Every head turned to watch Eddmina walk into Riverrun's great hall, and that almost made it worth it that every step had been agony.

She so desperately wanted to sit down and rest, to have Garlan carry her back to her room and sleep for at least a week, to curl up with Lyarra and just enjoy some peace. Instead, she felt the gaze of every man and woman fall to her, and Garlan tightened his hold on her arm as he kept her upright, and she had no choice but to keep walking until she got to the head of the hall. That was where her Uncle Brynden was, after all, as well as the commanders of the Brotherhood, and more importantly, her mother, who watched her stonily. Eddmina didn't look at her, knowing if she did she would find it harder to not turn and leave, so she focused on everyone else, offering what she hoped weren't strained smiles to the men who lined the halls, nodding at those who called regards and support to her. For the most part, the hall echoed in a stunned silence, but she knew it was simply because they were not expecting her to join them, let alone join them carrying her newborn daughter to her chest wrapped up in an old cloak emblazoned with the Stark wolf.

The closer she got, the harder it became, and Garlan could tell, hence him gently and subtly leading her forwards. He knew better than to suggest she stop and turn back, especially now they were in full view of everyone, and the further they got into the hall, the more familiar faces she saw. Not just members of the Brotherhood filled the hall, she realised, but staff and soldiers who had been left behind to guard Riverrun, Riverland men who had been off doing other duties to exuse them out of their liege's wedding, and somehow, the surviving northern bannermen. Her uncle must have found them and brought them back to Riverrun just as they had planned, and Eddmina had never known a sweeter sight than the survivors making up the front of the crowd. It was far nicer to see them and not be dressed in red, even if she felt as if she wanted to crumple onto the floor.

The maester had warned her of after-pains, even after the delivery of the afterbirth, and as one particular cramp seized her just as she came to the front of the crowd, she stopped, clenching her teeth together in a refusal to show any pain. Garlan noticed, squeezing her arm and glancing at her with badly-disguised concern, and as their eyes met she shook her head at him, silently willing for him to make sure no one noticed the fact she was desperate to sit down and cry. It passed as quick as it came, and when she found the strength to look up from her daughter's peacefully-sleeping face, she met the eyes of a dozen stunned northerners.

"Your grace, we thought..." one of them spoke up first, his head bowed. Eddmina's vision was still too hazed from the pain to notice who it was who spoke. "Forgive us, but we had been told that you were..."

"And Ser Gallant too!" Another called. At her side, Eddmina felt Garlan stiffen in surprise, trying not to wince at the nickname. "We were told you were both dead."

"Clearly not," Eddmina responded tightly, regretting how harsh she sounded as she forced a smile. "It is good to see you all again, under better circumstances."

She noticed them all looking at Lyarra, and so gently Eddmina adjusted her hold on her, making sure the blanket she was wrapped in didn't cover the top of her head. She wanted them to see her dark hair, see how it curled ever so slightly, see how there was not one single ounce of Lannister in her. To call herself out as a liar was not something she wanted to do, wanting her girl's looks to speak for themselves, as well as her name, but before she had the chance to introduce her properly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up from Lyarra to see her Uncle, glancing her up and down protectively, trying to disguise his own relief and concern.

"Your grace," he greeted her, before lowering his voice, dropping his head so it was closer to hers, ensuring only she and Garlan could hear. "Do you not think you should be resting?"

"Aye, she should," Garlan replied curtly, tightening his hold on her when he felt her balance waver slightly. "Instead we've been dragged along to whatever this farce is, so shall we get on with it so we might all get some sleep?"

Brynden tore his gaze from her for a moment to look at Garlan, and Eddmina wondered if he had known that her goodbrother was alive. By the way he winced at the eye patch, Eddmina assumed not, though he clearly decided not to ask and focus his attention on his niece and the baby she held. He softened slightly, giving her shoulder a gentle, loving squeeze as he leant and pushed a kiss to her forehead, but Eddmina pulled away, feeling everyone staring at her.

When she looked up from her daughter, she saw behind her uncle that her mother had remained at the head of the hall, her gaze barely warmer than a glare. Eddmina met her stare, forced a smile, then looked to the bannermen she still stood next to. They were the ones who mattered. They had not condemned her just for wearing red and outliving those who had been murdered. They had promised to fight again the moment she asked, and she just hoped that they would remember that, especially as she adjusted Lyarra once more so that they might see her better.

"This is Lyarra," she introduced, her voice unintentionally gentle, and her forced smile became easy and reached her eyes. "I suppose she is a Princess, but she is most definitely not a Lannister. If not for her I would have given in and let the Freys do what they wanted with me, so whatever cause we still have has her to thank. I want to take her home to the north, to Winterfell. I want her to know the kingdom half her family died for. I want to take my father and kingly brother's bodies home and return them to the crypts, and I know there are so many family members you wish to honour as well. I am tired of fighting, I am tired of war and death, but if you all will have me, I would like to lead us to one final victory so that we may know peace."

Silence rang out for barely a moment, before the calls began, just as they had done after the Whispering Wood. She wasn't sure who started it, or who seconded it, but soon everyone was crying it.

"Queen of the North!"

It was a battle not to wince, not to cry or beg them to stop. It shouldn't have been her they were calling for, it should have been Robb. He was the one born to be Lord of Winterfell, he was the one meant to be King. It was always Robb, he was the one meant to lead the north, he was the one raised for it. It had never mattered that she was older, never mattered that she was just as clever, just as good on horseback and the better archer. It had never mattered what bannermen realy thought of her because despite being born a Stark she had always been destined for another kingdom. It didn't matter how much she loved the north, she was destined to be given to another family to become a part of their history and not her own. She had always hated it, always wanted to be seen as nothing but a Stark and be respected as a northwoman, but she would have done anything to have it back, because then it would mean she had her Robb back.

He was the King, she was the Hand. He was the son, she was the daughter. She was the eldest, he was the heir. It was not fair to expect her to live her whole life under those circumstances only to have it twisted and ruined, expecting her to suddenly accept how her life had changed.

'Gods, Robb, I miss you,' she thought, allowing her eyes to close for a brief second, desperate to see his face. 'I don't want this, I want you. More than anything I want you back. Don't make me live without you.'

Somehow, over all the other voices that echoed the hall, she heard someone call her name, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that everyone was kneeling, swords brandished in the air. Garlan had remained standing though, as if knowing he had to just to keep her upright, and it was he who'd spoken her name. She looked at him, not realising her vision had fogged with tears until she saw his concern. He looked as if he wanted to ask her a dozen questions, like he wanted to beg her to flee as far away from that hall as she could, as if he knew she truly didn't want the honour they were bestowing to her. She nodded, confirming it all, but the pair of them glanced around the kneeling northerners and riverlanders, and knew she had no choice.

It was what fate had bestowed upon her, what the gods intended. If the gods didn't want her to be queen, then they would have allowed her brother to live. She had to allow it to happen, simply just for Robb. She could avenge him far better as a queen than she could as a prisoner.

When she tore her gaze from Garlan, she glanced to where her mother was stood, only to see her watching her emotionless. Eddmina remembered the proud fear she had worn when Robb was called King for the first time, and knew the woman from that night was gone, replaced by whatever grief and fury had left behind. It would have broken her heart if she was even able to feel anything save stunned duty, so she looked away, her eyes falling onto her little sister who was making her way through the crowd. Arya had one hand on her sword hilt, while the other held a large dull metal ring, the spikes sticking out of it were stained red. It took her standing directly in front of her and holding it out for Eddmina to realise it was Robb's crown.

"It's a little rusted from the river the Freys threw it in," Arya explained, though Eddmina didn't see the rust, only the blood stains from where she had used it as a weapon.

Bile rose up in her throat at the sight of it, hearing a hundred screams as the smell of blood and wine suffocated her. She felt her hands shaking, leaning back into Garlan as if to escape from what Arya held out to her. She remembered easing it off Robb's head so gently as if he had merely fallen asleep with it on and she didn't want to disturb him. She remembered watching him adjust it a thousand times on his dark auburn head, never quite able to find a comfortable way to wear it. It was just as uncomfortable as she had assumed it to be when her sister rose up on tip-toes and placed it down on top of her head, its weight immediately hitting her. She felt so old, so tired, and so desperate to wake up and find it all a terrible dream.

It was not a dream. It was her existence, and she could not escape from it. All she could do was carry on. She had always wanted to be respected as a Stark, she had always wanted to be valued for herself, and it was a bitter thing to realise how horrible the reality was due to the circumstances that had brought it all to her. She took a deep breath, fought the urge to tear the crown from her head, and smiled at her little sister.

"Are we done?" she whispered, knowing everyone was still cheering for her so only Arya and Garlan would hear her.

It became quite clear they were not done when, while everyone was still kneeling, the woman who had once been Lady Stark finally decided to approach. Eddmina to her credit did not flinch, but forced herself to stand up straighter, desperate to be taller even as the woman looked her up and down critically.

"Tread carefully, my lady," Garlan warned, and Arya stepped closer to Eddmina, recalling their last conversation.

"I merely wish to offer my congratulations to our new queen," she told him sternly, not looking at him in favour of looking at the woman she had disowned only hours before, then glancing down at her first granddaughter. "A girl?"

"A girl," Eddmina nodded, drawing her daughter closer to her, remembering how protective she had been in the Twins. "Lyarra."

"My apologies, I'm sure you were hoping for a boy," she said. "Especially now. A boy would have been an heir, while a girl... a dis-"

"Say she's a disappointment and it will be the last thing you say," Eddmina seethed coldly, barely noticing how the bitter woman described as stonehearted was unnerved and surprised enough to flinch. "I mourned you. I wept for you, I cursed myself for not knowing what happened to you. I begged for them to tell me what they did to you, just so that I could grieve you properly. I love you. I know we have not always been the kindest to each other, and I know am not an easy person, but we are family, and I needed you. I heard you begging for my life every night they held me in the Twins. All they forced me to do I hated myself for because I didn't want to disappoint you. Perhaps I have lived my whole life wanting to please you and make you proud, though I realise now that nothing I do will ever live up to the memory of my brother. I wish I could trade places with him, and I know if you could you would swap what happened and have him back here, and I would not blame you. For the love you still hold for him, I will not do anything against you. You can carry on with your Brotherhood, or you can come north with me, and you will be treated with the respect befitting a queen's mother, but do anything against me, speak a word against my daughter, and I won't hesitate to show you just how I survived all those months in the Twins."

There was still so much she felt as if she had to get off her chest, but she could hardly hear her own voice over the cries of support for her, and by the time she'd made her final threat, she'd noticed a little of the hate leave her mother's gaze. It was like watching someone wake up and realise where they were, as if hearing the cold seriousness that Eddmina used to safeguard Lyarra snapped her out of her bitter blindness. She glanced down at the baby her eldest child held, and let out what Eddmina assumed was a sigh before meeting her gaze, her anger and frustration softened just a little.

"That crown suits you," she spoke, though her voice was void of any pride or love.

"No it doesn't," Eddmina grimaced, then looked down as she felt Lyarra stirring awake. "Are we done? Can I-"

"You still have work to do, you have a prisoner to deal with," her mother cut in, sharp once more. She turned to the two Brotherhood commanders she had previously been stood with, calling to them with a demanding wave of her hand. "Bring him forth."

They obeyed without question, nodding at her as if she was their queen and not Eddmina, and they slipped from the head of the room and into the crowd, out the main door. Eddmina watched them go, frowning and willing it all to be over, feeling her back ache and her stomach cramp, and Lyarra was squirming a little in her arms. She held her closer, shushing her back to sleep, but the moment the door reopened and she saw the two commanders hauling in a man in red and gold armour, it took her seconds to realise who it was before she turned to her sister, holding her daughter out to her. Arya's hesitance to hold the baby reappeared, looking at her elder sister wide-eyed and shaking her head, but Eddmina gave her very little choice.

"Support her head, don't drop her," she instructed, her chest tightening too much to remember to speak gently. "Please, Arya, take her back to my chambers. Stay with her, keep her safe."

"But..." Arya began to protest, looking down at Lyarra uncertainly before shooting a desperate glance at the Lannister. "I want to stay here. I want to help-"

"The best way you can help would be to get my daughter as far away from that man as possible," Eddmina cut in. With her hands now free, she grasped Arya's shoulder, squeezing it tightly, while her other hand softly brushed over the dark curls of her Lyarra's hair. "Please, Arya. I don't want that man to see her. Please."

Arya looked as if she wanted to stand her ground and argue. She looked like she wanted to refuse to leave, to stand at her sister's side where she belonged and face their new prisoner with her. She had every right to, having proven herself a worthy fighter, and as one of the last living Starks Arya deserved to stand with her newly-crowned queen and face the man who had tried to destroy their family. Instead, Eddmina narrowed her gaze in a silent command, a look Arya had been given a few times before in her life, though never as harsh. It was a look she couldn't argue with, and so she swallowed her frustration and nodded. She glanced at the babe nervously, before she looked at Eddmina.

"Tell me everything when you come back," Arya insisted, then walked away to the door at the top of the room, leaving before their prisoner could even get a look at the girl she held.

The two Brotherhood commanders threw their prisoner down onto the floor the moment they reached her, bowing at her respectfully as their Lannister grimaced at the impact of the floor. They had his wrists in chains, and Eddmina took a little pleasure from that, recalling how many times he'd had her bound in a similar way, still feeling the burns of the rope. The newcomer had caught the attention of all in the hall, and the bowing and kneeling folk had risen to their feet, and instead of calls of 'Queen' and 'Stark', their voices had turned to hurling insults. They cursed him, spat at him, fought with each other to get closer so that they might be the one to hit him first. In the chaos of it all, Eddmina met the gaze of her prisoner, and smiled coldly.

"Enough," she called, and the room fell silent once more. She turned her focus back to her prisoner then, knowing everyone was watching her. "Good evening, Lord Tywin, welcome back to Riverrun."

"Lady Eddmina," he greeted, though he didn't get much chance to follow that as someone threw something at him with a cry of using her proper title, and the older Lord reeled from the impact. When he managed to regain himself, he remained on his knees, but sat up a little straighter. "Would you care to explain just what has happened here in the hours since I left?"

"I thought that would be obvious to such a clever man," she shrugged, fighting off a grimace as she wanted so desperately to sit down. "The north remembers, and so does the Riverlands. Your hold over these two kingdoms has come to an end, as has your ambitions of winning this war."

"The war was over the moment your brother died," he told her coolly, looking at her as if she was a fool. Eddmina didn't care, merely clenching her jaw.

"If you thought the northern cause revolved solely around King Robb, then you're an idiot," she glared at him, wishing that her brother was with her. "You should have accounted for his memory being enough to make people want to fight back. You should have considered that the dishonour of breaking guest rights would have a detrimental impact on the codes of honour people regard you with. You shouldn't have been stupid enough to leave me alive."

As she spoke, various calls of agreement or cheers of support rose up, until eventually all of them were brandishing swords in the air once more, and cries of 'Queen in the North!' echoed and made her ears ring. She looked at Lord Tywin, and raised a singular eyebrow. He stared at her blankly, though she could tell it was a facade of strength he was working hard to maintain. While everyone else cried her name in a victorious support, she felt Garlan step closer to her once more, and her mother too, the once bitter woman wrapping her hand around her arm. Her fingers had become so sharp and bony they felt like claws digging in, and Eddmina gently pulled away, though no sooner did she step forward than she was met by her Uncle Brynden, looking at her with proud concern.

"What do you want us to do with him?" He asked her, his voice low. "You need to deal with him before anyone takes the choice away from you. We can have a cell prepared?"

"No," Eddmina shook her head quickly, remembering the disdain her brother faced for storing Jaime Lannister in the cells for nearly a year when his men were bloodthirsty for revenge.

"Would you like me to summon an executioner?" Brynden suggested instead, his voice still quiet though he gestured to the crowd behind him. "I'm sure there's a great many people here who would beg you for that honour."

"No," Eddmina shook her head again, remembering her father and Ice, and the duty he lived by.

"Then what..." he began, then narrowed his eyes. "You cannot mean to let him live? Or to do it yourself?"

"Ser Garlan Tyrell," Lord Tywin called coldly, his voice making everyone else fall silent, and Brynden stepped to the side so Eddmina could see her prisoner once more while her goodbrother straightened his posture, his face a stern glare. "I sent my men out to search the fields for your body. They never returned."

"No, they didn't," Farlan confirmed, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. "They were quite surprised to find me not rotting."

"I intended on sending your body home, just as I had done for your father's, so that your family could mourn," he explained, still cold. "A gesture of goodwill, after your brother agreed to my terms of surrender and alliance. I'm sure your wife would have appreciated you returned."

"Don't talk about my wife, don't talk about my father, and don't mention my family," he seethed, seeing red, and if not for Eddmina grasping hold of his hand and stopping him from storming over to him, she dreaded to think what he would have done. "As for my brother... If it had been him in my place, I would have riden straight to Casterly Rock and burnt it to the ground. Do you really think him so easily won over? A promise to put a crown on my sister's head will really make him forget us?"

"You are alive, Ser Garlan, why aren't you with your brother now if he means so much?" Lord Tywin countered, his tone enough to make Garlan swear; Eddmina tightened her hold on him. "Legacy is all that matters, the new Lord Tyrell is smart enough to know that and see how he can benefit from a new alliance with my own house."

"Will- Lord Tyrell doesn't know that I'm alive, does he?" Eddmina asked, swallowing down her boiling hatred in a desire to know the truth. Slowly, Lord Tywin nodded. It was a struggle to stay upright, and to not throw herself at him in a fury of fists. "I... I'm... I'm sorry that two teenagers scared you so greatly that you had to resort to cheating just to stay alive. I'm sorry that instead of playing honourably you had to disgrace yourself with lies and treachery."

"I doubt you would have done any different, if it meant ensuring your family name could continue on," he replied calmly, like a man resigned to his fate.

"Not my family name, my family themselves," she felt a burning in her chest, a stinging in her eyes, and it took everything in her to not show her hands shaking. She glanced up at the ceiling, forcing herself not to think about Robb, or her father, or her two little brothers, or Willas and Uther. "In the years to come when the maesters write of this war, they'll know that you sacrificed all your honour just so that your name could feature in the history books, but that will be all that your name is; just a smudge of ink in an old book that no one will read. Your name will be nothing but a stain of disgrace, your family name will fade into dishonourable infamy, while mine will live on. No Lannister will ever come from me, I promise you. I'm not some pawn you can use for your legacy's own gain."

He stared at her blankly, the way he often did, looking her up and down. It was obvious he could see how torn she was, how desperate she was to call it a night and throw duty aside. He could tell how upset she was, how she was clenching her hands into fists to hide how she was picking at the skin by her nails, how she was having to grit her teeth together whenever she wasn't talking so that her face didn't crumple into tears. Even so, she was looking him dead in the eye, and though every other part of her was betraying how she really felt, her gaze was steeled and venomous, and he knew she meant every word she spoke. No matter how fearsome his reputation, no matter how terrified or wrecked she was, she was always able to look him directly in the eye.

There was a moment, a faint flicker in his own gaze, of regret, of bitter loss. It barely lasted a second, but Eddmina saw it, and she saw the faint sigh that escaped from him as he closed his eyes briefly and smiled. It was fleeting, but it was the look of acceptance, the look of loss. Inside, she felt a wave of denial, a surge of nerves she hadn't felt for so long, that surely she hadn't done it at last. Surely she didn't have her enemy on his knees in front of her the way she had longed for. Surely it hadn't happened after so long, when she had lost so much that it didn't even feel like a victory, and she felt a panic wash over her as she realised she didn't know what to do. She wasn't meant to win, she wasn't meant to actually defeat him, not without Robb. Without her brother, it was all meaningless, so what was the point?

She felt an ache in her stomach, so tight that she almost showed pain, and she remembered Lyarra waiting for her. That was the point, she supposed. Her life felt as if it had ended with Robb's, but there was another life needing her. One thought of her daughter made all other feeling disappear as if they had never seized her, and she looked back at Lord Tywin, offering him a smile that mirrored his own. That was before she turned to her uncle, and nodded.

"I require a bow and arrow."

***

Sleep had never felt so good.

Eddmina had expected her new role to be demanding and exhausting, but apparently executing their biggest threat with an arrow through the eye while wearing a crown still stained with the blood of their king's murderer was enough to warrant respect, and that respect bought her the time to rest. In the week that followed her crowning, she had expected meetings and war plots, preparing herself for hours hunched over maps and figures once more, but both bannermen and brotherhood insisted she took her time. She had wanted to be annoyed at them treating her gently, but the aches and exhaustion that had followed her labours was enough to make her forget everything else, and after the first few days of wanting to be useful, she had forgotten it all in favour of sleep, privacy, and her daughter.

Lyarra barely felt real. Every time Eddmina looked at her it was like seeing her for the first time all over again, and she often found herself holding her or staring at her tiny little features just to remind herself that she was actually hers. She had spent so long assuming her to be a son, so long thinking that she would die before she had chance to hold her second child, having a daughter felt like a strange sort of luxury, a privilege, an honour. She barely cared when she cried, even if it was all hours of the night, simply glad for the girl's existence, unable to do anything but smile whenever she was close. It was a rare thing for her to let anyone else hold Lyarra, the exceptions being Garlan - the perfect uncle - and Arya - who was far less wary of her as the days ticked on. The maids who'd helped with the delivery were only allowed to touch her if their new queen allowed it, and the maester had to time his visits right to ensure he would be able to separate Eddmina from her daughter. Even her Uncle Brynden had been closely supervised, Eddmina watching him like a wolf whenever he called to visit his nieces.

"A great-great niece," he had marvelled with a laugh upon the first time she let him hold her, shooting Eddmina a proud grin. "A fine little Princess you have here, your grace."

As the week stretched, Eddmina had learnt to not expect her mother to visit. At first she had thought she would call upon her, especially in the first few days when the maester had recommended bedrest. She thought her mother would come with apologies, declarations of love for both her daughter and granddaghter, and then they could discuss all they had lost and all they still had to fight for. She'd thought that her mother would want to make amends for the horrible things she'd said upon them first reuniting, but as the days of absence ticked on, it became more obvious that she was not the woman Eddmina remembered from before the wedding. The woman that was her mother was scarred, traumatised, ruined. Eddmina could hardly say any different about herself, knowing she would never be the same no matter how healing it felt to cradle her daughter close, but it stung knowing she hadn't been completely wrong in mourning her mother. She wanted her back, wanted her to tell her she was proud of her for surviving, but that was not going to happen. Either she still stood by what she had said, or declaring that she wished her daughter dead instead of her son was shameful enough to make her want to avoid her altogether.

The first time she saw her mother since the crown of the north was placed on her head was in the rain, stood by the riverbank dressed in black with a hooded cloak pulled over her to protect her from the weather. It was a scene so much like the one from months before, the few remaining Tullys, Starks and Tyrells gathered surrounded by bannermen, a funeral boat waiting on the edge of the water, waiting to be pushed to the current. Eddmina remembered her grandfather's funeral, feeling as if she couldn't look at his face, not wanting any involvement after planning the whole event, not wanting to tread on anyone's toes so remaining a spectator to the rites and traditions.

She refused to be as absent for her Uncle's funeral. Brynden had taken charge in the planning, needing a distraction from the grief, knowing not to burden Eddmina when she had enough troubles and losses, not trusting Lady Stark for such a task when the news had sent her into a bitter rage. Even so, when she stood on the bank, listening to the septon deliver a droning sermon about life, death, and the Seven, Eddmina made sure to look at her Uncle Edmure's face. If she looked at him and memorised what he looked like, then she wouldn't be able to forget him surely, wouldn't forget how he had tried his best to protect her in the Twins, wouldn't forget him being the last fatality at the hands of the Freys. It stung that there was no one left to kill in revenge for her uncle, that his wounds had turned fatal and he'd sucummed to the fever and bloodloss days after the Freys had been purged, but Eddmina was desperate not to fall into that fury. Instead, she tried to listen to the septon, tried to ignore how heavy Robb's crown was, and fufilled every duty that was expected of her.

It had been herself and Brynden who had sat at Edmure's deathbed, neither of them speaking. When his breathing had become short and shallow, instinct had made her start singing, and she resorted to the same soft hymn she had sang for her grandfather. When his breathing stopped all together, that was when Eddmina had begun to weep, inconsolable when Brynden hugged her close like a father would hug a pained daughter. She adored Brynden, but it hadn't been him she'd spent months imprisoned with. It hadn't been him who'd tried to distract the Freys at any occasion when they came to torment her, often at his own expense. It hadn't been Brynden who'd heard her scream through night terrors and sob for her losses when the grief became too much. It had been Edmure by her side through those early months, the uncle who never seemed to know what to make of her, the uncle who she never truly bonded with until they were the only ones left. Feeling his hand go slack in hers had brought an unexpected agony, and a wave of lonliness she had never imagined.

That lonliness was indescribable as she stood at the riverbank, rembering the quiet way he would call her name in the dark of their cells, the way he would reach for her hand when their chains would allow. His words had always been hollow when he'd told her that they would be alright in the end, and they felt even more empty as she stood looking at his body, painted stones placed over his eyes, a sword clasped between his hands.

When it was time to push the boat out, she climbed into the river herself, alongside surviving honoured bannermen, as well as Garlan. He'd offered his services in the hopes that he could take Eddmina's place, worrying it would be too much, but he was far stronger than any other man so she merely told him he could do it with her. It was heavy, but she barely felt the weight of the boat compared to the weight of guilt and bitter sadness. When she climbed back onto the pier the funeral was hosted on, she made sure to keep watching the boat, finding it easier to watch her uncle drifting with the current than to look at her mother, stood behind her, glaring at the river with a fury that no words could match. When the septon had said the last of his words, and she felt her Uncle Brynden place his hand on her shoulder, she took a deep breath and stepped up to the edge of the pier where a flaming pit awaited her, alongside a bow and arrow. It was the same bow she had used for Lord Tywin, and she knew she wanted to burn it or destroy it, but instead she knocked her arrow, dipping it into the flames before she drew it back so far the flights tickled her cheek, taking a moment to aim before allowing it to fly and find home in the kindling of the boat. It took a moment for it to ignite, the flames battling the drizzling weather, but it caught light and soon the whole vessel was burning.

'I'm so sorry, Uncle,' she thought, watching as the flaming boat faltered as it drifted further down the river. 'What is the point in winning if we are still losing people?'

They were far from winning, that was the trouble. The north was still not reclaimed, Winterfell still so far away and Sansa still out of reach. A week's rest had been sweet, but there was too much to do, so, unlike her grandfather's funeral, she did not linger on the riverbank. The moment the burning boat sailed out of view, Eddmina turned and walked back off the pier, nodding gratefully at the men who bowed to her and offered condolences. She ignored her mother's icy stare, only acknowledging her sister who ran after her, quickly falling into step with her as they trekked back up to the keep. Neither of them said anything, grief too complicated to comprehend into words, though they linked arms and exchanged a glance of support.

"I need the bannermen," Eddmina told her sister with a sigh the moment they were back in the keep, back in her room with Lyarra in her arms. She took a moment to smile down at her girl, who let out a small squeak as one of her hand's reached up at her mother's face, before she looked back at her sister. "We can't stay here. Sansa-"

"Sansa is rallying the north," Arya said, trying to hide how she rolled her eyes. "You speak so highly of her, don't you think she can manage without us?"

"I think the sooner we can all get together, the better," Eddmina replied sternly, disliking the resentments of their childhoods reappearing. "What sort of family are we if we do not stick by each other? They call me Queen of the North, but is the North ours?"

That was the point she raised when she called everyone to gather in the hall that night. No one seemed to mind that she still held Lyarra, or that she refused to have the doors of the hall closed. Everyone, especially the northerners, seemed more concerned with what she had to say, listening keenly when she listed her ideas of how best to proceed. It was decided that the northern bannermen would head north the next morning at first light, riding hard and fast to get to wherever Sansa was and rally whatever family they all had back to a Stark cause. A few of the more trusted northerners would remain behind to accompany Eddmina on her own journey, as she had been instructed to remain for another week for the good of her health. Her Uncle Brynden would remain in the Riverlands to hold it in her honour, while any man he could spare would go with her to help the northern cause. The Brotherhood would remain in the Riverlands too, since they had proven themselves as worthy protectors of the kingdom.

"Not me," Garlan informed them, earning looks of dismay from several of his brother-in-arms, especially the two commanders. "I've had my fill of revenge killings, I'd like to turn my focus to fighting for my sister, thank you."

It was without question that Arya would accompany them too. Eddmina refused to think of leaving her sister behind in Riverrun, even if it would have been safer for her, not wanting to be separated from one of the only relatives she had left. There was still so much she wanted to know about their time apart too, specifically her face-changing abilities. Arya had been more than happy to agree, glaring when one man had suggested she stay behind and follow when Winterfell had been secured.

"I will write to Highgarden on your behalf," Brynden spoke up when Arya's decision was settled. Both Eddmina and Garlan practically jumped at the mention of their once-upon-a-time home, with Garlan wincing and Eddmina frowning. "It is worth Lord Tyrell knowing that you're both alive, any aid he can send north would be crucial to your cause."

"No," Eddmina snapped far too quickly, glancing to see Garlan was pale, itching at the collar of his shirt where she knew one of his arrow scars was. "No, thank you, uncle. If I wish to write south then I will do it myself. There is no point dragging Highgarden into another northern war."

"There certainly is a point," Brynden argued gently, obviously not wanting to embarrass her no matter how disbelieving he was to her resistance. "That man is your husband, if you cannot seek help from him, then who can you?"

'He's not my husband,' Eddmina thought bitterly. 'Or is he? I don't know.'

"I do not wish to involve them, not when I know we have the strength to reclaim the north without disturbing the peace of the south," she repeated, hoping her uncle would get the message. It was clear he didn't when he stared at her and cursed under his breath.

"I will write-" he began, but without thinking she shot up from her seat.

"Lord Tyrell did not ride north to avenge me when he thought me dead, nor did he come for his brother and father, what makes you think now will be different?" She seethed, hating her anger. "If you will not listen to me as your niece, then your queen will command you. You will not write a single letter to Highgarden. No one will. Am I understood?"

Silence echoed, though it was not comfortable, not as she noticed people glancing at each other uneasily. Clearly they disagreed with her decision, but none of them cared to voice their distaste, not when they respected her too much on every other call she had made. She didn't care what they thought, didn't care if it was a foolish idea to not write south. The only person who's opinion she cared about in regards to Highgarden was Garlan's, and he had barely flinched at her verdict and instead seemed to agree with her, glaring at those who dared to murmur complaints.

She had spent too long crying, weeping, torturing herself over the absence of her first husband. She had convinced herself to hate him, committed herself to the thought of never seeing him again. Even with the knowledge that he had thought her dead, the idea of writing to him and asking for his help felt like a betrayal to herself, because if he truly wanted to help, then why hadn't he ridden north to avenge her? If it was her who had been crowned Queen, then it was her who could fix the mess of her kingdom, and not her first husband.

"What do you intend to do with the swords those dead lions made out of Ice?" One northern voice called up, as if desperate to break the awkward tension of silence. "There's four of them!"

Valyrian steel was rare and valuable, and Eddmina wondered if her bannermen expected her to divide the four swords up between them, gifts of goodwill for their loyalty. For a moment she considered it, knowing she wasn't as skilled a swordswoman as she was an archer, knowing that all her bannermen had seen her prove it when she killed their enemy with a shot rather than taking his head. Then she remembered that even if the steel had been warped and mutilated into something so unlike its original version, it had still been her father's.

"Are there any skilled smiths present?" She called to the hall.

One man raised his hand and stood, and Eddmina felt like she was looking at an older, more muscled version of Edric Baratheon. Though his dark hair was cropped short to his head, and though he lacked all the cleanliness and etiquette that Edric had been raised with, dressed in worn mismatched clothes that marked him as one of the Brotherhood, Eddmina saw piercing blue eyes, and knew exactly who he was. He caught her staring, and immediately looked down, before glancing back up at her sister. Arya scowled, but not hatefully, more as if the man was an annoyance.

"I'll have the swords brought to you, if you wouldn't mind remodelling the hilts so that they're steel rather than gold, and get rid of any rubies or gemstones, they're weapons not jewellery," she instructed, and he nodded along while all other men watched him almost jealously that he was being trusted to direct orders. "I'll take them back north with me and decide what to do with them there, except..."

She wasn't sure who warranted a piece of her family ancestry, unsure if she was even worthy of it, but a thought appeared in her mind out of nowhere and she suddenly knew of one person.

"I'll have one of them sent with a courier to Highgarden," Eddmina instructed, earning frowns from every man in the room, especially Garlan, who grimaced at the mention of his home. "Tywin Lannister would have had it sent there to kill my boy. Ice is of my ancestors, my blood. Let my son have it as a gift, a reminder of who he is, who I am."

"Your grace-" Garlan made to protest, but she silenced him with a single look.

"Have whatever man we can spare ride down to the Reach and deliver that blade to Highgarden," she repeated, slow yet impatient, looking at her Uncle, knowing he would understand and agree. "Tell them it is a gift for Uther from his mother, who..."

'Who still loves him dearly, yearns to be with him, longs to hug him and sing him to sleep and watch him grow,' she wanted to say. 'His mother who would do unspeakable things just to know he's safe, who wishes to have him back with her where he belongs. He deserves to know how loved he is, how precious he is, and how sorry I am that I have not been with him nor know when I will see him again.'

Saying all of that felt like admitting a weakness, and Eddmina was unsure if she would be able to talk about her son without breaking into sobs. She had been thinking of him a great deal, no longer able to hold the memories of him at bay as easily as she had managed before, especially when so much of her time was spent tending to his sister. She saw so much of her firstborn in Lyarra, the echoes of him feeling like a knife to the heart whenever she realised how different he must look. She constantly wondered over how tall he was, how long his hair had gotten, if the sun of Highgarden had brought any freckles out on his face as it had done to her. Their separation haunted her, more so than not being with Willas and even Honour, made worse by her not knowing when or if she would see him again. She was sure that by the time she saw him again he would have forgotten her, or hate her.

If anyone had noticed her falter in speaking of her son, if anyone detected how her heart broke to think about him, they were all gracious enough to ignore it. She had spoken her command to her uncle, who nodded respectfully at her and offered her a smile that was only faintly sympathetic, and from under the table she was sat at, she felt Arya lean over and grab her hand, while Garlan changed the conversation back to war. It was kind of them, and even though she despised pity and sympathy she was grateful for their help, though their planning had drawn to a close and it was time for them to all retire.

"We will all know our homes again soon enough," Eddmina promised, trying to look at each face that stared at her as she rose to her feet. "I think I might have forgotten what it feels like to be home, but we can all relearn it together."

When she'd tried to exit the hall, sure that everyone was content with the plan, she found herself surrounded by the same bannermen she'd stood before in the Twins. She'd seen each of their children perish at the wedding, she'd smelt their blood and heard their cries, and even while wearing her brother's crown it was a struggle not to sink into the memories. It was still strange when they bowed and called her queen, but a gruff yet reassuring smile from Lady Mormont was enough to set her nerves at ease.

"I will write to my girls, they will be as keen to fight for you as their sister was," she told her queen. Eddmina tried not to flinch at the mention of Dacey, and forced a grateful smile.

"Do you expect us to ask our girls to fight, your grace?" another called before Eddmina could thank Lady Maege properly. "We all left behind daughters and nieces, surely you don't mean to call them to arms?"

"Not if they don't want to," Eddmina replied calmly. "If they are able and trained, then they would be more than welcome, and would have my full gratitude. If they are not trained, then I see no reason why they shouldn't be."

Perhaps if they had not all watched her take out the infamous Old Lion of Casterly Rock, the man who had decimated several of his banner houses and destroyed many northern lines, with one arrow to the eye, if they did not all see Roose Bolton's bloodstains still marking the crown she wore, they might have protested more. It was an awful thing to ask any head of household to prepare their younger ones for war, but it was not as if their queen was unwilling to go with them. They had seen the sacrifices she had made and was still willing to make, and so knew they were in safe hands. It was strange to see them all bowing to her and agreeing to do as much as possible.

"Forgive me if it is out of turn, your grace," Lady Mormont spoke again, quieter and when most others had departed. "But I think your mother wishes to speak to you."

Eddmina followed the older woman's gaze and spotted her mother lurking in the corner of the hall like a dark shadow, hidden behind members of the Brotherhood who chatted amongst themselves. Losing her brother had caused another spiral within Lady Stark, seeming more and more like the Stoneheart the Brotherhood called her, looking paler than she had done before, more worn and ruined from the latest loss. Eddmina hated looking at her mother and feeling unnerved. She hated looking at someone who should be a familiar comfort and instead feel as if she was looking at a dangerous stranger, especially when it was obvious that the woman had been staring at her. Everyone had watched her every move since entering the hall, she supposed that was all part of being a queen, but her mother's gaze was ice, and against her will, she shivered.

If Lady Maege was right and her mother did want to speak to her, then Eddmina didn't understand why she would look at her like that. The mother she had grown up with had never hesitated in correcting her or showing her frustration with her, and it was jarring to be ignored and merely recieve cold and despairing stares. The wedding had warped her, ruined her and changed her into someone unrecognisable, and though Eddmina felt the same about herself, she hated it in her mother far more. She pretended she didn't care, pretended that she had not grieved in vain and her mother was truly gone, but the truth was that she desperately wanted her, and hated her for not setting aside her own grief to be there for her. It stung to think of her wishing her dead simply so her eldest son could be alive - even if it was something Eddmina had wished for too - and it hurt to know all she had endured alone while her mother had stood by. Any time she thought of birthing Lyarra, how she had cried and wanted her mother, how her mother had stood outside the room and thought her a traitor, a cold bitterness took over her, one that she hated for matching her mother's own feelings.

They were tragic mirrors of each other, even more so than they ever had been before, and it was that which made Eddmina look away from her mother, desperate for Lady Mormont and the rest of the bannermen not to notice her scowl.

"Thank you," Eddmina replied, hoping she didn't sound blunt as she forced a smile, knowing she had to acknowledge Lady Mormont's words just to be polite. "I am sure if she has something to say, she will tell me."

Eddmina made sure to walk past her mother when leaving. She made sure to readjust her hold of Lyarra as she walked past so her mother might catch sight of her granddaughter. Eddmina couldn't help but admit to being disappointed when the stonehearted woman simply watched her leave the hall without saying a word.

It felt like a stinging betrayal, hurt more than a hit to the face, yet Eddmina was practiced in not showing her pains. If she had never let the Freys see how much their torments bothered her, then she was not going to let the creature that had come from her mother's grief see how much she hurt to be ignored. She continued about her evening as normal, going back to her chambers to simply be with her daughter, taking supper with Garlan and Arya, neither of whom spoke much to her but instead enjoyed a conversation about history's greatest warriors - Arya argued for Queen Visenya, while Garlan cited off at least a dozen knights of long ago. Eddmina got lost in listening to them, barely picking at the lamb stew that had been put in front of her, and when the meal was done and her sister retired off for bed, she was left with only Garlan for company, who excelled in noticing if something was wrong.

"Will you talk to me about whatever is bothering you?" he asked, leaning back in his seat as she got up from the table, pacing over to where she kept a stack of books by her bedside. "Is it simply your mother, or is it my brother?"

"I don't want to talk about either," she replied stubbornly.

"Me neither, but we will anyway," Garlan shrugged. "Sometimes I think I hate him."

"What?" Eddmina exclaimed, outrage and confusion obvious in the way she creased her brow. "You would never..."

"I know, yet I think I do, because he left us," Garlan sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. She had noticed that was a sign of him having a headache, a regular occurance he had his eye-injury to thank for. "Both of them. The two of us, our father, your family, and neither of my brothers marched north for us. They think us dead, fair enough, but none of them marched north to avenge us and find out the opposite was the truth. I rot for days in a marsh and am forced back to life, you face torment and blackmail and endure it all while being with child, and what are they doing? Willas is in Dorne enjoying all the kingdom has to offer, and Loras is most likely polishing his perfect armour. Leonette didn't particularly like any of her family, but I thought... you tell someone that you would do anything for them, but clearly that does not extend to influencing a house to a cause of vengenance."

"Do you think..." Eddmina began, and the thought was so painful she almost couldn't continue. "Do you think he has entertained other women? I can hardly be angry, since I married someone else."

"Against your will, Edda," Garlan reminded her, but sighed again. "I would have said not, but I don't know anything anymore. I'm sorry. I wish I knew, I wish I could go back and stop it all from happening."

The thought of her husband with another woman stung almost as much as her mother's treatment. It was strange, to know she had lost so much, yet the thought of her husband finding the company of another hurt in a whole other way. Her father and brothers were dead, her home was still in the hands of enemies, her mother hated her, yet it was Willas forgetting her in favour of another woman that made her heart break. Having Lyarra had rebuilt a little of her strength, reforging her from the burning of her losses, but any thought of losing the love she had treasured broke her anew everytime she considered it. She hated herself for that, hated the weakness love had inspired in her.

"I don't know what I am anymore, except for a queen that I never wanted to be," she allowed herself a moment of weakness, sinking back into her seat. "I don't think I count as Lady Tyrell or Lord Tyrell's wife, but I don't feel like Jaime Lannister's widow either. I don't feel like the same girl who grew up wanting nothing but quiet and for my parents to be proud, because it's quite obvious they wouldn't be. I never really knew what I wanted or who I wanted to be, but it was never this."

"I once told Willas that I thought the North would have benefitted from following Dornish custom of the eldest child being heir regardless of gender," Garlan told her, shrugging when he saw her pained glare. "Like it or no, you're a good ruler, a natural leader. As much as you hate it, you're good at this."

"I don't want to be," she shook her head, staring at the ceiling so that she didn't cry. "I never wanted to be a wife, I never wanted to be a mother. I thought both roles would trap me in a miserable life with a cruel man. I never wanted Winterfell or to be Lady of the North, I just wanted somewhere to belong. Your brother always made me feel like I belonged with him, and even though I was terrible at it, he made me want to be a wife and to have a ridiculous amount of children, just because he told me he loved me and made me feel like I was somewhat good at it. He made me feel safe, then he left me in the Twins."

"He loved you, Edda, that much I know is true," Garlan vowed, serious enough to make her look at him. "Whatever happened after we went to that wedding, I cannot vouch for, or approve or condemn. For now I would say we are best on our own. There is too much work for us to do without involving them and burdening ourselves with more troubles."

Eddmina found herself agreeing, even if a heavy sense of grief weighed on her like a rock on her chest. It was not the first time she found herself mourning what could have been, grieving for the woman she would have been if not for war and tragedy. When Garlan left her to go to bed, she found herself dreaming of no one but herself, yet it was a vision so unlike who she truly was, because in her dream she was smiling. She was laughing too, wearing green and gold in true Reach fashion, dancing amongst the grassy hills surrounding the Mander, twirling in the hold of her first husband who grinned merely at the sight of her. Her exposed arms were sunkissed, her cheeks marked with freckles that had never had the chance to emerge until committing to a life in the sunshine. Her first husband had placed a flower crown on her head, a weave of roses and posies much lighter than Robb's steel and bronze circlet. Her wedding ring was back where it should be, as well as at least seven other glittering silver-and-emerald rings spread out across her fingers. She was barefoot, carefree, happy, and surrounded by the sound of the laughter of their children; Uther, Lyarra, and a few other uneasy figures that her vision could never quite focus on. All she could truly focus on was the man who held her in tight, protective arms, the man who's lips were on her neck while whispering sweet devotions.

When Lyarra woke her with desperate cries, Eddmina was almost relieved, glad to be free from the dream that was so sickly sweet. She sighed, taking a moment to savour her freedom from the torture of what could have been, screwing her brow together as her hands rubbed over her face, bracing herself as she sat up in her bed to face her reality. The truth of her life was far more bleak, less simple and joyous, and the only respite from it was her daughter, and so Eddmina reached over to the cradle next to her bed ready to scoop her up into her arms and tend to whatever she needed.

The bitter emptiness she felt inside was instantly replaced with furious panic when she realised the cradle was empty. Instead of reaching for her daughter, it was Robb's knife resting on her bedside table that she took in her grip, and within less than a moment she had flung herself to her feet, looking around wildly in the dim candlelight of her room. Fear was replaced by dazed displeasure instantly when she realised that Lyarra was still in the room, still crying, but instead of her bed she was lying in the arms of her grandmother, who was looking down at her blankly, her cold eyes seeming desperate to muster some level of humanity. Eddmina wanted to feel relieved to see her daughter still there, not taken or hurt as she had instantly dreaded, but she kept her blade to hand as her mother glanced up from the baby to her, her jaw tight and her eyes burning a glare.

"What are you doing here?" Eddmina asked, sighing exasperatedly as she fought off the last blurs of sleep from her mind.

Her mother didn't look up from the babe in her arms, especially as she continued to cry. Eddmina's patience didn't last much longer, cursing under her breath as she set Robb's dagger down and didn't hesitate to gently pluck her daughter from her mother's arms, careful to not hurt her in any way or show her anything other than a smile as she rested her head in the crook of her arm, her other hand stroking over her thick hair. Once in her arms her cries didn't take long to quieten, and Eddmina lowered her face so she could push a dozen soft kisses to her forehead. As her heartrate slowed back to normal, as the panic elleviated, it was almost as if her mother was not in the room.

"She was crying," her mother spoke up, breaking the silence. Eddmina didn't care to look up. "You shouldn't leave her to just cry."

"And you shouldn't sneak into your queen's chambers in the middle of the night and help yourself to holding the princess whom you've thus far shown no interest in," Eddmina snapped, her voice still low enough so not to disturb Lyarra again as she rocked her gently in her arms. "What in seven hells are you even doing in here? You cannot bare to acknowledge me in the day other than staring at me from across the hall, but at night you will let yourself into my private room while I'm sleeping, then think to offer me parental advice as if you are some sort of expert?"

"I am more an expert than you, I have had more children than you," her mother matched her fury, before her eyes glazed over, staring unseeingly at Lyarra as she let out a shaky breath. "All my sweet babes, all of them gone."

"Not all," Eddmina hissed. "I'm alive, yet you disown and ignore me simply for doing what I had to survive. Arya is alive, yet you terrify her and barely acknowledge her other than to exloit her talents. Sansa is alive, yet you'd rather control your Brotherhood to kill Lannisters than send them north and aid her cause."

"You're all monsterous," her mother whispered, so quiet Eddmina barely heard her. "All my sweet babes, either killed or killers. All of you lost, what would my Ned think?"

Eddmina chose to ignore the last part, mostly to save herself the agony of thinking about her father. She left her mother's side, wandering carefully over to the armchair by the window, settling herself in the seat just as Lyarra stirred awake once more. The moment she began crying again, Eddmina found herself grimacing, because once again, her mother was standing over her with a blank yet judgemental stare.

"I remember that," she called, her voice sounding as distant as her mind. "I remember one of my own crying like that. They made sure I never got any sleep, either from hunger or discomfort or simply because they wanted to cry. Imagine being ten-and-eight, and suddenly having a life to tend to, and all they wish to do is cry."

"I don't need to imagine," Eddmina said before she could stop herself, recalling the early days of Uther's life, when her only maternal support came from her goodmother and not her own absent mother. "I apologise for being a great burden to you, even from being newborn."

"Not you," her mother said, void of emotion once more, her eyes looking nowhere but her granddaughter as she drifted to sleep again. "Not you. Robb. You were quiet, too stubborn to cry even if you were starving, like you knew not to fuss because your brother needed me more. He cried and kept me up all night, and I never resented him for it because he needed me, but now he is dead and his blood is on so many hands. My dear sweet boy."

A hot tear trailed down her cheek against her will, and she was quick to wipe it away with the back of her hand. Frustration burned through her as she felt her mother look at her, knowing she'd seen her moment's weakness, but it would have been impossible not to cry at the thought of Robb, the half of her soul that was missing, aching like a lost limb.

"When they held a knife to my throat I thought they meant to cut my hair... Ned loved my hair," her mother continued, and Eddmina felt another ache in her chest, screwing her eyes shut. "Instead they made me watch as they killed my dear boy, then as they carried me from that hall made me listen as they told me all what they were going to do to you. Would you like to know what they said?"

"No," Eddmina shut her head, grimacing as the sound of Walder Frey's laughter began to echo in her ears, the smell of blood creeping into her nose, the cold of the cells and her tower room making her arms goosepimple. "Please don't make me talk about it now."

"Why not? It happened, and it will not be over until every single Lannister is dead," her mother's voice became a snarl, like she was a viscious animal. With furiosity like that, it was no wonder why the Brotherhood had so quickly accepted her as a leader. "For what they did to my boy, I will see all seven kingdoms bleed. I will see them all suffer the way I have done. No one should be spared. I will not let him be forgotten, they will all die screaming his name."

"Mother-" Eddmina breathed out, her chest tight from the memory-induced-panic that had seized her. She was shaking her head, her eyes welled up with tears, and it was hard to keep her hands from shaking. "Mother, please..."

"Would you have gone along with the Lannisters forever? Would you have done all they asked of you just to keep yourself safe when they butchered your sweet brother?" her mother demanded, ignoring her daughter's obvious panic.

"It wasn't my safety, it was hers!" Eddmina argued, but her voice was a weakened shake and was far quieter than the screams in her mind. "It was for Lyarra, to keep her safe, and for Uther too. They threatened my children, how could I... Please, mother, I can't..."

"They threatened mine own children too, I would have given my life for all of them," her mother replied impatiently, though her voice was softening, fury boiling down into sorrow. Her seesawing emotions was enough to give Eddmina whiplash. "I begged for them to kill me if it meant sparing my twins. So many losses already, I couldn't bare for my two eldest to be taken too. They killed the boy, my dear sweet boy, and the girl... as they carried me from the hall they made me watch as she lost herself. They told me they'd put a swift end to her, but not before they insulted her. A mad woman, a monster... my poor lovely girl, so strong, so smart, and they destroyed her."

"I'm right here," Eddmina croaked through tears, taking one hand off her sleeping daughter to reach for her. "Mother-"

"Treasure your children, my queen," her mother interupted her, jerking away from her outstretched hand, her voice formal and unshaken, as if her rage and despair had departed instantly and Eddmina was merely a stranger. "Keep them safe, and hope they do not meet the same fate as mine. See that they do not end up killed, or as broken and monstrous as their mother."

With that, as quickly and suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone, turning and practically gliding out of the room. No matter how many times Eddmina called her name she did not turn around, no matter how much she begged for her to stay and talk properly, she was gone and did not return. If she had the strength, she would have fled to the door and instructed the guards to increase their watch, to never admit her mother to her rooms again, but she had dissolved into tears before she knew what was happening, and all she could think about was how much she had lost, how much of herself was lost too. The only thing keeping her tethered to sanity as she wept was the weight of Lyarra in her arms, desperate not to distub or upset her even as devestation gripped her.

Eventually, Eddmina cried herself to sleep, still in the armchair with Lyarra still laid upon her chest, and barely two hours later they were both woken to the sound of guards knocking on their door, calling that the bannermen were ready to depart on their trek north.

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