The surviving northerners who had paid witness to the wedding the night before had been gathered in the hall that was the scene of Eddmina's worst nightmares, forced into the middle of the room, in chains and shackles.

It was a sickening sight to take in from the top table she'd been forced to sit at, made even worse when she realised that Lady Maege was stood in the exact spot where her daughter died. Eddmina remembered her friend's face, the one that had so often broken out into smiles or determined frowns, and how at the end all other expressions had been replaced with fear. Poor Dacey, loyal and protective, kind and fierce, cut down without honour or dignity. The fact her dearest friend was one of the first to fall filled Eddmina with a sort of rage that she couldn't name or control, and it took everything in her not to scream. Any relief she felt upon seeing that her friend's mother had survived was completely overtaken by numbing grief.

In fact, her whole body seemed to be struggling with being back in the hall, right from the moment the guards marched her through the doors and she had to walk over the floorboards where Garlan had taken her hand and told her not to cry. Remembering the way his voice cut off in the middle of saying his wife's name made Eddmina want to forget his instruction, feeling as if she wanted to keel over and sob for her bonus brother who'd fought so hard in vain, but she forgot any inkling of tears when the guards pulled her along and she caught sight of where she and Garlan had taken shelter while his father saved their lives. He'd not even liked her, yet he'd died for her all the same. It steeled her, and when she saw where her twin had collapsed with a knife to his heart, she was cold with grief and rage. They may have scrubbed all the blood away from the floors, but Eddmina could remember how it felt for her Robb to bleed out onto her, and how it felt to choke the life out of his killer. Her dress was as red as their blood had been, and as she was led to take a seat at the top table next to Jaime, it was the blood she thought of.

Memories surrounded her mind so suffocatingly that she barely realised it was not just Jaime joining her at the table. His father was also there, watching her coldly like the proud old lion he was, and simply because it was his castle and he could, Lord Walder was there too. His gaze was not as wary as the looks his offspring always gave her, and instead wore his usual smugly superior sneer. She did not even look at him, not finding him worth that. She thought about all the sons of his that she'd hurt or killed, and how even though she couldn't always remember the details of what she'd done, the thought of doing the same to him repulsed her; she didn't even want to lower herself to touch him.

"Here comes our guest of honour," Lord Walder called as she moved into place, and when he shuffled around in his seat as she walked behind him she barely felt how his hand groped at her behind. "Not singing or strangling now are you, now you've bedded a lion?"

"Ignore him," Jaime whispered, taking her hand with a touch of protectiveness, though she barely flinched at the lord's words.

She could feel the northerners looking at her, not just staring at her stomach as everyone constantly seemed to do, but studying her face. It was like they were desperately trying to seek out any sort of sign from her, trying to spot a flicker of rebellion or an inkling of hatred. They were looking for a signal from her, a clue to her wanting revenge. It didn't matter that they were unarmed and in chains, knowing northerners and their fierceness, she was certain that if they thought she called for it, then they would have attempted anything. It didn't matter that Eddmina wanted Frey blood to spill and flow more than anything, for the safety of her countrymen, she kept her eyes fixed down onto the table.

Lord Tywin took his place next to her, and cleared his throat quiet enough for no one but her to hear. She didn't look at him, wanting him to force her to look, wanting him to do something that would show his true colours and break the united front he was so desperately trying to portray, but then she realised that he knew it was what she wanted.  He knew if he took hold of her in any way and forced her to look at him, that would only anger the northerners. With that, she clenched her jaw and met his gaze.

"Remember what we said," he told her lowly. "Make them follow, or there will be consequences."

"I remember," she replied stubbornly.

'The north remembers,' she thought, desperate to say it when she felt as if she could still smell blood.

"Well, best address your people," he gestured for her to get on with it, his gaze cold. "They have a long journey back to the north just as soon as you are done speaking to them, as do I."

"You're leaving?" Jaime interupted, overhearing their conversation. Eddmina couldn't tell if her new husband was angry or relieved with his father's imminent and sudden departure.

"I am needed elsewhere, and the two of you will be leaving come first light too," he told them both, his voice still low. "There is a siege of Riverrun that you need settle, while I have matters in the south to deal with."

Eddmina felt her mood perk a little at the thought of separating from the Old Lion. She felt any time she was around him that she was in battle, constantly trying to work to hold the upper hand, and her mind was fogged with grief and months of rot, making it a difficult battle. Her slight relief was short-lived, because the mention of Riverrun made her chest constrict, realising she would be expected to turn against her uncle. Brynden had been like a father figure to her, a guiding light in some of her darkest times, and she had no doubt that he loved her, even if he hadn't come to her rescue. Would he love her enough to betray his morals and a castle full of people, not to mention a whole kingdom? Surely no one loved anyone that much, surely not even her beloved uncle held her in such esteem to hand his kingdom over to the Freys while his rightful liege and nephew rotted in their cells.

If he didn't though, if the northerners didn't follow her lead, then... Eddmina hated the Lannisters, she hated the Freys, she wanted them to meet their ends screaming, but her hatred was overruled by her love for her son, and for him she would betray any morals, make herself look like a traitor and a coward. For him alone, she forced herself to her feet, grimacing as her back ached, and looked at the crowd that awaited her.

Her eyes met Lady Maege first. For the first time in months, Eddmina felt as if she wasn't alone, seeing another northern woman, another woman desperately hurting and wanting her pain to be replaced by the suffering of her enemies. Lady Mormont looked at her as if inspecting for injury, studying her to see if she had been hurt or broken. Eddmina assumed the others were doing that too. She hadn't known any of them had survived, assumed herself as the only one left alive simply because she bore Stark blood, and though the sight of them should have relieved her, glad to not be the only one to survive the trauma of the wedding, she felt sick, realising that she really would have to convince them to accept surrender and Lannister rule.

"My lords and ladies, my fellow northerners," Eddmina addressed, taking a deep breath, making sure her voice was steady. She chose to look away from Lady Maege, not wanting to see the hurt or disappointment. She wasn't strong enough for that, so instead stared blankly ahead. "You served my father loyally, and you served my brother just as well. I apologise on his behalf, that for him you marched against the crown. It was our fault, my brother and I made you all into traitors. I am sorry, and I am grateful to the Lord Hand for being gracious enough to grant us a second chance. It is an honour to stand here today wed to a man as knightly as Ser Jaime, and to have him father my children. I hope that you will see my joy in this union and put to bed any further notions of rebellion. I am happy, I have learnt the error of warring against the Lannisters. I hope you all will too."

Eddmina fought the urge to flee from the hall, knowing it was impossible anyway given how many guards were stood at every entrance. The grumbles and mutters of disgust and disapproval had started halfway through her speech, but by the time she was done, they were in full swing. She clenched her teeth together, desperate to not betray how she truly felt. If she did, that was Uther's fate sealed, that was her second child not getting the chance to live.

Northerners, however, were not known for their subtlety, or their surrender. They were all glaring or grimacing. Some of them were seething and casting their eyes to the Lannister guards and Freys that surrounded the walls of the room, while others were staring at her, open-mouthed in shock. She could not bare to look at any of them, feeling just as she had done at the wedding when she had knelt before her gods. It felt just as much of a betrayal to lie to her brother's former bannermen as it had been to lie to her gods. It made her sting all over and wish she had perished with Robb. At least if she had died that night, then she would have died with her honour in tact.

If any of them picked up on the torture she felt, then none of them voiced it, too concerned with their own struggles and fury. It was the Greatjon who stepped forward first, spitting onto the floor. Eddmina had felt a brief moment of relief upon seeing him alive, just as she felt when she looked at the rest of the crowd, until she realised that they had all been the most fearsome of Robb's supporters. Had the Freys killed them and left their sons alive, or killed them and their sons and left only second sons or cousins, perhaps the task of bartering for surrender would have been easier. Instead she had been left with a crowd of vengeful fathers, and brothers, and one fury-filled mother, and Eddmina knew peace was near on impossible.

"My sons died in this very hall, at the hands of these men, now our next Queen would have us bend the knee and beg forgiveness?" he called, earning mutters of agreement.

"My brother died here too, my lord," Eddmina was quick to answer, realising he'd stepped onto the very spot where Robb had bled out. Her voice had been too fierce though, too true to how she really felt, so she took another deep breath as she regained herself. "I want only for us all to live."

"Some life, at the mercy of Lannisters," Lord Mallister growled, so firey that Eddmina heard several Lannister guards unsheath their swords. "Put me to death, I'd rather that over bending the knee again."

"We made your brother our king, and a good king he was, but whatever happened to his formidable Hand?" Lord Glover called again, and their voices raised in agreement. Eddmina knotted her hands together over her belly, hoping to hide how her fingers trembled.

"What of Ser Willas the Wise?" One of them asked, their voice calling over the angry mumbles of their cohort, their words like a knife to her heart. "He is your husband, not the bloody kingslayer."

"Lord Tyrell signed an annulment, wanting nothing more to do with the north, and given the fate of Ser Garlan and their late lord father I can hardly blame him," she replied, looking to the ceiling. Hatred and anger swam through her, but the words still robbed her of all strength and she had to fight to stay on her feet, especially when the baby kicked at her. "It is not Lord Tyrell's child I carry but Ser Jaime's. He was a good friend to me back in Riverrun while my former husband and I grew apart."

"Lies!" one of them called, furious yet not with her, not when she realised his gaze was fixed on Ser Jaime. "He was an odd man, true, but our Ser Wise loved no one but the Princess, and she him, even the blind could see it!"

Eddmina felt her skin burn, remembering all the times Willas had touched her or kissed her. They had been sweet, gentle moments, yet she regretted them all, wishing she had not worn her love on her sleeve so foolishly. She had never once considered that being carelessly open with her love for her husband would hurt so much one day, that it could result in their children's lives being threatened. Despite herself, despite all the resentment and hatred she felt for her former husand, she wished he was with her, simply because he would know what to do.

"You're losing them," Lord Tywin hissed in her ear. Eddmina steeled at the mere closeness of the Lord, shooting an icy glare to him.

"Let me approach them," she appealed, surprised when he nodded.

With that she made her way around the table and moved to stand in front of the northerners. Her movements had been slow, simply because she hadn't trusted herself to go any faster when she felt so heavy and weighed down by not just her condition but the importance of the night. She didn't trust herself to not fall back, especially not since she was no longer stood in front of a chair, and she was right to be so cautious when she noticed she was stood where Robb had crawled to his feet to beg for her life.

'"Don't hurt my sister"', he had said, and they had obeyed. They hadn't killed her, and despite their best attempts they hadn't broken her. She had broken herself out of the desire to protect what little she had left. She had broken herself by the mad need to hurt whoever came close to her to taunt her. Her brother had begged for her life, and she had wasted his plea by becoming a monster. She could, at least, make it worthwhile by saving the men who had followed him so keenly, even if it meant betraying their cause.

"I am a good actress, my lord," Eddmina lied, knowing nothing was further from the truth, but the way her voice had raised was enough to cast them all into silence. "Like many women before me, I did as my parents bid, I married Lord Tyrell and bore him a son, but he was, as you say, an odd man, and I did not hold his focus just as he did not hold mine. I wish none of this had happened, I wish that rather than marrying me to such a... such a weak man, my father would have instead tied our house to the Lannisters in the beginning to save us all this bloodshed."

"Then you're a bloody traitor, your grace," Lord Mallister snapped, spitting on the floor. "Weak-willed woman."

It was a quick snap of her temper, so quick that she'd barely realised what she had done until her knuckles stung and the Lord was cursing in pain and holding his nose. The Lannister guards that stood around the room drew their swords again, and the few Freys who were inside seemed to squirm in their seats. From behind her, she heard Lord Frey bark out a laugh, but she didn't care about any of them. She cared about Lord Mallister and his bloody nose, she cared about all the other lords staring at her with bitter shock, and she cared about Lady Mormont. It had taken her until then to realise that Lady Maege had been staring at her with narrowed eyes the entire time, not suspicious and distrustful like the rest of them, but with badly hidden concern.

"Don't call me a traitor," she hissed, fighting the urge to wrap her hands around the lord's neck.

"No, her grace is not a traitor," Lady Mormont spoke up, her voice as venomous as Eddmina's had been, though she turned her glare to the other lords. Why she called Eddmina ' her grace' when she was the furthest thing from being a monarch, Eddmina didn't know, but her tone was not to be questioned. "She speaks wisely, and we should follow her lead."

"Are you mad?" the Greatjon raged. "My sons-"

"My daughter," Lady Maege snarled, quietening any grumble from the crowd before she turned her focus back to Eddmina, stepping closer. "But I have other daughters."

"Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle, and Lyanna," Eddmina nodded, glad that at least someone was on her side, someone could see what she was trying to do. "Dacey loved them, she would want them to be safe. Surrender means that they will be safe. Please, my lords, we have all suffered enough, our families have suffered enough. Let us forget fighting and go home."

Surprisingly, none of them grumbled. Perhaps they had caught on to what she was trying to do, why she was trying to do it, or perhaps they had decided to follow Lady Mormont's lead. She had always been a staunch supporter of Robb, following him unflinchingly and without quarrel. For her to agree with Eddmina meant everything, and slowly, one by one, each of them nodded.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" the Greatjon asked, surprisingly quiet, sounding almost hollow. Guilt surged through Eddmina, knowing it was her fault that the fighting spirit had dulled inside him. "We loved your father and brother, say the word and we'll fight. You're the last Stark."

"What good will it do to fight now?" she asked, her voice low in the hopes that only they would hear, stepping closer to them to help secrecy. "The North remembers, my friends, but now is not the time to fight. Go home, look after the families you have. I will raise my son into a Stark you can all be proud of, and we will all rebuild."

How she had managed to be so calm and diplomatic, Eddmina had no idea. Inside she felt a roaring storm, wanting to call them to fight, beg them to attack how ever they could, but somehow logic prevailed and she knew they were like fish in a barrel. She glanced up to the balcony that surrounded the hall, remembering the crossbow bolts that had soared through the air. Garlan had shielded her from them all, but he was no longer there to protect her. The only person she truly had was herself, and the only way she could protect herself was to lie dormant and follow what instructions she had been given. The time to fight back would come, but it was not yet the time.

"In that case, we thank you for bringing us this opportunity of mercy," Lord Glover stated, sounding rehearsed and false, but it was good enough for the Lannisters, because when Eddmina glanced back to Lord Tywin, he was nodding. They were not looking at him though, as all northerners were looking at her. "With your leave, your grace, we will go home."

"Thank you," Eddmina nodded, sighing, hoping they couldn't see how relieved she was.

She went to turn and walk back to the table, but a hand stopped her, and when she looked back she saw Lady Mormont. Ice was in her eyes, and it was a look Eddmina knew well. No matter what the woman had said, it was obvious she wanted one thing; revenge.

"My Dacey adored you," she told her once she was close enough, her voice hushed enough so only they could hear. "She would follow your every word."

"I loved her," Eddmina said, hating how her voice shook and how she had to fight not to cry. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry, make them sorry," Lady Maege hissed, meeting her eyes with determination as she nodded in the direction of the top table. "I know what you're doing, what they've made you do and who it is for, but remember what happened in here."

"I'll never forget it," Eddmina replied steely, able to smell the blood once more, hearing Dacey's attempt of her name yet again.

The two women exchanged a nod, and only when she was certain that Eddmina truly wasn't rolling over in surrender but was doing it for other motives did Lady Mormont release her. Keen to seem as if nothing was amiss and it was simply two grieving friends exchanging regards, Eddmina moved back to the table as quick as she was able, feeling every eye in the room on her. She slipped back into her seat, ignoring everyone, especially Lord Tywin who stared at her intently.

"What was that?" Jaime asked, lowering his head to be closer to hers. Even if she hated the question, she was glad it came from him rather than his father.

"Two friends exchanging sympathies," she remarked cuttingly.

"What sympathies are necessary? No one died in here but traitors," Lord Walder announced with another laugh, and Eddmina hated that he'd overheard, not as deaf as he always made himself out to be. "Except for those who died by your hands."

"Aye, and I'm always happy to add to that list," she snarled lowly at him, before she turned to Lord Tywin. "Let them go home now. We've done as you bid, now it's your turn."

"Very well, but first," he nodded, then looked to his page, who stood behind him holding a long parcel wrapped in cloth. At his Lord's stare, the page stepped forward and placed the parcel down in front of Jaime, and the insides clinked together the way only swords clattered. "A wedding gift for my son and heir."

Jaime looked as clueless as Eddmina felt, though she remained seated while he stood and pulled the cloth away, revealing the contents to be two swords, and two blades the length of her forearm. The swords had golden hilts, while the short swords were silver and embossed with glittering rubies, and while they were stunning, it was the quality of the steel that forged the swords that caught her attention, her breath catching in her throat. It was like encountering an acquaintance from long ago, one who had been mauled and changed almost beyond recognition; almost.

"Valyrian steel?" Jaime asked, awestruck. "I didn't know there was this much Valyrian steel left in the world. Where did you get it?"

"From a man who no longer has use of it," Lord Tywin answered simply, though there was no need for vagueness as everyone knew what man he spoke of.

"That's Ice," Eddmina announced, feeling as if she'd just witnessed the death of yet another loved one. "My father's sword. My ancestral sword."

"Not yours, women do not inherit such things, nor does it belong to house Stark anymore," Lord Tywin told her bluntly, though it did nothing to dull her boiling temper. He ignored her, and turned his focus to his son. "A great sword like the one forfeited by house Stark had enough steel for multiple blades. One for you to be passed down to the heir of Casterly Rock, and a short sword to be passed down to the heir of Winterfell. The other sword you could gift to the King, and the second short sword I'd recommend you pass onto Ramsay Bolton as reparations for what happened to his father and thanks for holding Winterfell until you arrive north."

"You will do no such thing," Eddmina snapped before she could stop herself, hands curling into fists. She was too angry to regret a show of emotions, even when she felt the northerners looking at her. "Give that steel to a Bolton over my dead body."

"Many would happily arrange for that," Lord Frey chimed in, though he didn't notice when he was glared at by both Lannister men.

"That is Stark steel, northern steel," she continued, never breaking stare with Lord Tywin. "Mine."

"The sons you bare my son will lay claim to them," Lord Tywin replied simply, then stepped closer, leant his head towards her, and his voice became as cold as the old great sword's namesake. "That is if I allow your sons to live. I could just as easily entrust one of those blades to one of my men and send him down to the Reach."

Against her will, Eddmina winced. She glanced down at the weapons, wanting to weep over what the blades had once been. Ice had been her father's, and his before that, and his father's, tracing all the way back to a forgotten age. Ice had been her father's connection to the past, and it was supposed to be Robb's. All the times her father had ridden off to do his duty and treat with a deserter, he would return with Ice and stalk off to the godswood, and Eddmina had lost count of the times she had watched him from afar sat beneath the tree to polish the blade. She had never once considered that there would come a day where seeing him clean and pray would be a distant memory, nor had she considered that the blade would be desecrated and repurposed, almost like the pair of them were both killed. She wondered if they had cleaned her father's blood off the steel before they melted it down.

Her father would think her a weak traitor for all she had done, surely, yet he was dead and gone and so was the sword that served as their house protector. She had so little left, and what she did have she could protect with submission. It stung her pride to sink back into her seat and nod, shameful to let the northerners witness her be bested so easily by their enemy when she had worked so hard to seem worthy of their respect. Even so, she nodded and resigned herself to whatever plot Tywin Lannister had, but when she glanced back up, she saw steel in Lady Mormont's eyes, and understanding in the rest of them.

While her reputation felt bruised, it was obvious that Lord Tywin threatening her had achieved one thing that she had secretly hoped for; the truth. She may have seemed weak, but at least he had shown his true colours enough to show hers too, and the northerners would know she hadn't set aside their cause out of cowardice but because of threats. They had heard him threaten not just her but her Uther, the boy they had all watched grow during the war. She hoped that would be enough to prove what was truly happening.

If they were angered or bothered by what they witnessed, they were not given the chance to make any displays, as they were shortly escorted out of the hall. Eddmina longed to follow, desperate to be with her countrymen and go home, but home was full of ghosts and a lifetime away in what was planned for her. Home was a distant bitter memory, one she was desperate not to let her mind spiral into, not when she could already hear her mother screaming and smell her brother's blood.

"Well then, now all of that is dealt with and we're free of the stench of that filthy northern rabble, perhaps we should raise a toast?" Lord Walder called, and for once Eddmina was glad to listen, as his voice drowned out the noise of the doors closing. He didn't stand, but he did raise his wine goblet, and Eddmina looked out at the hall of Freys to see them mimicking. "To our newfound friendship with the Lannisters. May it be a productive friendship."

"That means he will expect your sister to marry one of his sons and your brother one of his daughters," Eddmina hissed to Jaime, managing a bitter, sadistic smirk. Jaime shot her a glance that was both tired and disgusted.

"And a toast too to our guest of honour, the ever-charming Lady Eddmina Lannister," Lord Frey turned his attention to her.

The hall was silent for a moment save the shuffling of his sons in their seats, but after a while, they began to mutter or call out agreement, and Eddmina felt her face burn. It was only when she heard someone laugh that she truly felt embarrassed. She had never intended on gaining the reputation she apparently had among them, not able to remember actually killing or hurting any of them, but whatever fear they once had disappeared the moment she was clothed in crimson and surrounded by Lannisters. She felt a little of her control slip away and had to force herself to remember where she was, who she was, because in that moment she felt caged and surrounded, like a pack beast separated from the rest simply to be prodded at and tested. If she was in a better mind she might have noticed that in an attempt to keep herself sane she had made her hands bleed by pushing her nails too deep in her palms as she balled them into fists. She couldn't notice any minor bleeds though, not when the smell of blood was already overwhelming.

"Perhaps our lady of the tower would like to treat us to a song?" Lord Frey taunted, though for a moment looked as though he regretted it when Eddmina met his stare with bloodshot and bloodthirsty eyes.

'I cannot sing for you,' she thought with searing, bitter fury. 'You want me to sing you the songs of the south, where the pretty ladies fall in love with the brave knights and all is well with the world. I don't know those songs. I only know Northern songs, about winter and wolves, and you can pretend all you want, but those songs will be sung once more.'

Saying that would have been reckless and foolish, though, and even in her warped mental state she knew that. Instead, she rose to her feet, grimacing as the babe kicked again, and met eyes with Lord Tywin. They were in a room full of people, her own new husband sat between them, but in the end, he was the one she cared about.

""And who are you?" The proud Lord said, "That I must bow so low?" Only a cat of a different coat that's all the truth I know, in a coat of gold or a coat of red a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my Lord, as long and sharp as yours," she sang, quietly at first, her voice a little shaken from the unfamiliarity of it all, but she quickly found her strength, and nerves did not come close to touching her even with every eye in the room burning into her. "And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o'er his halls with not a soul to hear. But now the rains weep o'er his halls, with no one left to hear."

The silence that followed her finishing was deafening, though someone could have spoken and she wouldn't have heard them at all over the unbreaking and unflinching eye contact she shared with Lord Tywin. It was exhausting, her constant swinging mood and mental state, to be hopeless and self-hating one moment then fearless and furious the next. Before the wedding, before her losses, she might have been able to plot her way forward, she might have been able to plan a clear route to take in how to navigate her situation, but her ability for that sort of focus was gone. All she had was a fluctuating sense of survival and stubbornness to do whatever she thought best at the time. Perhaps that was why she constantly frustrated those who surrounded her, because just when they thought they had succeeded in breaking her to their will, she did something unexpected and wildly unnerving. Every time they thought they had her, she reversed their fortune. It was enough to make a cold grin grow on her face. It was enough to make the hall echo in silence, and every Frey son moved to the edge of their seat to await what would happen next.

In truth it was nothing. Lord Tywin barely even reacted, his face still and stony as if she had done nothing, and it was like a silent battle of stubbornness and wits took form that no one else in the room was privy to. Eventually though, he broke eye contact, but she didn't get the chance to enjoy her victory as he looked to his guard, and before she knew it the Lannister soldier had his hand on her shoulder and she was forced away from her seat.

"My gooddaughter is tired, perhaps she should be escorted back to her chambers," Lord Tywin said, except it wasn't a suggestion.

Lord Frey didn't seem keen on that, wanting to keep her in the hall as some sort of trophy while they feasted, but like most others, did not possess the bravery to oppose Lord Tywin. Jaime did, however, and rose to stand to block Eddmina and the guard's way.

"I would like my wife to stay with me," he insisted, protective enough to surprise Eddmina and reach out for his arm, not simply to look the part.

"Your wife will go back to your chambers, you may join her once we have spoken," Lord Tywin said with cold insistence.

There was no more arguing, and just as the northerners had been marched out before, Eddmina left the hall with an escort in crimson armour.

***

The instruction had been to rest, but being alone for the first time in a while made slipping back into old habits easy, and soon she was pacing the chambers, humming to herself as if she was back in her tower. It would have been easier to sit, her back aching and the babe weighing heavy on her as it squirmed inside, but she never did prefer the easier option, especially when she knew sitting would leave her mind still too, and she couldn't handle that; she could still smell the blood of the hall, after all.

Ocasionally her pacing took her to the window, and she noticed how the view was much closer to the ground than her last room, nor was it as secure. It wasn't an option though, because escaping through it would mean death or grievous injury. Perhaps if she were in a different condition she'd consider it, the kicking feet inside her being the only thing to outweigh her spiralling mind and suffocating grief, and so she shrugged off any thought of a quick exit. Instead, she knew, she would have to live with her problems.

When her legs began to ache, she leant against the door, slowly sliding down against it until she was curled up with her back to it. She let out a long sigh, and dared to close her eyes. As to be expected, she was greeted with instant horrors, the faces of the northerners as they realised hope was dwindling, the sight of all their heirs and loved ones lying dead and broken. She didn't realise she'd done it, but her fists had gone up over her ears to drown out the screaming, as well as the cry she didn't even notice she was letting out:

"Traitor, traitor, you fucking traitor," she screamed, over and over, and when the image of her first husband came to mind, she no longer knew if she was cursing herself of him.

A large banging put a stop to her cries. A mailed fist thudded against the door over and over like thunder rumbles, so loud and unexpected that she yelped and jerked away from the door, her hands moving quickly from her ears to her stomach.

"Keep it down!" A voice yelled, gruff and with a western accent. There was a sneering laugh, and she imagined a man in red and gold armour rolling his eyes at her. "Fucking madwoman."

"Careful, that's our future lady you speak of," another western voice warned, before it broke into sneering laughter that was joined by the laughs of his friend. "I understand bloodlines and all that, but... beheading her or hanging her would have been a mercy."

"For us more than her, at least then we wouldn't have to stand and listen to a dozen verses of the same songs," the first voice grumbled, still laughing. "I never thought myself keen on seeing a woman beheaded 'till I met her."

"I'd just hang her, too ugly to waste on Valyrian steel," the second one commented, earning a groan of agreement.

Eddmina had jerked away from the door at the banging, and their voices had been booming enough while they insulted her. She wasn't sure why she was listening, why she found it funny hearing them talk of killing her, but when their voices grew quiet and trailed out of her hearing, she found herself scrambling back to the door and pushing her ear up against the gap where the wood met the hinges. She'd been a captive for at least five months, and never before had she cared about listening in on conversations. Never before had her mind focused enough to want to know anything that happened outside her little room. All she knew was that her twin was dead, and all her friends and family with him, what more was there to know?

Even so, the Lannister guards were a curiosity that peaked her interest, and if they were speaking of her she decided she had a right to know. She was, after all, their future lady, and so she adjusted her position, desperate to hear them better. By the time she got in a perfect spot, one hand against the door to help her balance as she knelt on the floor and the other still wrapped on her stomach, their conversation had moved on from her, but still she was interested. That was a rare thing, to care about anything, to feel anything.

"All this business in the Riverlands, I'd purge it all," she managed to overhear. "They're all dirty traitors, kill them and have done with it."

"They're dirty traitors who know how to fight," the second voice countered. "Why'd you think his lordship is going to meet with them himself? Freys are shit at sieges, that old man is running rings around them."

"D'you see that letter he sent? I oversaw it when I was on guard in the lord's chamber, the old man writes of having the girl returned to him elsewise he'll take revenge another way," the first voice sneered, hushed as he discussed the letter but growing louder as he recounted the apparently-ridiculous notion. "Stupid to go to such lengths for any girl, but this one... maybe we cut out her tongue and send it to him. Maybe that will suffice for him and will give us some quiet."

She ignored their comments about her, uncaring that they wanted to harm her. All Eddmina cared about was the old man they spoke of, her uncle. He wanted revenge, and he wanted her. No one had wanted her for such a long time, forgotten by the world and used solely for the bloodline she carried. No one wanted her for her, but he apparently did. Against her will, Eddmina felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"So he's riding off tonight?" She heard them continue. There was a grunt of agreement. "Taking Ser Jaime with him? So what in seven hells are we doing staying here?"

"Guarding Ser Jaime's new beloved, obviously," the other explained. "What with all the trouble, all those rebels and the, what's it called, the brotherhood? Well, whoever it is, his Lordship wants them dealt with before he parades her up to Riverrun, he's scared the sight of her will rally a rebellion even he can't put down."

"Careful saying he's scared, don't you like living?" One of them joked bitterly.

"Of course I do, that's why I'm glad I'm here," he continued. "If I'm here then I'm not having to go out fighting these rebels, I've heard horror stories about one of them in particular. He's worse than all the rest. They call him the Golden Stranger, 'cause he sends men off to the gods quicker than any others."

"Sounds like you're just scared," the other voice teased, earning a curse from the first voice. "I'd rather be out there in the action, but really, what action is it? A siege organised by idiots, and a bunch of thugs running rings around said idiots."

"Thugs, old men, and madwomen, who'd have thought our mighty Lord would be nervous of all that?" The first one observed. There was a pause, a long one, before he coughed, suddenly sounding nervous as he mumbled, "Good evening, my lord."

There ws a quiet, cold remark, and suddenly her door opened. She managed to scurry away just in time, pulling herself to her feet and throwing herself onto the bed to make it seem as if she had not been eavesdropping just as Lord Tywin entered, shortly followed by Ser Jaime. Her new husband had returned, just as promised, looking exhausted enough as if he had just fought a battle. His father, however, regarded her with as much distrust and distaste as he usually wore. It was enough to force her to get up from where she had curled into a ball on the bed, forcing herself to stand despite everything in her wanting to remain horizontal, refusing for either man to see her in such a vulnerable state.

"There has been a change of plan," Lord Tywin told her, and Jamie's clenched jaw told her it was not a plan he cared for. "You played your part with the northerners fine enough, but your little moment over the swords and the song proved an embarrassment, and a disgrace. I do not know if I can trust you to behave in a manner befitting your station."

"You made me a Lannister and that was my wedding feast, a simple song is the least of what Lannisters do at weddings," she told him dryly.

He did not accept the joke, which was why her cheek suddenly stung and her mouth filled with blood as he struck her across the face. If it hadn't have stunned her so much she might have cried or yelped, but instead she spat at his feet and smiled at him. It was one of the rare moments where pain and grief made her bold, and she wasn't debilitated by the need to protect her children, not as she felt the burning desire to vent her frustrations. If not for the guards who stood behind their Lord, she would have thrown herself at him and choked the life from him or at least died trying, but the guards were there, and their fists resting around the hilts of their swords was a perfect reminder of her mortality.

She found she didn't even need to fight though, because as soon as he had hit her, Jaime moved to her side. His hand wrapped around her arm as he guided her to stand behind him, glaring at his father protectively.

"Don't touch my wife," he warned, his sudden defensiveness making his father let out a cold laugh of surprise. Jaime paid him no mind as he turned to Eddmina, frowning. "Are you alright?"

Of course she wasn't. Her face hurt, her lip was split, and her very soul felt as if it had been shredded into agonising fractures. She felt cornered and humiliated, she felt abandoned and trapped. She did not know if she would ever remember how to feel alright again. It would have been easy to shake her head, to give in to the agony of her existence, but it was more satisfying to refuse and see how it infuriated her new goodfather.

"Whet will you do with me now? You cannot win back the north or the Riverlands without me," she reminded him, trying to still the fire burning inside of her that was threatening to turn from anger to nerves. "I'm not staying here."

More time in the Twins was sickening. Endless days pacing her tower cell, singing until her throat ached, eventually enduring labour and childbirth alone in a tiny, cold room... Eddmina didn't know where the past five months had gone, other than songs, murders, and nightmares, withdrawing into herself. Tywin Lannister had forced her to acknowledge the world again, making her play their sick game once more, and had dangled it all in front of her only to threaten to snatch it all away. Going with him to settle the remaining issues in the Riverlands and the North would be torture, but remaining in the Twins would be far, far worse.

"You should have thought about that before-" he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"I'm what you made me, apologies if that is a disappointment," she seethed. "You made that wedding happen, you made me watch, you cannot blame me now."

"Father, if we go anywhere near Riverrun without her we are doomed, the Blackfish is an old man but that's no weakness and if he thinks we've abandoned her here when you promised he could see her in exchange for surrender..." Jaime cut in smoothly, still holding her arm, though he had turned tactical and clever. She had almost forgotten he was a soldier and a commander, so used to seeing him in his own filth and not in his prime. "If this Brotherhood without Banners is as much of a danger as you think..."

Eddmina didn't know what Brotherhood he spoke of, but it clearly riled Lord Tywin as his face twisted into a sneering grimace, and he let out a sound that was almost like a growl. She wondered if that was the noise of frustration he used to make anytime her or her brother's plans outsmarted his own, and that thought would have made her smile if not for the thought of Robb. She missed him, she ached to be without him, and stood in front of her was the man responsible for his loss. Yet again she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat, but as if he knew that, Jaime squeezed her arm, ripping her from her spiral.

Tywin was glaring at the pair of them. In a day of marriage they had formed an unlikely alliance, one he clearly hadn't foreseen. In truth neither had the pair of them, but whatever bond had grown when Rickard Karstark nearly killed them was enough to bloom into something else when confronted with their fates. Eddmina didn't want to be married to Jaime, nor did he want to be married to her, but they both had no choice but to make the best of their situations, and so they stood at each other's sides, unflinching, knowing that against that man, they were each other's only protector.

"No more songs," Eddmina promised, her voice quiet, hoping she sounded sincere.

Lord Tywin didn't speak to her again. He remained glaring, clearly in conflict with himself. She was more difficult than he had anticipated, and it would have been easier for him to leave her in the care of the Freys. It would have been easier for him, but for his cause against the rebelling Riverlands and the North... He let out another grumble, before he turned and stormed away, growling a hushed command to the guards stood behind him, and though they remained for a second to glare at her too, they were quick to follow their Lord. Jaime remained for a moment, still holding her, but his father turned briefly in the doorway to nod at him. Silent, yet both of them knew it was a command. It was one Lord Tywin didn't stay to see fulfilled, leaving them both, leaving Jaime behind as he held onto his wife.

"I believe we will be leaving soon," he told her quietly, not looking her in the eye in favour of staring after where his father had stormed out. "He doesn't like people going against him."

"No, but I don't like people murdering my whole family," Eddmina shrugged, uncaring. Despite himself, Jaime laughed. "I don't want to stay here. Please, Jaime, don't let him leave me here. I don't care how unsafe it is, I don't care what sort of threat is out there or what brothers clearly scare him shitless, I just want to leave this place."

To her surprise, he sensed how her heartrate had escalated, and noticed how her breath hitched in her throat. That was why he turned to her properly, and his lips found their way to her forehead. It was a gesture that made her want to throw up, but she saw it for what he intended; a way to reassure and calm her down. She didn't want him kissing her, or touching her, yet somehow it worked and she felt safer than she had done in months. Perhaps that was why she forgot everything and wrapped her arms around him.

"You will not be left behind, he knows he can't win them over without you," he told her, then frowned as he thought through her rant. "You truly don't know anything outside of this Keep, do you? You don't know what's been happening? About the Brotherhood terrorising the Freys and the Lannisters, or your sister and the Boltons, or-"

Eddmina didn't get the chance to demand for him to elaborate. Without knocking, her handmaiden entered, the same one who had interupted them before, the same one who had almost cried with her when they discussed their lost siblings. Infuriated, Eddmina wanted to send her away, but there was a glimmer in her eyes, a determined fire that made her think of her long-lost sister, and it was enough to still her anger for her entrance making Jaime stop talking.

"My lady," she said, after a drawn out moment that suggested she had forgotten all manners. Her eyes lingered on Jaime, as if wishing he wasn't there before they fell back onto Eddmina. "Lord Lannister has sent me to prepare you for the journey. We're to leave as soon as possible for Riverrun."

"I take that as my cue to leave," Jaime remarked bitterly. His hand moved from her arm to her chin, and though she wanted to pull out of his hold and curse him, she found a strange sort of comfort from him. "We will talk later."

That moment did not come, not as Eddmina was dressed into a travelling gown that barely fit, wrapped up in a cloak thick enough that made her think of home. It made her think of summer snows and horse racing with her brothers, laughing and enjoying the freedoms that they barely thought to notice. Freedom and family seemed impossible and unlikely when the guards came in and bound her hands the way they had done the night before, and led her out of the keep and practically threw her into a carriage so small it was not even suited to a prisoner. It jerked to a start, and she was grateful for the cushioned bench as she attempted to curl up and savour the relief of leaving the Twins, even if she was leaving to become a traitor.

The carriage was not suited to more than one person, yet the handmaiden sat across from her anyway, her eyes never leaving her. Protective, caring, oddly familiar yet entirely alien.

"What's your name?" Eddmina asked, hours into their journey.

The girl smiled dryly, before replying:

"Nymeria, but everyone calls me Nan for short."

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Word Count: 8841
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