is me who rules the Brotherhood, they follow my orders, without which you would still be in that marsh land. Remember your place."

"Aye, I remember my place," Garlan's voice was tight as if he was constraining himself from lashing out, as if his jaw was tensed and his fists balled. "I've served you and those cursed brothers as well as I can, I've killed all those who you wanted me to, I've done whatever depravities you've commanded me to do, and I've done it all gladly. There's few things in this shitty second life you've forced me to endure that I find pleasure in, but killing Lannisters and Freys is not something I resent. I've done it all without complaint and with loyalty that befits a knight, but before I was made into this monster I was a Tyrell. In there is my liege lady, my goodsister, and the Queen of the bloody North, and you expect me to not throw everything aside to be with her? We thought she was dead! We should be celebrating, we should be at her side, comforting her, getting her ready to crown her. Why else did you fish Robb's old crown out of the river if not to pass it onto her now?"

There was a pause in their argument, one that was punctuated by the sharp sound of a hand colliding with skin, and Eddmina knew by the way Garlan sharply inhaled that her mother had slapped him. That was enough to make her lose balance, having to lean against the wall as she felt another wave of pain wave through her. She bit onto the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to make a sound.

"Mother," Arya's voice came from nowhere, and the thought of her little sister being present for whatever argument was happening sickened her. "Eddmina is having a baby, and you want her to do it all alone?"

"She is having Jaime Lannister's bastard, she is a Lannister," her mother replied with a cold laugh. Eddmina felt a stinging in her chest and her eyes ached as she stopped herself from breaking into tears. "You know what we do to Lannisters."

Eddmina wasn't sure what made her open the door then, but she did it anyway, and even though she had to lean her whole weight on the doorframe to stay upright she made sure to stand as tall as she could. The first thing he saw was Arya, staring at her wide-eyed in alarm at her overhearing them, but then she noticed Garlan's furious glare soften into disappointed concern, especially as he jumped quickly to stand at her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she refused his help, wanting to stand alone as she looked at the woman she had mourned and tortured herself over for months.

Arya had been right in saying their mother was much changed, because the woman stood before her was almost unrecognisable. Dressed in all black, it was obvious she had spent months living and travelling outdoors in camps, even more than she had in the early days of the war, looking worn and weathered. Her once shining red hair had dulled to a dark grey, and while it had once been lush and soft, it looked as if her ragged braid had the texture of straw. She'd always had rather regal cheekbones, but her face had thinned to the point that she looked almost gaunt, her skin practically grey except for the jagged red scratch marks that scarred her cheeks. She looked less alive than Garlan did, and his appearance had unnerved her enough.

Despite it all, Eddmina felt a smile grow on her face, denial seeping in as she looked at her mother, because even with all she had heard, even with how haunted she looked, she was still her mother, and she was still desperate to have her close. Eddmina's smile was not mimicked by her mother, however, who glared at her up and down with disgusted contempt as if she was her worst enemy.

"Mother, I..." Eddmina began, deciding that what she had overheard didn't matter, not in favour of reuniting properly. "I'm so sorry. I thought they had killed you, they told me you were dead."

"They told me you were dead too," she said coldly, not a single emotion on her face. She looked her up and down, glowering at the loosened red dress she still wore, her eyes landing on her swollen stomach with faint distaste. "Perhaps that would have been for the best."

"Don't you dare," Garlan cut in protectively, looking to Arya as if appealing for her to say something, but the once confident girl was clearly too hurt to speak. When she said nothing, Garlan gripped Eddmina's shoulder, willing her to look at him. "Edda, you need to get back to bed, please, the maester-"

"The babe isn't Jaime's," Eddmina said, though her voice was strained as she fought to stay upright though another searing pain. "It isn't, I promise. I told everyone that so they wouldn't hurt my boys. Jaime never touched me like that, no one but Willas has ever touched me like that-"

"Save your father's ward?" her mother reminded her cruelly, and despite her best efforts, Eddmina fell back into Garlan, feeling as if she had been punched. "You expect me to believe these lies after what your sweet brother told me of you and Theon Greyjoy? You let that traitor into your bed, and expected us all to believe the lies about your virtue. Then you were caught in the Kingslayer's cell, singing and protecting him against your own countrymen. Do you think your fool of a first husband will forgive that? You're a traitor, and no daughter of mine."

"Mother..." Eddmina breathed out, feeling like a small child, especially when she fought not to cry out in pain. "Mother, I love-"

"It should have been you, not my dearest Robb," her mother snarled.

Perhaps Eddmina might have known what to do. She might have known what to say, known to argue that her brother had made plenty of mistakes of his own, that upon learning of her betrothal she never touched another man save Willas Tyrell, that the whole Jaime situation was a misunderstanding that he could never explain his side of events to them. She might have known how to act, to stand tall like the words hadn't felt like blades cutting her heart apart, to remain stoic and uncaring the way she had done as a child when her aunt had told her she had been unwanted. She might have done anything, save fall further into Garlan's arms as he swore, cursed, and carried her back into the room and to the bed, slamming the door behind him, all while Arya stared at their mother in cold horror like she was a stranger, her mouth agape as if for the first time in her life she was speechless.

With the door closed, Garlan was trying to talk to her, gentle reassurances mixed in with furious curses as he helped her sit on the edge of the bed, gripping both of her hands tightly. Eddmina wished she could hear him, but it was as if she had plunged her head deep into the river, unable to understand him or feel anything other than a cold chill. Suddenly she was very aware of the fact she was still wearing red, feeling like it was a dress made from stinging nettles, her skin burning. She tore her hands from his and began to rip at the ties and laces until it fell away, not caring that she was exposing herself in front of her brother. When she glanced at him she saw his cheeks had gone the same colour of the tattered dress, though he quickly darted to the other side of the room where the wardrobe was. He muttered something about it being an old shirt of his as he threw it at her, and she quickly slipped it on over her head, the garment long and baggy enough that it covered her modesty completely as she kicked away the red gown, fighting the desire to throw it in the hearth.

"That shirt would bury me too now," Garlan mused with a sad chuckle, though he couldn't look at her still. "What she said-"

Eddmina knew it had hurt, yet she could hardly say that how her mother spoke was any different to how she felt about herself. She had done terrible things to survive, she had known what she had done would serve as a disappointment to all her parents had tried to teach her. She had done foolish awful things in her youth, things she would love to take back, so no matter how much it hurt hearing the words from a woman she had longed to see again, she could hardly be upset. How could she be upset when she agreed, when she too would have given anything to trade places with her brother and have him still be living and breathing?

"She was right," Eddmina shrugged, somehow finding the strength to mimic his sad smile. "I am a traitor, and a monster, and... The Tyrell's will never take me back."

"This Tyrell will," Garlan vowed, kneeling on the bed by her side. Without looking she took hold of his hand. "They will probably not take me back either, I'm a monster, but I'm not leaving you, Edda. I promised you we would get out of this mess together."

"And when does this mess end?" She asked, looking at him tearfully, her face contorting as she fought the urge to let out a groan of pain.

"When we are in Winterfell, and you are officially Queen," he told her simply, squeezing her hands tightly.

"I don't want to be Queen..." she shook her head, but knew it was useless fighting it. Instead another doubt chewed away at her, and the moment she caught her breath from the latest contraction, she asked: "Do you think they miss us? Willas and... Leonette?"

"I fell in love with Leonette Fossoway at first sight from across the feasting hall, I always swore I would love her to my dying breath..." Garlan sighed, looking as if he was in as much pain as she was, especially as another cramp gripped her. "Turns out I love her still, even after death. I do not know if she would still love me, if any of them would. Look at me, I'm not some glorious, gallant, good looking knight anymore. I've done terrible things in the name of revenge, I've sullied my knighthood. I struggle to make jokes anymore, and I... can dead men still have children? Would Leonette still want me if I can't give her the family she wants? And my mother, she grew up devoted to the Seven, how can I look her in the eye and tell her that there's nothing waiting for us after death? No Seven, no heavens or hells. I think they would be better off carrying on as if I am dead, the man they loved is as good as. You, however-"

"Are certain that you are just as dramatic as your elder brother," Eddmina rolled her eyes but then sighed. "I understand, though. I do not think your brother would be able to love me anymore. Even if the annulment was a farce, my mother spoke true. I lied, and a lie about adultery is a hard one to forget. He'd take one look at me and decide I am not worth the trouble, and I would not blame him."

"What a mess we are, sister," Garlan sighed out a sad, bitter laugh, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, her head falling into his chest. "Forget the lot of them then, we will build anew in the north."

Before either of them could discuss it further, before they could weep onto each other over how terrible their lives had become, the maester entered the room once more, cautious not to burst in in case she was still in a state. Eddmina, however, against all odds, felt a numb sort of serenity, one she was oddly familiar with without even knowing. Yes, her mother was alive but detested her, yes, her family was scattered and torn. Yes, her husband and father of her children may or may not still love her or hate her, she may not know her place in the world at all anymore, but none of it could be fixed instantly, and another sharp contraction reminded her that there were more pressing matters she needed to attend to first. She could hardly fix the world during the clutches of labour, not when the babe who was so desperate to escape from her had been fought for so fiercely. Her second son had been the priority for the whole of her imprisonment, and Eddmina found it easy enough to slip back into that mindset as she settled herself further onto the bed, sitting against the headboard as she nodded for Vyman to enter.

He was followed by the two handmaidens who had attended to her during her last stay in Riverrun, both of them a welcome sight even if the imprisonment in the Twins had left her unable to recall their names. It took Garlan whispering in her ear to jog her memory - Violet was the taller one, Serra the one with pretty brown eyes - and she greeted them like old friends, though they immediately got to work helping her, one of them adjusting the pillows of the bed so she would be more comfortable, the other preparing cloths and a basin of water. She had hardly noticed that to examine her Vyman had edged Garlan out of the way, her goodbrother moving to the door as if he didn't think he belonged in the room, but with one look from her he took his place at her side, holding the hand that his brother had once held under similar circumstances.

If Vyman said something regarding her condition she did not hear him in favour of focusing on the pain that wracked through her, feeling as if her babe was tearing his way out of her. She bit down on her lip, refusing to scream as she had done before, knowing her sister may be on the other side of the door, not wanting to scare her. If her mother was there too then she didn't want to give her the satisfaction of listening to her suffer, no matter how intense the pain was, no matter how agonising or dizzying. Her head rolled back as she screwed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth together as she attempted to breathe through it, but perhaps she was squeezing too tightly onto Garlan's hand as she heard him hiss under his breath, but by the time she realised that the contraction had subsided and allowed her a moment to catch her breath. It was not a particularly long moment, but as each contraction swept through her she became less aware of what was happening around her, not hearing how one of the maids was singing a quiet hymn under her breath as if it was a prayer, not feeling how the other maid kept pressing a cool damp cloth to her forehead.

She was not sure how much time passed, each pain blurring her senses a little more. It could have been mere minutes, or hours since she had begun the ordeal, Eddmina didn't know, nor did she really care. As the labour progressed, so too did the nightmares that hung over her, haunting her every time she closed her eyes. She saw Robb, as she always did, remembering how he had visited her after she had Uther, remembering how he had smiled, remembering how he died begging for her life. To live without him was a cruel joke, and when she felt a contraction strike that was so blindingly arduous, she quickly made her peace with the joke possibly coming to an end. Surely she could not survive such agony a second time, not when she managed to see through the haze to see Vyman's obvious concern, surely she would be with her twin again soon enough. She had fought for so long to survive, to keep her son alive, and it was only when battling through his birth that she realised she cared little for herself; as long as he was alright, she was more than happy to go and join Robb the moment he was born.

What happened to her then, she didn't care. So used to battling through the pain in stubborn silence, she hardly realised when she stopped feeling it completely. It blurred away, her whole body numb, her ears ringing. It was as if her body was not her own, and so she didn't even notice how the maids had followed Vyman's orders to reposition her, gently pulling her further down the bed so she was laid on her back, one of them assisting him by holding her legs. She didn't feel Garlan gripping her hand, nor did she hear him trying to speak reassurances to her, his voice fraught with worry. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should listen, she should pay attention to the Maester and focus on the labour, but as she grew more tired and uncomfortable, the less she cared, and the more she gave way to allowing her mother's words to bother her.

Was Vyman trying to tell her to push? Eddmina didn't know, nor did she care, because her mother had said that she wished she was in Robb's place, and Eddmina agreed. Her mother had endured similar agony to bring her into the world only to weep upon meeting her, and so surely if she gave into the pains and slipped away then she would only be doing the world a favour. Her mother was supposed to love her unconditionally, yet what she had done to survive had earnt her fury and disownment, so it would only be fair to fulfil her wish and join her twin.

Willas thought her dead already, so what difference would it make?

"Mother," she heard a stern voice, so loud and clear it was enough to make her open her eyes and sit up, looking around desperately. Stood at the foot of the bed where the maester had once been was the girl from her dream, the one with the chain, mismatched eyes, and birthmark. "I told you I counted twenty-four butterflies, how are you meant to come see them with me if you give up now?"

Eddmina blinked, eager to clear her mind and focus on the girl, remembering how beautiful she had been in her dream, but in an instant she was gone, replaced by the frustrated maester and a terrified looking handmaiden. Eddmina felt disappointed, wanting to see the girl, and though she flopped back onto the bed, the girl's words rang through her mind, loud enough to drown out her self-hatred and her mother's curses. The girl had wanted to show her butterflies, and though Eddmina had no idea who she was or why she felt a strange sort of maternal kinship to her, she decided to take the hint. Whoever the girl was, she wanted her to fight and live, and she barely considered that the girl might have been a mere figment of her imagination as she forced herself to sit up into a better more comfortable position, and looked at the maester. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, startled by her renewed motivation.

"What do I need to do?" she asked him, though knew the answer without him speaking; push. She turned to Garlan instead, choking back a laugh when she saw how utterly terrifed he looked. "You've been to war, ser, and this scares you?"

"Edda, I thought you were dying... again," he breathed out. "Don't, please?"

Eddmina wanted to tell him that she wasn't sure how she felt about that, but Vyman was commanding her attention, and she decided it was just easier to listen and follow his instructions rather than listen to him fret. Each push hurt more than the last, and she tried to ignore how she could smell blood, and how the time before with Uther she aparently lost almost too much. She had forgotten how exhausting it was, and as if she had drank a pint of dreamwine she found herself fighting to keep her eyelids open. The time before, Willas had told her to look at him, and so she tried to create a similar distraction by looking at Garlan, but it was not the same and made her heart ache with how much she wished she could replace him with another Tyrell. Instead she stared at the ceiling, imagining the shrub with the golden butterflies that the girl had spoken about, all twenty-four of them shimmering in the sunlight. With each push her desire to not scream or groan became harder until she decided to give up, and soon her throat ached from her cries.

It did not particularly matter, because barely an hour after she began pushing her own howls were drowned out by a shrill, piercing cry; the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Relief was instant, falling back onto the mountain of pillows behind her, her eyes closing as she almost gave into the desire of sleep, letting out a long breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She heard the two handmaidens sigh out thanks to the gods, while Garlan began to laugh. All Eddmina could think was how glad she was that the ordeal was over, how good it felt to be done and free of the pain, and how nice it would feel to sleep.

"Congratulations, your grace," Vyman called, his voice loud enough to reach her even as she fought against drifting off.

"Edda," Garlan called her name sharply, snapping her out of her exhausted daze. He squeezed her hand so tight she winced, and it was that which forced her to wake up. "Edd, look what you've done! You-"

"There's too much blood," she whispered, shaking her head as she became aware of her surroundings once more, and squeezing his hand as tight as she could muster, which wasn't tight at all truly. "You can't be here, I'm bleeding, you'll-"

"Hush, sister, I'm going nowhere," he told her, cracking the first proper smile she'd seen him wear since reuniting. "Not when I haven't held my niece yet."

'Niece?' She thought, desperately trying to kick her mind into gear and focus properly. 'But that means... no, it was a boy, a little Eddard, I'd seen him in my dreams every night since I fell with him, the babe is-'

She looked up to see the maester approaching, smiling just like Garlan. He was holding a bundle in his arms, and it took her a moment to realise that he was holding her child; the fact that the bundle was crying helped her snap to attention.

"A girl, your grace," Vyman confirmed, placing the still screaming babe onto her chest.

'A girl? I had dreamt of a boy, a second son, not a-'

"A girl," she said weakly, bursting into tears, then into laughter, knowing it was the greatest joy she had felt in what seemed to be a lifetime.

One glance down at her as her hand wrapped around the babe's back told Eddmina that she was the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen, perhaps one of the greatest things she'd ever had the honour of looking at. Hearing her scream echo throughout the room and possibly the whole keep, feeling her breathe as she laid upon her chest, seeing the mop of dark hair that was still streaked with blood, Eddmina had never felt such a rush of love. She had loved Uther from the first moment too, of course, but that love had come with maternal panic and the need to protect. The first time she held him she had been hit with the knowledge that she would do anything for him, feeling her life be reassembled and reevaluated in barely seconds, while the birth of her daughter was the complete opposite. Instead of panic and love-fuelled fear, Eddmina felt nothing but a calm rush of love, as if she had suddenly discovered exactly what her life was for.

For the first time in months, her mind stilled. She had been so close to giving up, giving in, lying back and letting the gods take her, but only seconds after feeling the weight of her daughter in her arms she knew how much of a fool she had been. For the first time in months, she remembered what it felt like to be alive.

"Good evening, precious girl," Eddmina whispered, tearing her hand from Garlan's so she could hold the baby properly, desperate to hold her with both hands just to know she was real. "It is so good to meet you at last."

The baby continued to scream and cry, and Eddmina's tears didn't stop either. How odd it was, to cry when one felt so happy. For the first time in months, Eddmina felt as if her heart was beating again, as if she had purpose again. It was like waking up from a cold nightmare, like escaping a horror dream where she felt absolutely nothing. Perhaps that's why she was shaking and laughing so much, simply because it was so overwhelming to feel so much after so long of emptiness. For a split second, she thought of all that she had lost, everyone who had been taken from her, then she glanced down at her daughter and saw the dark Stark hair. Instead of feeling cold fury and suffocating despair, she thought of her losses and smiled.

"You're alright, we're going to be alright," she whispered, lowering her face so her lips could press a thousand gentle kisses to the top of the babe's head. "You're all mine, my girl. You're the reason I'm alive. I'm sorry I've been calling you a boy for the past few months, that's my fault for letting my imagination carry me away, but you should know that you're so incredibly loved. You're so dear to me, so loved, my precious girl."

If she had pulled her eyes from the babe on her chest, she would have seen that Garlan was crying too, grinning. He leant over and pushed a kiss to her temple, and for a brief moment she remembered another brother doing that do her, a brother not of marriage but one whom she shared blood. For a moment she thought of Robb, and how desperate she was to have him sitting out in the hall waiting for her. She felt a sudden longing to hold him, to have him congratulate her and hold his niece, but before she could dwell and the emotions turn sad, she glanced up and saw the door ajar, a pair of grey eyes looking in nervously.

"Arya," Eddmina called, smiling through her tears as her voice was nothing more than a croak.

"I never want to do that," Arya remarked, hiding her obvious nerves behind stubbornness as she stepped into the room, though she lingered in the doorway. "You're not going to die, are you?"

"Her grace is more than healthy, as is the babe," Vyman answered on her behalf, before glancing at Eddmina concernedly. She did not see, not in favour of studying her daughter's tiny features. "Would you like me to send out word of her arrival? To the north, or... to the Reach, perhaps?"

"And what will happen if one of those letters falls into the wrong hands?" Garlan asked protectively, gripping Eddmina's shoulders. "No one is to know until the Queen sees fit to send out letters herself, is that understood?"

Eddmina didn't care to offer her approval on Garlan's plan. She was too distracted taking in every little detail of the girl on her chest. She had calmed her screams and had curled into her, though Eddmina could see how thick and dark her hair was already, the only part of her that resembled her Stark ancestry. The rest of her was all Tyrell, and Eddmina was more than happy with that, because at least it was obvious who her father was; certainly not Jaime Lannister.

Arya remained hesitating in the doorway until the Maester finished his work and the handmaidens excused themselves. Only when they were alone as Starks and Tyrells did she venture closer to her bed, and only when Eddmina held her hand out did Arya sit, taking her hand hesitantly. Eddmina tore her eyes away from her girl for a mere moment to grin at her sister.

"You don't have to hold her if you don't want," Eddmina told her without looking, and practically felt Arya's relief with how she sighed. "I was terrified the first time father put you in my arms. You were so tiny, and Jon had been teasing me that I would drop you and you'd hate me forever. I was scared I would drop Uther too, especially when Maester Luwin gave him to me for the first time, but holding you, and Bran and Rickon... you were all good practice. I never felt like I particularly mattered much, until it came to being an elder sister and having the responsibility of looking out for you all."

"I'm sorry," Arya practically whispered. "You were always so good to us, even if we didn't realise. You did so much, and I never appreciated it properly, none of us did. Not mother, even before... You're not a traitor, or a Lannister. You're my sister, so is Sansa, I don't care about what mother says."

Eddmina glanced at her sister, then back down to the babe in her arms who was sleeping peacefully. Holding her made her heart ache, looking at her made her want to weep. She loved Uther, adored him with every fibre of her being, but she had never felt love like looking at her daughter. Holding her was strange though, because in less than an hour of meeting her daughter, Eddmina knew who she had to be, what she had to do, and how she would live the rest of her life making sure the girl knew how loved she was, how worshipped she was. Never for as long as she lived would she insult her, or undermine her, or even so much as sigh at her. It was an easy vow to make while she was curled up on her and no bigger than her forearm, but Eddmina knew she would spend her life making sure she never made her daughter feel even half of the pain her own mother had put her through.

It was a flawed and fatal existence, being a mother. She knew that merely from watching her son grow up in a war camp, seeing him spend more time around soldiers and death than he did his own family, knowing he would one day grow into a man who would know battle as well as the men around him. Having a son and knowing he would grow into a man of great status and having the responsibility to shape him into being worthy of his roles and titles was a monumental responsibility. Having a daughter and knowing she would face the horrors of their society and ensuring she learnt how best to deal with it all while maintaining her safety and strength was a whole other duty. They were both roles that Eddmina was more than happy to embrace despite the pressures of them, and they were roles she knew her own mother had faced.

Her mother had not failed, her mother had done her best, but she had left behind plenty of scars, and that was before she had called her a traitor and disowned her.

"Eddie... what did mother mean about Theon?" Arya asked hesitantly. Eddmina swallowed nervously, grimacing.

"Perhaps we could discuss this another time," Garlan quickly tried to distract them both. "You should get some sleep-"

"No, she's alright," Eddmina shrugged, taking a deep breath. "I am surprised you never caught us, I was always scared of you bursting in or sneaking up on us, you always were as quiet as a cat. Theon and I... our relationship went beyond a friendship. It was nowhere near as... intimate as the one I had with Lord Willas, but it was romantic all the same, and clearly mother or whatever bitter creature that has her heart now thinks it is enough to condemn me for. I regret it, I hate the memory of it, but it was the past."

"I always thought he loved you," Arya shrugged, uncaring to what Eddmina thought was a great revelation about their childhoods. "But then I saw how Lord Willas looked at you and realised Theon was an idiot."

Arya had never cared about love, or romance, or marriage. Yet, even so, she had noticed whatever was between Eddmina and her first husband, and that knowledge alone was enough to make Eddmina wince. She couldn't face Willas, not after everything she had gone through in hating him and hating herself, but knowing he had loved her once felt like a relief. He had loved her, and the proof of it was sleeping soundly in her arms. He had wanted a daughter, she remembered. He had told her that while he loved Uther and any other sons they would have, it was a little girl that he truly wanted. His father had said the same, and suddenly she wanted to weep that neither were there to see her, neither of them able to meet the remarkable little thing asleep on her.

Sensing her sudden wave of longing despair, Garlan squeezed her shoulder, while Arya leant over and wrapped her arms around her. It had been so long since she had felt so cared for, so long since she had felt understood. The Twins had destroyed that for her, her imprisonment robbing any notion that she was worthy of feeling such things, especially from someone like her husband. He might have not been there, and he may truly hate her still, but Eddmina decided for her own sake to savour the love she had to hand, and to appreciate what she had; that was easy, after feeling as if she had nothing for so long.

"Have you thought of a name?" Garlan asked, not looking at her in favour of watching his niece sleep.

"Only one... Eddard," Eddmina said, then laughed tiredly, even as she felt Arya wince. In response, she turned and pushed a quick kiss to her sister's temple "i was so sure she would be a boy. I do not think that name will suit her."

"No... you could call her Edda, it's a rather nice girls name," Garlan suggested, laughing when she wrinked her nose in disgust. "Alright then. What would you have called Uther, had he been a girl?"

"Lyanna," Eddmina remembered with a smile that grew sad when she thought of her boy. "Do you think he remembers me?"

"You're a hard woman to forget," Garlan shrugged, attempting a joke instead of answering her morbid question. "So, is it Lyanna for this babe then?"

Eddmina shook her head. As much as she adored the name and longed to honour her aunt, it did not feel right. The name was a reminder of Uther, a reminder of the time before the war and their losses. Even if it had never been his name, to call her second child a name intended for her first felt like replacing him while he was not to hand. If she called her daughter the name meant for her son, she knew it would only serve as a reminder that she hadn't seen him for months, nor did she know if she would see him again.

A different name was needed. Uther had been named in honour of Willas' grandfather, yet with a northern twist to pay homage to Eddmina's heritage. His middle name had been for her brother, so that Jon was never forgotten no matter how far away he ventured in his duties to the Night's Watch. She remembered the boy kneeling in her dream, the one reciting the vow of the Watch, and yet again wondered who he was. Who had all of them been, all the figures who had occupied her dream? Family members from long ago, perhaps? Starks from a time long gone wanting to be remembered and honoured?

"Do you know what sort of names your brother likes?" Eddmina asked Garlan.

"He would have let you name her regardless of his taste," Garlan replied, and she knew he spoke the truth, remembering the ordeal of naming their first child. "He would suggest a family name, but different. One that homages a memory but allows them to be their own person."

If Uther had been named for his great-grandfather, then it was only fair that his sister received the same treatment. Eddmina glanced at the babe, smiling as she let off a small squeak as she stirred awake. She stroked her fingers gently through her daughter's thick hair in an attempt to calm her once more, knowing the same thing worked every time with her elder brother, and as she studied her features, she knew the name fit her perfectly.

"Lyarra," Eddmina told them both, still smiling. "This is Lyarra Alerie."

"Father would like that," Arya remarked quietly, and when Eddmina glanced at her sister, she saw her smiling down at her niece.

"Princess Lyarra," Garlan mused. "It has an excellent ring to it."

Eddmina nodded, glad they both liked it, glad she had their approval. She felt exhaustion seeping in, the adrenaline of labour wearing off at last. She realised that no one else had held Lyarra, and while she hated the idea of separating from her, sleep had become too tempting. Gently, she peeled the babe away from her, and placed her into Garlan's outstretched arms, her brother immediately knowing what to do. As soon as he felt the weight of her he sighed, grinning in a way that reminded her how Garlan was the first one to know about her condition even before Willas, and she knew she trusted no one else with her daughter half as much, perhaps only Arya.

Her sister was still sat at her side, her arms wrapped around her, but only moments after Eddmina laid her head back onto one of the many pillows behind her, Arya jerked to her feet and drew the thin little sword she wore from her belt. Eddmina had hardly heard the door knock, her senses dulled from exhaustion, but with her sister on her feet she sat up as much as she could, wincing from the leftover pains. Garlan stood too, though it was not as if he could draw his own sword, both hands still holding his niece protectively. Another knock came when no one answered, and it was Arya who marched to the door, sword still brandished even when she saw it was the Hound, acompanied by a Brotherhood knight in mismatched armour and a Tully guard.

"What's the meaning of this?" Garlan snapped, glaring at them before Arya could speak.

"They want to see her down in the hall," the Hound barked, gesturing carelessly to Eddmina. She forced herself to sit up straighter.

"Who's 'they'? Go and tell them she can't," Arya replied sharply. To say how much shorter she was to the Hound, she was more than a formidable match.

"Your uncle's returned, your grace," it was the Tully guard's turn to speak up, and he looked nowhere but Eddmina, only talking after he'd bowed his head respectfully. "With him are several northern bannermen, and Lannister prisoners."

"If he wants to see her so badly he can come to her," Arya decided, not sparing her sister a second glance.

"The only trouble with that is that Lady Stoneheart is demanding he see her instead," the Brotherhood knight spoke, and it took her a moment to figure out who he was talking about; was that really the new name they all called her mother? She couldn't help but think how well it fit. "She is saying that her grace is no true Queen, nor a true Stark. It didn't help that we all heard the screams so she... she is going around saying she's dead, and any issues surrounding the north concern only her."

Eddmina allowed her eyes to close as she took a deep breath. Any longer and she was sure she would have fallen asleep, so she forced her eyes open once more and looked to the men in the door, offering them all a nod. Garlan and Arya knew what it meant, and their disbelief and frustration was instant, though before either could argue she had pulled the bedsheets away and was leaning against the bedside cabinet to pull herself to her feet. Pain shot through her, as well as the desperate urge to just lie back down, but she gritted her teeth and stood upright, even if her hands were gripping the furniture.

"As you can see I'm not dead," she remarked. "I'll be in the hall just as soon as I am dressed."

They barely noticed how she winced, or how she sounded out of breath. Her answer was enough, and they left just as quick as they had arrived, and as soon as they had shut the door Arya's sword was back in her belt and her sister had returned to her side to guide her back to bed. Stubbornly, Eddmina shook her head, refusing to hear any advice of guidance, silencing her sister before she'd even had the chance to protest.

"The best way you can help me now is not forcing me to rest but finding my maids to help me dress," Eddmina told her, and though Arya looked as if she wanted to refuse, she reluctantly nodded. "Then you can go and tell everyone I'm very much alive and ready to carry on with this war."

"Edda," Garlan said, his tone gentle yet protective, and as soon as Arya had left to follow instructions he got up to stand at her side instead. He looked down at Lyarra in his arms before he looked at her. "She needs you, not the war."

"If we don't carry on now then they will kill her, and Uther too," she told him, almost sharply, though she softened the moment she held her arms out and Garlan gave her daughter back to her. The babe let out a quiet squeak before settling back to sleep. "I won't let them hurt her, and there is still so much we have left to do before we can even think about being safe. I spent five months waiting for death, feeling like I had no control over my own life. I'm done with all of that, and Lyarra deserves better than that. This is the only way I can protect her, to start fighting again and be what you all want me to be. Help me, brother, help me keep her safe?"

Reluctantly, and with a long sigh, Garlan nodded. When the maids came to dress her, he held Lyarra and turned away to give her privacy, and when they had finished dressing her in a long black gown so dark that it shone whenever it caught the light of the candles, he was straight to offer her his arm. She was glad of him then, as every step felt like a test of wills, but with him at her side she felt a little less alone, and with Lyarra in her arms she knew she had something new to fight for.

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