When a group of four handmaidens dressed in red with lion broaches on their dress lapels arrived to her chamber with a bath, Eddmina did not put up a fight.

That was not a decision purely made out of compassion for fellow women, but might've had something to do with the fact that they were followed by four guards in Lannister armour, each of them with their fists curled around the hilts of the swords on their belts, glaring at her as if she was the most notorious of criminals. Perhaps she was? It was a little amusing that Tywin Lannister sent soldiers to her room just to make sure she didn't attack the group of scared-looking maids, and for that humour alone, she kept quiet and behaved. That unnerved them more though, because any slight movement she made had them flinching or darting away from her. None of them tried to speak to her, and so Eddmina let them get on with their work, allowing them to strip her of her clothes and guide her to the bath.

The water was warm, but not nearly warm enough to her taste. After four months though, who was she to complain? It was possibly longer, given the fact it was at least a few weeks since her meeting with Tywin Lannister, long enough for her to suspect something had gone wrong with his plan. It had been long enough for her to accept her fate bitterly, long enough to suffer nightmares that featured not just the wedding but her abandonment from the Tyrells, but also long enough to wonder if Lord Tywin had been quashed and and her escape was still possible.

The month of no news had led her to suspect that perhaps her Uncle had remained true to his cause and had refused to surrender, keeping her new betrothed prisoner. It would have been harder if he had, as it would have meant the war being dragged on, not that she would have blamed him or felt anything other than pride for his stubborn want for justice. She was sure that if she was free or at his side she would have done the same, fighting until the end, yet instead she was locked away, isolated from the world and any news.

The guards and the maids were clearly proof that things were all still going well for the Lannisters, and so Eddmina forced herself to accept that it meant defeat and possibly death for her Uncle Brynden, reaquainting herself with the idea of being a prisoner as she sunk into the bath. Prisoner or no, the water felt good regardless, and she let her body relax into the tub and relieve her aches, managing a brief flicker of a smile when she felt a kicking inside.

'The soldiers could come over and hold your shoulders down under the water and drown you,' she thought as she came to the surface. She glanced over to them, uncaring that they were seeing her bare. They glared at her regardless.  'Fine. At least I'd die clean. Being drowned is more honourable than what they are cleaning me for.'

If they drowned her then they were stupid. The only reason she had been left alive was to be used as a piece in the games and a key for her kingdom, bending the north to the will of the crown and forcing them to submission. She had been spared from the massacre to serve as a bride to Ser Jaime, the man who had once been her prisoner, and considering in all the months she had served in captivity yet had never been offered the luxury of a bath, she assumed their wedding would be sooner rather than later, perhaps even that night. Part of her wanted to feel more frustrated with that reality, but of everything Lord Tywin had told her that day they met, the prospect of marrying Ser Jaime was the least of her worries.

Her family were all dead and gone. There was no obvious word from Sansa and Harrion and Eddmina hadn't wanted to ask over them in case she drew attention to them and endangered them further. She had no idea of what the condition of the north was like. She had no idea of what the condition of the Riverlands was like. Her Uncle Brynden's fate was a mystery. The one brother she had left that she had secretly counted on to help her had been murdered. Like a candied slice of lemon on top of a cake of trouble, she had also been thrown aside by her marital family, left to die by a man she had loved with her whole being like an absolute fool, abandoned with the knowledge that people she loved and admired despised her enough to let her rot at the mercy of her enemies, left with the worry that their hatred for her would feed into how her son was treated; her son who would one day be sent to the Wall to be forgotten about.

The thought of Willas had brought much anguish, to the point that even thinking of him as she stretched in the bath made her head ache. She saw his signature on the annulment contract everytime she closed her eyes, yet in her nightmares the ink was actually the blood of their loved ones that had died to protect her. In the dead of night when she shivered to sleep in fear of nightmares, she sometimes felt phantom embraces, his hands slinking around her waist as they always did when they were in bed together, feeling lips tracing feather-light kisses along the bare skin of her jaw and neck. A single thought of him made her skin itch worse than it ever did when she thought of being betrayed by Theon. In fact, Willas' abandonment of her hurt so badly that Theon's betrayal seemed so easy and straightforward, yet both made her hate herself more than usual for trusting two different men who both turned out to be dishonourable traitors.

Willas had promised to love her. He had promised to keep her safe. He'd worked so hard in their early months desperately trying to get her to trust him. She had been worried for such a long time that perhaps it was an act and he was waiting for her to lower her guard before he turned cruel. When she thought about him anulling their marriage she wondered if she had been right and he had been an excellent actor, or if it had been a spontaneous decision to forget everything he had promised her. Was his grief for his father and brother so great that it outweighed everything else that they had gone through together? Eddmina couldn't blame him, not after witnessing both losses first hand, knowing they had both died for her, but that did not stop the constant moodswings of despair, fury, and hopelessness that she felt at his betrayal.

Marrying Ser Jaime would be a distraction, or at least she hoped it would be. It was a way out of her tower, a way out of the Twins. It was a different sort of prison to marry an enemy, but it was one that would keep her and her child safe. Perhaps imprisonment, loss, and betrayal had warped her mind enough to think it a good thing, or to at least not think it the earth-shattering horror that she was sure she should think it. She was already a murderer, and the Freys called her mad. Thinking of marrying Jaime as a good thing was certainly mad, so at least she was just committing to her new role.

The maids set to work, one of them scrubbing her body, while  two of them were tasked with her hair. Her skin was coated in months worth of dirt from the first cell she had been kept in, not to mention the blood, staining her hands and her arms, dried and crusted as if it was another layer of skin. As she felt the handmaids scrub it away, she considered who's blood it was.

Lord Tyrell. Dacey. Garlan. Robb. Roose Bolton too, though the thought of his life's blood on her made her feel bitterly victorious. It was a feeling she rarely experienced anymore, not allowing herself anything remotely related to joy except for when it came to feeling kicking feet inside of her. The memory of all the others who had died in her arms or in front of her killed off any sort of emotions that were anything other than grim, as did the thought of her mother's mystery fate.

The girls tending to her hair had a much harder job. She'd not thought of her hair once in her months of captivity, keeping it in the braid it had been tied into the night of the wedding. As the months ticked on it had gotten more bedraggled, but there had been more important things to worry about. The handmaidens didn't think so, as they tutted disgustedly at its condition. She wondered how they would have coped with the hand life had dealt her, if they would tut at themselves if the horrors of life meant they knotted their hair. They tugged away at it with combs in an attempt to tend to the knots, lathering it with soap as if they would help pull the tangles free, and though it hurt Eddmina made no comment. She had faced greater pains, after all. Her loved ones had faced greater pains when they died, who was she to whinge over hair?

"It's too matted," one of them announced defeatedly, throwing the comb into the bath, and as it splashed Eddmina thought her a spoilt child.

Eddmina felt smugly pleased that she had beaten them, even if it had been unintentional, until out of the corner of her eye she noticed the gleam of a blade. She jerked away, pushing herself to the other side of the bath, only to see the handmaiden approaching her with a pair of scissors. It wasn't a knife, but even so, the thought of the girls coming near her with them made her sick. It was a blade all the same, and considering she had killed a man with a spoon she knew weapons didn't need to be sharp to serve fatal damage. The way they gleamed in the candlelight of the room, the way the maid held them, Eddmina could tell they had been freshly sharpened to ensure they did their job as well as possible. She moved as far away as possible, and instinct made her  wrap both arms around her stomach.

"Don't you dare," she snarled, barely noticing the absolute fear in all the handmaidens' eyes.

The one with the scissors dropped them, and they clattered to the floor noisily, the sound echoing. The one who'd held them backed away to the side of one of the other girls, gripping her arm almost unconsciously, as if she hadn't meant to go to her for safety but did it out of pure instinct. Eddmina had almost forgotten what that felt like, to be with someone you trusted so much your body fled to them without thought. She'd felt like that with her husband, the one who worshipped the hair the maids threatened, the one who dropped her at first opportunity, leaving her to rot at the mercy of the Lannisters. She hadn't wanted to, but she had started to hate him, just the same way that she hated the whole world, including the girls that cowered in front of her.

"Please, my lady," one of them attempted to beg. It was the first time she'd spoken, and Eddmina had to stop herself scowling in disgust at her posh little Western accent, and how fear made her voice shake. "Please. His grace Lord Lannister has said that we must make you presentable, and we must do all that it takes to make it so."

"You're not coming near me with those, and you're not cutting my hair!" She yelled, though it became a scream as she thought of how many times Willas had stroked it, or complimented it, or run his fingers through it, and how many times Uther had pulled it or tangled his fingers into it. She may hate the former, but she still adored the latter with her whole being. "You're not. You won't. You-"

Eddmina cut herself off when she felt a pair of firm hands clamp down onto her shoulders, keeping her firmly in place, and she heard the noice of three swords be drawn. Glancing around, she saw one of the soldiers stood behind her, his grip so tight she could barely attempt to fidget, and though he glared down at her, he nodded for the girls to continue.

"One unarmed woman really justifies the four of you?" She spat at him, but didn't flinch when his grip tightened in his dislike for her.

She said nothing else, not even when the girls moved reluctantly back into place. The one charged with washing her took up her work once more, tentatively, scared that Eddmina would manage to lash out, but the ones with the scissors and comb resumed their positions confidently, each of them stood either side of the soldier. Eddmina didn't flinch when she felt them begin to cut away at her hair, though the sound of the scissors slicing through making her want to cry. She knew she couldn't cry, at least not while the soldiers were looking at her. Instead, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping one arm around her legs while her other hand remained on her belly, her fingers stroking small circles against the skin. The feeling of her child kicking at her once more almost felt reassuring, but then she felt them cut away at the remnant of her braid, the weight of the matted hair being lifted away, and she lowered her face to her knees, hiding her silent tears.

Eddmina had always known she was not overly beautiful, not the way men praised her mother to be, not the way she knew her little sister would become. She looked like her father, and she'd once heard a drunk bannermen retort when she was nine that if she had a beard she would look more like Brandon Stark than Lyanna. Even so, Eddmina had always liked her hair. It was not the colour of fire like her sister and mother, it was not sunshine blonde like the women she'd heard the men lust over. Instead it was dark, yet sometimes when it caught the light there was faint auburn streaks, the Tully blood in her threatening to shine. It was her pride and joy, because even if she did not think herself as obsessed with her looks, she enjoyed her hair. She enjoyed brushing it, braiding it, feeling it against her back, the way it bounced when she was on horseback, the way it curled after being released like the waves of the sea.

When she was a girl and resentful of so much about the world but esecially her place in her family, when she used to feel so unappreciated and unseen and had to battle to feel worthy, somehow those feelings would disappear the moment her mother entered her bedroom and dismissed the servants to tend to her herself. If didn't matter what argument they were in the middle of, or what grievance the pair of them held against each other, sometimes neither would even speak. Lady Stark would simply pick up the hairbrush and point to the vanity table, and Eddmina would huff and pretend to be annoyed, but silently loved every second of attention and affection. Sometimes when she was feeling particularly moody she would think about why her mother was so slow at brushing her hair, but it eventually sunk in that it was the only time they ever got just the two of them, the only time where they were not awkward and cautious and annoyed with each other. Lady Stakr would stroke her thick hair, comment on how beautiful it was, and when she left her with a neat and tidy braid, Eddmina would wonder if perhaps she was beautiful too.

She never was, though. Not like her sisters, not like her mother. The mother who had taken such care over her hair would be horrified by its condition as it was hacked away. The mother who had silently loved and cared for her despite everything would be horrified at what was happening. Eddmina tried not to think about it, tried not to think about how her mother had begged and pleaded for the life of her twins, how she had been the one to give Eddmina life yet Eddmina didn't even know how she had died. She really was a disgrace, and she found herself wishing for her mother more than anything. She wanted her there to tut at the state of her, to fuss around her and act as if she was not an adult capable of looking after herself, she wanted her to protect her. More than anything, she wanted her mother, but she knew very well that she couldn't have her, and never would again.

It was the first time Eddmina had fully considered her status as an orphan, and it left her feeling hollow in a way that dazed her, unable to protest to anything else that was being done to her. In the months since the wedding she had bounced between defeated depression and pure revenge-driven fury, and as the maids continued to scrub at her until her skin shone pink and cut away at any knot or tangle, Eddmina felt herself plummet to the former option. When they finished, when the soldier dropped his grip on her and stepped back to his former position, she heard the swords be sheathed once more, and she did nothing. When the girls put their hands onto her to help lift her out of the tub, she did nothing but cooperate, feeling like an empty shell.

They dried her off and allowed her the dignity of a robe, helping against the shivers that seemed inevitable as they sat her down at the dusty vanity table, allowing her to see her reflection. Her face was red, from the tears and the heat of the water, but it was her hair that was the problem. They had sliced it into a short, severe cut that barely reached her shoulders, the shortest it had ever been in her memory. They had made it neat, but that was the only consolation, though one of them quickly set to work pulling whatever was left of it into a few delicate braids. Eddmina didn't protest to the southern style, nor did she protest when they made her stand and pulled her into a scarlet gown.

It was simpler than she expected it to be, yet far grander than the ragged woolen dress she'd been in for months, the one she'd seen the handmaidens retch at for the smell. Compared to that, the red gown felt like luxury even if the colour made her sickened, the fabric as soft as silk. The Lannisters were famed for gold, but there was no detailing on the dress of any sort, as if they wanted no reminder of any other house that was signified by gold. Eddmina was fine with that, not wanting her second wedding gown to remind her of her first, or of the house that despised her. The girls took great care in lacing her into it, and when Eddmina looked in the mirror she felt her head spin a little. Red had never been her colour, far too pale to suit it properly, and looking at that dress and knowing all it represented she felt her skin prickle and burn, as if desperate to tear it off. That was worsened when she saw her stomach, and noticed how despite feeling as if it was tight enough for her not to breathe, there was no hiding her bump, and it in fact looked as though they had been told to ensure it was on show.

That meant Lord Tywin had believed her hasty lie. He'd thought her tale of adultery with his son was true, and wanted everyone to see it, marching her down the aisle in a way to prove her infidelity and new allegiance to the Lannisters. If she was alone she would have wept, would have apologised profusely to the little child inside her who was being displayed like a trophy wrapped in the colour of their enemy, but she couldn't, and she knew silence and lies were the best way to keep both of them safe. An alive child wrapped in crimson was better than a dead one, after all, and the burden and guilt of feeling a traitor was Eddmina's to carry alone.

She didn't care about betraying Willas. He'd done just as badly to her, and her betrayal to him was simply to keep her babe safe. No, she cared about betraying her own family and all those who had died the night of the wedding. What would Robb think, whose last words had been to beg for her life, if he could see her dressed in red and not objecting? What would Dacey think, whose chest had been the exact same shade of red after it had been bludgeoned with an axe, to see her accept it all silently? What would Garlan and Lord Tyrell think, after both of them died for her, only for their sacrifices to be met with betrayal as she abandoned all loyalty to them for red silks? What would her parents think, after witnessing from the heavens how she became a murderous monster who had killed more men than she could remember, how she now simply stood there and allowed herself to be prepared to be handed over to the enemy?

She only snapped out of her spiralling self-hatred when she felt one of the maids place their hands on the back of her neck, working on the clasp of the necklace that had hung around her for years. She'd never taken it off from the moment she was gifted it, save Sansa's wedding day. When the Freys had tried in her early captivity to strip her of any jewellery they had succeeded with her wedding ring, almost breaking her nose to retrieve it, but the ring on her thumb and her necklace she had been left with after she'd bitten or kicked anyone who threatened to come close. She was glad of that, glad that she'd fought for the two Stark silver pieces that had been from her parents, but felt foolish for the tears that had poured from her at losing the ring given to her by a liar. They could have it, were welcome to it, wanting no reminder of that marriage except for her children, but her other jewellery...

"Take your hands off me or I will break them," she threatened coldly, not even needing to look at the girl.

She dropped her hands quickly and scurried back like a frightened mouse, but Eddmina saw how the girls looked to the guards. The one who had held her down in the bath stepped forward again, the same glower of disgust on his face. Eddmina stared at him, unflinching.

"Do you think you scare me?" She asked him bluntly.

The guard had been a distraction, and she only realised that and the fact that one of the handmaidens had snuck behind her when she felt the chain around her neck be fiddled with once more. In a flash her mind threw her back to Winterfell, the morning of her nameday when it was given to her. She had been pregnant then too when she first looped it around her neck and fastened it in place, when she had been given jewellery and Robb had been given weaponry. He'd had that dagger with him when they travelled to the Twins, as she had carried her own daggers, but neither thought a wedding with allies was the suitable place for steel. What had happened to them, where had those weapons gone? Eddmina wished for them then, but knew she didn't need them as she spun around, faster than any of them expected, so fast the girl was knocked from holding her, and didn't expect Eddmina to seize her with both hands around her neck.

She didn't hurt girls. She'd never hurt a girl before, yet there she was, pinning the terrified girl up against the wall as she choked her. Even being in her condition she was stronger, and fury made her unrelenting. The maid pleaded, but the dark cloud had come over Eddmina, and all she could think was that the world would not miss one Lannister girl who thought herself too good to listen to threats. Eddmina didn't see the terror in her eyes, or feel how the maid wrapped her hands around her own, digging her fingernails in and scratching at her desperately, or how the other maids screamed and cried. She did, however, feel when two guards yanked her back, each grabbing her arms and pulling her with enough force to make her release her grip, the sobbing maid thudding to the floor before she fled to her friends, clutching her bruised neck.

The guards must have been under orders to be strict but not hurt her, as even when they grabbed her forcefully, Eddmina hardly felt it. Perhaps that was just adrenaline, or shock at what she'd done, because as the cloud of rage faded, she had to stop herself from crying and apologising. It helped when she felt the necklace still in place, and when she knew her violence had distracted all of them enough to forget it. She thought when the guards lowered their grip from her shoulders to her wrists that they were going to attempt to take her thumb ring away, but they barely noticed it, not as they nodded to the other guard, who stepped forward with a loop of rope.

Eddmina barely registered what they were doing, feeling numb as the shock left her system. The guards who held her forced her wrists together in front of her, while the other who held the rope began to tie them together. It hurt a little as the rope burnt against her skin, and he tied it a little too tight as if to be safe, but she managed not to wince or show any discomfort, which was the main thing to her. When they were done they dropped her hands, and she rested them gently against her swollen belly, while looking at them all with a dry smirk.

"Well done, in mere minutes you've found yourselves being cleverer than at least a dozen Freys," she told them smugly, desperate not for them to think of her as weak or broken. "Why hadn't anyone thought of that before?"

They didn't respond. She didn't expect them to, but she did expect them to keep a hold of her shoulders and force her out of the room before she could even look at the handmaidens again, and so she wasn't surprised when they began to drag her down the corridor. It was rather undignified, but she doubted they cared about such things when it came to her, their prisoner, a murderer, a madwoman. It hardly mattered that they were dragging her off to her wedding to the heir of their kingdom; in the end she was still their enemy.

Eddmina was humming to herself as they directed her around the castle, keeping her mind away from what was to come in desperation of not letting nerves get to her. Grief had made her fearless even without weapons, but with her hands bound she couldn't defend herself the way she usually could, and that was rather unsteadying. Throughout her imprisonment she had always been able to rely upon herself, but control had been taken away, which made sense, given that they were about to take away her freedom completely. In a mere few minutes she'd be forced to swear oaths to the seven yet again and the Kingdoms would see her as nothing but a Lannister. It was a fate worse than death to her, and she yet again found herself wishing for it, if not for the prodding feet inside of her.

Eddmina had expected them to lead her to the hall, where five months before her Uncle had said the same vows to his Frey wife. That was what she had prepared for, that was what she had steeled herself against. It was one thing being wed to an enemy after being thrown aside by the man she thought had loved her unconditionally, but to wed him in the same room that her family had been murdered in... It had caused sleepless nights and mad bouts of hysteria that only singing could calm, not to mention the nightmares that left her repeating the names of all she'd lost over and over. If the event itself hadn't caused her to lose her mind then thinking about having to revisit the site for her own second wedding scattered her wits completely. Still, she was a woman, and women constantly faced horific fates in their world, and so she worked to steel herself and make sure she appeared as cold as the man making her go down the aisle.

She was managing that act rather well, until the guards didn't lead her to the hall, but instead walked straight past the great oak door she had been banging herself against five months before with Garlan at her side. They led her down the drafty corridors until they reached a doorway that she knew led to the outdoors, and as the door was opened and she stepped outside for the first time in months, she winced, squinting her eyes despite it being night. The moon was high, and brighter than anything she'd seen for a long time, the cold air hitting her lungs as she took in a deep breath of relief, almost glad to be outside, until she realised where they were taking her, and what was waiting ahead.

"No," she shook her head, planting her feet firmly in the ground, staring at the heart tree that was just up ahead, all the wedding guests and her new groom waiting for her. "No, not there. I'm not going there."

They paid no mind, and forced her to move. It was more like they were carrying her though, because for the first time she was showing weakness, desperately pulling and struggling against their hold. She didn't care if it was shameful, if she was embarrassing herself. For her, it was more shameful what they were expecting her to do.

They wanted her to marry before the weirwood tree, before the old gods; her gods. No, nothing had ever disgusted her more, nothing had ever felt like more of a dishonour. Every fiber of her being repulsed at the idea, every part of her scattered mind screamed, and suddenly she was shaking. She'd not realised she'd started to cry, or scream, until she caught the looks of the guests who surrounded the tree, awaiting her arrival. There were not many, most of them being Freys who all appeared uncomfortable yet smugly pleased at her unhappiness, or men in red and gold armour looking as if they had expected nothing less, while Lord Lannister who stood at the front with his son looked disgusted at such a show of emotion. Ser Jaime, however, looked deflated, more beaten down than she had ever seen him, yet perhaps she only saw that because she had repeatedly seen him at his worst. He was actually stood next to his father with a steeled look, perfect posture and more cleaned up than he had been in months. In place of his wounded stump was a golden hand, and she remembered how he had screamed being separated from his own apendage.

Her scream mimicked his the closer to the tree they made her go, but no one seemed to care. It was as if they couldn't hear her, or were choosing not to. Yet, when they got her to the end of the aisle, ready to begin the procession to start the ceremony, she noticed Jaime unable to meet her gaze ashamedly, and then she spotted the other guests scattered around the crowd, the ones in furs, the ones in chains. The surviving northerners looked at their princess with a mixture of despair and disgust, a mix of broken spirits and vengeful spites. For them, she stopped screaming, knowing that if she stirred up their furies then they would snap, and she wasn't ready to see anyone else die for a Stark cause, least of all for her. It helped too that at that exact moment, Lord Tywin marched down towards her as if he was marching to battle, and the moment he was close enough, grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Make a show of yourself and I'll reconsider how kind I am with the Reach," he whispered to her coldly. She wondered why she should care, given that the Reach had abandoned her, but then remembered Uther, and nodded calmly, swallowing down her fear and hatred. "Your countrymen who are here do not want to see a hysteric girl, they want to see a woman doing what is right for their kingdom. You embarrass them as much as you endanger yourself. They will think you don't want to be here, that you don't want to stop that child you carry baring a bastard name. Remember, my son was your lover."

'I would kill you if I could,' Eddmina thought as she clenched her jaw so tight her teeth hurt, desperate to wipe her tears away. 'I would kill you for being so cruel yet so right. He's my lover, the father of my babe. I'm meant to be happy, meant to want to swear that I love him in front of my gods. I'm meant to be happy that the northerners who are left get to see this and how their kingdom will survive. I'm meant to be happy, but oh, gods, father I'm so, so sorry.'

"I scream because I am so overjoyed," she told him coldly, resisting the urge to spit into his face, and though he didn't look convinced, he nodded and stepped away, releasing his hold on her.

He strode back up the aisle to his son's side, Jaime managing to look at her with mild concern, yet he still looked like he wished he was anywhere else. Eddmina was so focused on her second future husband that she barely noticed the Lannister guards release her and someone else step to her side, looping their arm through hers, but when she looked, she saw her Uncle Edmure, skinnier and more drawn out than she ever remembered him looking. They had shared a cell in the initial aftermath of the wedding, they had wept and screamed together, he had tried to distract the Freys from her wherever he could, but he had been unable to stop her from becoming a murderer, and she had been unable to stop the Freys marching him away with crude jokes whenever he was needed to lie with Roslin. She hadn't seen him in months, had resigned herself to mourning him too under the assumption that he had gotten Roslin pregnant and that the Freys had killed him at last, but there he was, looking as torn and shattered as her, looking as painfully reluctant to be alive. If her hands weren't bound, she would have thrown her arms around him and wept again, but instead she tried her best to force a smile and offer him some sort of solidarity. That was easier said than done, becuase his presence made her want to throw another meltdown.

"Uncle, please," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Please. I don't want to do this."

"Do you think I do?" Edmure hissed to her, squeezing her arm. "My sister... Cat... She would kill me for this..."

'Mother, I'm so sorry,' Eddmina thought, screwing her eyes shut as she took a deep breath and forced herself to walk. 'I'm meant to be happy. I'm marrying my lover, I'm carrying my lover's babe and now we are marrying. I'm happy, but mother please do not hate me. I'm sorry I'm a traitor, I'm sorry I'm a weak little fool. I'm sorry I'm a murderer. I'm sorry I've disgraced everything you tried to teach me. I'm sorry I'm the disappointment you always suspected me to be.'

When she dared open her eyes, she didn't see any of the guests, nothern or otherwise. She didn't see the Lannisters, neither her future husband or her nickname-sake. She saw nothing but the tree, and saw nothing but her gods. Willas had wanted to take her to a godswood and swear their vows again, but Willas had lied and left her for dead. She had sworn her first vows to the Seven, gods who never really mattered to her aside from them being her mother's, so this time, saying words and preyers to her own gods who she had spent her whole life fleeing to... Her chest was tight, her head was spinning, and all she could think of was her father, and her brothers.

'Please don't hate me, Robb, please don't think me weak, Jon,' she found herself repeating. 'I love you. I love you both more than anything. I wish I was with you. I'm sorry I'm a traitor.'

Edmure was squeezing her arm tight, as if knowing she needed the support, but she barely felt it. She barely even knew he was there, too surrounded by self-hatred and ghosts. Her father had escorted her in the sept, both of them going to gods they didn't particularly know. What a shame her father had given her away to a man who had forsaken his vows out of hatred for her, though she doubted her father would think of the second wedding with more approval. Marrying their enemy in front of their gods...

'If I'd killed Jaime back in camp a year ago I wouldn't be here,' she cursed herself. 'I'm sorry, father. I've tried to be honourable, I tried to be good and do my duty, but I'm a murderer, I'm a madwoman, and I just miss you. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry, father.'

"Who comes before the old gods tonight?" Lord Lannister asked, cold and unforgiving.

She hadn't even realised they had finished walking, her eyes closed the entire way. Practically suffocated by ghosts, she couldn't breathe as she opened her eyes, immediately being greeted by the face of the tree. It was cold and indifferent, not like the one on the one in Winterfell that wept red tears. It was not as old as the one at home, the one she saw most times she closed her eyes. Perhaps that made it easier, trying to disconnect herself from what was happening, but then she realised how blank she must look. She was supposed to be happy, she remembered, forcing a smile that must have been so startling that Jaime frowned. His father looked the exact same, coldly controlling, and Eddmina was suddenly glad her tears had stopped. She would not cry anymore in front of this man, she would not let him know how much he was hurting her.

"Eddmina of House Stark comes here to be wed," her uncle Edmure replied reluctantly, squeezing her arm tight. "A woman grown, true born and noble, and..."

"Say it," Lord Lannister seethed through a clenched jaw, quiet enough that only the four of them heard.

"And already carrying the blessing of her soon to be husband," he said eventually, sounding as if he was in pain. "She comes here to beg the blessings of her gods in this new and already fruitful marriage. Who comes here to claim her?"

"Ser Jaime of house Lannister," Jaime replied flatly, glaring at the floor before meeting her eyes, infinitely apologetic. He grimaced bitterly, before adding, "Heir to Casterly Rock and the West. Who gives her?"

"Edmure, of house Tully," her uncle answered, glancing to her, though she did not meet his eye. She couldn't, not if she wanted to stay stoic. "Her uncle."

"Lady Eddmina," Lord Tywin addressed her directly, his gaze still a cold glare as she looked at him, imaginging his face as an archery target. "Do you take this man?"

'No, I can't,' she wanted to protest. 'No, I am another man's wife already, I can't marry a man I don't love in the eyes of my gods when my father isn't here to give me away and the man I'm meant to take is my enemy who tried to kill my little brother. Oh, Bran, I'm so sorry.'

Yet, she wasn't another man's wife at all. That man had set her aside. That fact had haunted her no matter how many times she tried to accept it, the loss of trust and love from the man she had opened herself up to causing her as much pain as all the deaths she'd witnessed. Willas didn't love her, not if he had fled from her at the first sign of trouble, not if he had abandonned her so visciously after offering him an out so many times. Perhaps he had never loved her, never valued her. Perhaps he simply wanted her for the status she gave him, ambitious and power hungry like the rest of his family. Perhaps he had been in cahoots with the Lannisters, Freys, and Boltons all along, desperate for any way to get rid of her.

No, that couldn't have been the case. No matter how scattered her mind was, she knew he didn't have a hand in the wedding. He may hate her, but he had loved Garlan more than anything and would never have risked his beloved brother, the brother who had died for her.

None of it mattered really though, because at the end of it all, he was not there. Willas had taken their son and gone home to forget all about her, soon to marry a beautiful southern woman who was the exact sort of person his family would have wanted him to wed. Willas had promised to be by her side forever, but it was a lie. He was not by her side, never would be again, and so she stepped away from her Uncle's hold, moving forward almost confidently, forcing a smile to Jaime. It was her duty to marry to protect her Kingdom, she had always known that. She had simply not known that it would be her second marriage that would be for protection, nor had she known the stakes, or how much it would break her heart no matter how much she tried to tell herself she hated the first husband.

"I take this man," Eddmina said calmly, becuase if she proceeded with the ceremony then at least it would be over sooner, and she would not have to think about her first husband.

Jaime looked at her in horrified surprise, as if he'd expected her to scream and cry again. She met his eye, wondering why he had even thought she would behave otherwise. Surely he knew the stakes for her, knew that Uther's life and protection depended on her good behaviour, surely he knew that she was keeping herself alive and calm for no one but her children? She looked at him, willing him to understand everything, and when their eyes met it was like they were back in the cells of Riverrun, fighting for their lives. They had relied upon each other then, and the sentiment seemed to be the same again that night in the godswood.

She wondered what his father had threatened him with to make him agree to such a marriage. He was setting aside a lifelong affair with his sister who who he had fathered three children with, he was giving up a dream of being a Kingsguard. Perhaps his life relied on the ceremony too. Deep down, she knew she was supposed to hate him, yet when she looked at him, his sad, drawn face lit only by candles and the moonlight, and saw him observing her with sympathetic concern and contempt for the situation they had found themselves in, she felt nothing but sorry. As if he understood, he reached over with his only remaining hand and wrapped it around both of hers.

Weddings of the old faith were much shorter, and she was glad of that. All that was left to do was to pray, and though it was a little embarrassing that Ser Jaime had to help her to her knees, she was grateful for him, and grateful that he did not take his hand from hers. She wondered if she had ever considered that one day arrogant, vile Jaime Lannister would be her husband, let alone emotional anchor. She bowed her head, an expert in praying to the old gods, but instead of closing her eyes she stared down at the floor, knowing that if she closed her eyes she would see no one but the ghosts of her family, calling her a traitor.

"Why did you tell him that we're lovers?" Jaime hissed to her so quiet that no one could hear. It helped that they were close, shoulders touching, closer than they had ever been before.

"What happened in Riverrun?" she hissed back, glancing over to him. "We saved each others lives, you owe me a life debt, as do I you. This is me cashing in on mine."

"You don't want this, Princess," he told her hushedly, and though it was condesending, it also sounded concerned.

"Don't tell me what I don't want," she snapped, louder than intended yet still quiet enough to not draw attention. "I want my boy to live, both my boys, so shut up, and lets get on with it."

She glanced at him long enough to see him looking desperate to protest, but he said nothing, clenching his jaw shut, and she looked back to the ground.

'Willas said he'd take me to a godswood and wed me all over again,' she thought to herself bitterly in place of a prayer. 'Liar. Coward. I'm glad it was annulled. He only disgraced himself to his gods for breaking vows rather than disgracing me in front of mine too. I can disgrace myself all on my own. Gods damn you, Willas Tyrell.'

Jaime nudged her with his shoulder, breaking her stream of thought that was nothing but bitter resentment, and she took that as her cue to stand again. Yet again Jaime had to help her, and as they got to their feet she looked nowhere else but at him. He still looked disbelieving to the whole thing, but it was easier to see his disbelief than his father's disregarding dislike, or the blank stares of hatred from the Lannister guards, or the uncomfortable looks from the Freys, or the expression of heartbroken betrayal from her uncle and the northerners. Jaime at least looked as if he was meeting her again for the first time, experiencing a new side to her that he had not met. Eddmina herself was unsure if she even recognised herself, especially when it was her who leant over and pushed a kiss to her new husband's cheek, claiming him as hers.

'Damn you, Willas Tyrell,' she thought upon realising that she was experiencing her third first kiss. 'Damn you and your lies and betrayal. Look how I will keep myself alive without you.'

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