The doors were barred shut, as they had been in the hall of the Twins five months ago, yet instead of the screams of northerners, the room was filled with the sounds of coughing and choking. Every single Frey barring a specific few were keeled over, clutching their throats, gasping for breath and fighting for their lives in vain.

Being locked in a room with crossbows and armed men with no aim but deception and murder was very similar to poison in that way. The wedding party had no way of fighting back against those who'd betrayed them, just like the poisoned Freys had no way of battling for their survival. The ones who hadn't had the poison slipped into their goblets were paralysed in fear, clutching their own throats nervously as they waited for the chemicals to attack them too, though some of the bolder ones had rushed to the doors, throwing themselves against them uselessly. Eddmina remembered doing the same herself in a different hall five months prior, except instead of shivering and humming through the memory, she smirked as she recalled the fear, knowing that if those Freys felt even a fraction of how she had felt that night, then she was pleased with her efforts of revenge.

"They won't open," Eddmina called from where she sat at the top table with a small smirk, seated next to Lord Frey who sipped at his own unpoisoned wine, watching all his male relations perish.

Except, it wasn't Lord Frey. The person had his face, wore his clothes, but it was her sister who truly sat next to her. Perhaps if things were different Eddmina would feel more curious or concerned over not just Arya's reappearance but her developed skill of shape-shifting and changing faces. It was the sort of thing straight out of one of Old Nan's stories, the sort of tale that would make them all laugh with how ridiculous it was. Yet, Eddmina had grown up a great deal since the last time she had been safe at home with one of the old woman's tales, and she'd learnt to not expect anything from the world. There's had once been a world of magic, and if creatures such as dragons had once existed then surely face-changers existed too, even if it did seem far-fetched that her thought-to-be-dead sister was one of them. In truth, the joy of having a sister back when she had felt so isolated had overshadowed any curiosity, as had the thrill of her sister sharing her need for vengeance. The sound of choking and pleas for mercy from the Freys could drown anything out, even the need for knowledge and clarity.

It was the screams of Lord Walder Frey's wife that snapped Eddmina out of her pleased daze. She hadn't realised that Lord Walder had brought his wife along to Riverrun, and almost regretted having her be present for the poisonings given how merciful the other Frey women had been towards her during her imprisonment. It was not the same wife who had attended the wedding, even if the girl was just as young and weary looking. Eddmina knew little about what happened to her mother after the wedding but she knew one of her last acts was to cut the throat of Lady Frey while Eddmina wept over her twin. It hadn't taken Lord Walder long to find another wife, just as he had promised them, and though the girl bore his surname, some slither of rationality in Eddmina's shredded mind told her it didn't make the girl answerable to his crimes. That was why Eddmina reached out and took the girl's hand, all without tearing her eyes away from the carnage of dying Frey men.

"Lady Frey, what is your name?" Eddmina asked, but the girl was clearly too scared to answer, merely shaking her head with wide eyes. "Lady Frey, I would ask you to please leave. Go out the door behind us, gather together any of the other women who were brought here, and go to the tower chambers. None of you will be harmed, you have my word."

"What... what do I say?" Lady Frey asked in a trembling voice. "What do I tell them?"

"You tell them that the north remembers," a light voice called from the other side of Eddmina, and she looked to see her sister once again, stood in Walder Frey's clothes but not his face, instead wearing her own slight smirk. "You tell them that winter came for House Frey."

Lady Frey nodded frantically, battling tears as her eyes shone, but she followed their instructions perfectly as she quickly darted to her feet and fled without another word save a whimpered cry of fear. There was a door behind the top table, and the girl didn't hesitate to find her escape through it, and it was only upon hearing it slam shut that both Eddmina and Arya looked at each other. Their eyes met, Eddmina with their mother's Tully blue and Arya with their father's dark grey, and they both shone with a deep understanding of what they were doing. They both knew in an instant of looking at each other that what they were doing went against everything that their family stood for, everything that their parents had raised them to be, yet Arya's gaze steeled, while Eddmina's shone eagerly, and they exchanged a nod. They knew what they were doing, what they were sacrificing, but they were both willing and glad. How could they live to fit the guidance of a family that were all dead, save for themselves, except to avenge them?

It was odd that Eddmina felt she needed Arya's nod as permission to execute the next part of her sporadically-made plan, given that she was usually the one to offer guidance in the past, but only when Arya nodded at her did she rise to her feet. That was when her sister took her hand, making her turn to her as she held out a knife for her to take. It hardly registered in her mind that the blade was her twin's dagger, that there was a snarling direwolf on the hilt of the weapon, or that Arya was telling her that she had taken it from a Lannister guard she'd killed. It had barely been in her hand a second before she made her way down from the top table, and was descending upon the hall.

There had been three Freys spared of the poison. Two of them had fled to the door, while one had remained at the table, shaking the shoulder of his brother who had keeled over onto the bench as he choked. Eddmina didn't hear his pleads or how he called his brother's name, she didn't see his eyes shining the way hers had done five months before. All she saw was his hand laid on the surface of the table, and all she heard was his scream as she slammed her Robb's dagger into his wrist.

"Edwyn Frey, isn't it?" she whispered, stood behind him yet leaning so her face was by his ear, not wanting him to miss a single thing she was about to say. Blinded by fear and pain, he merely moved to pull the blade out, but instead she twisted it, smirking as he yelled louder. "You danced with my friend at my Uncle's wedding, do you remember? Her name was Dacey Mormont, did you know? Do you remember how you shoved her away just before it all started? Do you remember that it was your axe that found it's way into her chest?"

"Let me go!" he pleaded, almost tearful as he turned to her, but when he saw her unyeilding, he grew angry. "Mad whore!"

"Yes, probably," Eddmina shrugged, not caring for the insult. "We begged to be set free too, do you remember?"

"You were all fucking traitors!" he spat, though no amount of venom in his voice could hide the fearful tears pouring down his cheeks. "You all deserved-"

"And you deserve this," she twisted the blade again before tearing it out of his wrist and slicing it across his throat.

'For Dacey,' she thought, feeling a little of her confidence slip as she remembered her friend's laugh, her smile, and how she choked on her own blood in trying to say Eddmina's name. 'Oh, gods, I miss you. Killing him won't bring you back.'

Killing the other two wouldn't bring anyone back either, but Eddmina was quick to steel her resolve as she strode across the hall to the door where the two remaining Frey's had sunk to their knees in exhaustion. Eddmina had been very clear to Arya about what she wanted from revenge, who she wanted to kill by her own hand and not by poison, and while Arya had been generous enough to allow it all while watching from the dais with her feet up on the table, she had slipped something in their drinks anyway. Even though Eddmina had insisted she was up to the task, Arya must have poisoned them, because they were not fighting at all, slumped down against the door hopelessly. It had taken a lot longer for her and Garlan to give up on their escape attempt and her brother had been impaled by at least ten arrows, yet the two Freys were immobilised with nothing but a look of resigned fear on their faces as she approached, dagger in her left hand while her right clutched her bump that had begun to ache a little.

"Sit up," she demanded, unable to help herself when presented with the opportunity to kick the one closest to her. She kicked his leg first, then his crotch, grimacing when she realised it was wet. "Get up. Get to your feet and show the bold bravery you did when you killed my brother."

"I didn't, I never," he shook his head, trembling more than the last dead Frey as he shuffled to his knees. "I never went near Robb Stark."

"Not Robb," she seethed, leaning down so she was closer to him even when it made her back strain and shoot with aches. "Garlan. Ser Garlan Tyrell. You were once his squire, and you were the one to drive your knife through his eye. You knew he was scared of blood and you let him see enough of it before you killed him, a man you once were sworn to help."

"I was told to! Father told me to, he said you were all traitors! I had to!" he begged, his voice shaking, especially when Eddmina gripped his shoulder, brandishing her blade and holding it directly in front of his left eye. "Please, I never wanted to hurt Ser Garlan! I liked Ser Garlan, he was a good man, he was kind, he made me laugh! Please! Please, let us go, let us live!"

"Enduring this only to be left to survive is no life, I promise you," she smiled. "Did you know Garlan favoured his right? Was that why you took his right eye? You were someone he trusted and had cared for, and you let him bleed then exploited his weakness."

"You were all traitors, I had no choice!" he insisted, and so Eddmina had no choice but to put an end to him the exact way he put an end to her brother.

She barely had a moment to recover from the wave of agony that swept over her as the smell of blood reminded her of how Garlan's hand had loosened in hers, how he had held her so tight throughout their whole journey across the hall until he was finally forced away from her, before she felt someone grabbing at her arm, pulling at her so she staggered. Hatred of her second victim had blinded her to the last Frey at his brother's side, making her assume he was as weakened and as cowardly as her other two victims, which was why he managed to get a quick advantage on her as he used grabbing onto her arm as a way to pull himself to his feet. Though whatever poison Arya had slipped him threw his balance off, he enjoyed it long enough to kick at her legs, and against her will she found herself stumbling onto her knees, falling backwards as his fist found her nose.

She hit the floor, the back of her head colliding with the floorboards. Her body screamed, and against her will as she grimaced in pain she screwed her eyes shut. Closing her eyes was a mistake, as it always was, her mind instantly drowning her with flashes and visions of nightmares. Some of the images she saw were familiar, practically old friends to her especially in her months of solitude. Bloodstained Stark banners, wolves curled up at the feet of a faceless statue in the crypt, the Winterfell weirwood weeping blood. There was the two little boys too, the one with Stark dark hair and the other with Tully-Hightower locks, except the pair of them were usually running through Highgarden, and instead she saw them chasing each other through the crypts. Then she saw things that she never had before, not in her nightmares or her green-dreams. Somewhere a wolf was howling, but somewhere a beast was also shrieking, and Eddmina could smell smoke as she saw a castle built across a riverbank burn to ash.

It flashed away as quick as it came, and the next moment before she could even process it she was far from the roasting heat of the fire and found herself shivering as she was surrounded by snowfall and frost. It didn't take her long to figure out where she was, having spent half her life there, though she didn't find comfort like she usually did upon standing before that tree, because the man she stood behind who sat before it in prayer was dead, as was the younger man sat next to him. If she could recognise Winterfell's godswood in mere seconds then of course she knew instantly who she stood behind, who her whole body yearned to run to. All rationality was out of the question, because for the first time in years Eddmina felt like she was at home, and for the first time in months she had her family. Her father, her twin brother, how she had missed them, how she had felt so incomplete to be parted from them. Seeing them sat there heads bowed in either prayer or quiet conversation, it was the first time she had felt alive in months, the first time she was able to recall what living felt like. It didn't matter that their backs were to her, it didn't matter that their voices were so hushed she could barely hear them, because all she wanted to do was rush to their side and join them both.

That was not to be. Perhaps that was because it was simply a hallucination, or perhaps it was because someone was holding her shoulder tightly, keeping her fixed in place.

"Hello, my girl," a man's voice called from behind, familiar, northern, yet not someone she knew. He was the one keeping her still, the one preventing her from joining her father and twin.

"Let me go," she called, desperate to be free but unable to struggle. "Let me be with them."

"You have to leave them be," a softer voice told her, a gentler hand grasping her other shoulder. Still northern, yet sweeter, kinder. "One day you can sit with them, but not yet."

"You've still got a great deal of fighting left to to," the man said, and it was then that she looked at him, and saw the face of a man she'd only met in stone.

Whoever had carved the statue of Brandon Stark must have known him well, because the man who stood holding her in place was a startling likeness. He looked so remarkably like her father that it was almost painful, yet his beard was longer, hair darker, eyes lighter. He had the same nose as her, the same mouth as it twisted to a smile too, though she didn't smile back at him, too surprised and too close to tears. She wanted him to hug her properly, wanted to know what it was like to be with a man she had only met in stone. Her Uncle Benjen had always been warm with her, generous with his smiles and caring to each of them, and she was desperate to know if her Uncle Brandon would be the same way. Their eyes met, and she felt a squeeze on the shoulder he gripped, and in half a second she knew she had been robbed of a man who would have been one of her greatest allies.

It was impossible to tear her gaze from him, from his face that was so like her father's but older and stronger, but she knew she had to, because she knew she had to look at the woman who was at her other side. The woman stood next to her holding her with as much love as her uncle but with a gentler grip was the very same woman that she had spent a lifetime craving her friendship, and as Lyanna Stark gave her a tearful smile she knew she had not been a fool to assume her aunt would have been a kind friend. Aunt Lyanna looked like Arya, the pair of them sharing the same eyes and nose, yet there was a little of Sansa in her cheekbones, and a little of herself too in their jaw. Physical similarities didn't matter even if it was sweet to see the familiarities, though nowhere near as sweet as it felt to see just how kind her aunt was. Effortlessly beautiful, gentle strength, yet there was a fierceness to her that Eddmina longed to know.

"You've done so well, been so brave, but you can't stay with us just yet, nor can you go and join them," Lyanna told her softly, and as hard as it was Eddmina tore her gaze from her aunt to look back at her father and twin.

"I need Robb," she said, her voice barely a whisper, longing to have the strength to scream his name and have him look at her.

"Aye, but there are others who need you far more," Brandon spoke, his voice less gentle than his sisters but still caring. "There's a war you need to finish, and a crown you need to wear."

"And a family you need to look after, ours as well as your own," her aunt continued. "Mine especially. I will never be able to thank you for all the love you've shown my poor dear boy. He will still need you, as will your own boys."

Her boy? Eddmina frowned, desperate to ask what she meant, but both aunt and uncle had spoken in riddles, and her head ached to figure it all out. She felt them both grip her shoulders again, but her gaze had drifted to her father and twin again, one last longing look before she felt herself be released, and like a shot to the heart she jerked back to reality, gasping for air as if she hadn't even realised she'd been holding her breath.

Her eyes opened once more, her blurred vision welcoming her back to the sight of her very-real nightmare of being in the Twins' hall, and though her ears were ringing, she could make out the sound of her sister calling out her name desperately. Arya calling her name was the first thing she heard, then she heard the pleads of the last Frey man, and when she managed to pull herself up onto her knees, blinking to recover her sight properly, she realised she was not in the Twins' hall. It smelt so much of blood and there were enough dead bodies lying around that it was an easy mistake to make, but as she blinked she remembered she was in Riverrun, and she saw Arya had knocked the man to the floor, pinning him down by sitting upon his chest, her knife pressed against his throat.

"Don't kill him!" Eddmina screamed, earning a look of furious horror from her sister and terrified confusion from the Frey. "We need to ask-"

She cut herself off as she let out a gasped sigh of pain, feeling a shooting ache in her lower back and stomach. Though her hand jerked to her bump where the pain had been, she bit down on her lip until it subsided and refused to acknowledge it any further, at least until they were safe and she had all the answers she wanted.

Arya looked at her, horrified, and pressed her blade to his neck tighter. Eddmina wondered how long she had been unconscious, how long she had been separated from the real world and subjected to her visions. The ringing in her ears told her it couldn't have been long, her body still reeling from the shock of being knocked down, but it had clearly been long enough to worry her sister. Eddmina grimaced as she edged towards Arya, still on her knees, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. The aching in her back and belly didn't matter the moment she saw the look of desperately disguised fear in her little sister's eyes, as instead of frowning in pain again, she forced it all away behind a smile.

"I'm fine, I promise, but we need to..." she began, but trailed off again. She felt out of breath, exhausted, but knew she had to continue, so she turned her gaze to the last Frey, lying beneath them both. "You were the one... The one who held a knife to our mother's throat."

"And I'd do it again," he growled, spitting up at them both. Arya's grip on her knife's handle tightened, and Eddmina felt herself pull at her sister to stop her from doing something rash. "You were all traitors."

"What happened to her?" Eddmina asked, ignoring his insults. Desperation coiled up inside her, chewing away at her insides as she realised it was her last chance for closure, last chance to be able to mourn, and that was why she slapped him so harshly when he remained silent. "What did you do to my mother?"

"Not what she deserved, I'll tell you that, we should have killed the lot of you and paraded you all the way we did with your traitor brother," he sneered at them smugly. "Did anyone tell you about that, or were they all so scared of Mina the Mad that no one told you how we stitched a dog's head to your brother's body and marched him around the camp of his army as we set it alight?"

If Eddmina had been in pain before she felt a whole new wave of agony wash through her. It was like all the air had been robbed from her, choking her from the inside, and as a tight, dull ache rocked through her lower belly, she lost her balance and slumped slightly. If not for Arya dropping her knife and steadying her, she would have fallen onto the floor again, not that she would have seen it. Her vision was blurred once more, either from the pain or the unshed tears, and she had to force herself to not cry out.

"Please, Eddie, let me kill him now," Arya practically begged, and it was only when she blinked a few times that she saw Arya was also on the verge of furious tears, especially when Eddmina shook her head.

"Tell us what you did to our mother," Eddmina asked, her voice hollow and defeated, haunted in agony. "Where's her body? Where's Robb's?"

"Your brother's in the cells of the Twins, I wanted to put it in your room so you could rot together, as for your mother... who knows, she could be halfway to Casterly Rock or King's Landing for all I care," the Frey shrugged, losing a little of his bravado until he saw the confusion in the Stark girl's furrowed frown. That was when his grin grew again. "Didn't you know? We didn't kill your mother, we sent her off as a prisoner to the Lannisters like they asked. You were simply too busy murdering folk to notice or care. You thought your mother was dead all these months? So much for Mina the Mad, Mina the Stupid more like."

Arya cut his throat then, but Eddmina got no satisfaction from it, nor did she even see it. She had keeled over onto the floor, catching herself from falling properly by her elbows, feeling as if her whole body was screaming. Her head spun and seared with pain, and when she dared close her eyes as she forced herself to breathe she saw Winterfell again, surrounded by snow, bloodied banners hanging from the rafters. She ached, her belly cramping while her back shot with pins and needles, yet all she could feel was her sister gripping her shoulders, shaking her gently.

"Eddie? Eddie!" Arya repeated, and upon hearing her sister use the nickname only she used, Eddmina choked out a sob. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

"I have missed you so dearly," Eddmina replied, forcing herself to sit up so that she could pull her sister into an embrace, ignoring the fact they were surrounded by so many bodies. "I love you. I love you, Arya. We need to-"

"We need to leave," Arya cut in, clearly seeing enough sense to know emotional declarations could wait until they were out of the hall surrounded by their victims. "We need to find you a maester."

"We need..." Eddmina shook her head, knowing she needed Robb yet he wouldn't be able to help them ever again. She fought the sob that threatened to break through, though as her voice drifted off an ache coursed through her back, but when she was recovered she looked at her sister with renewed determination. "Mother. Our mother. They didn't kill her. They let me think they did, but she's alive. We need to find her."

Arya shook her head, staring at Eddmina with baffled shock. It had been Eddmina's idea to spare a handful of Freys from the poison so she could inflict their deaths herself. Arya had wanted revenge just as much as Eddmina, but in her eyes her elder sister's decision of how they went about it was foolish and reckless. It didn't matter that she too looked as if she wanted to cry or scream at the concept of their mother being alive, it didn't matter that she also looked as if she wanted to comb through the whole seven kingdoms to find the woman who had given them life. Clearly all that mattered to her was getting the pair of them to safety, getting them far from the bodies of their making and getting her clearly-hurt sister to a maester. Arya pulled out of the embrace Eddmina had held her in but instead gripped her arm fiercely, helping her to her feet and guiding her to the door.

Even so, Eddmina struggled in her sister's grip. Arya held on tightly, but Eddmina resisted, fighting to turn around and take a last look at the hall. She savoured the sight of all the dead Freys, recalling the last time she had been in a dining hall and it had been her friends and loved ones who's bodies littered the floor. Their ghosts had lingered in the hall of the Twins, just as she knew the spirits of those Freys would stay in that Riverrun hall. Even as Arya tugged her to the door, she let out a long sigh, taking in the atrocity she had committed. Five months prior such violence and dishonour would have been inconceivable, yet she felt an odd sort of peace settle over her, knowing she had dealt back the hand they had given her.

It was a fist pounding on the other side of the great oak door that snapped her free from her thoughts, flinching, gripping her blade tightly. As she held Robb's dagger she thought of her own weapons, the little Dornish dagger from Oberyn and the Winterfell steel forged by Mikken before she left for the war. She wondered which Frey had stolen them, and wanted to search each body laying around them until she had them back, but Arya held her too tightly, and someone burst into the hall, the doors splintering open. She would have done anything to trade Robb's dagger with Ice - or, the parts of Ice that were left - but still, she brandished the blade in front of her as if it was the most fearsome weapon and she a fierce warrior. She expected a stray Frey, a leftover ready to avenge his family, or one of the Lannister soldiers Lord Tywin surely left behind, but instead they were met with a tall, broad figure in full armour, face shielded and hidden behind a dog-shaped helm.

"Are you done yet?" the voice from beneath the helmet growled, and Arya immediately scowled, the way she used to when one of the older boys in Winterfell would provoke her. "Or are you happy lingering in here alone while everyone else does the hard work for you?"

"Oh get f-" Arya started, but cut herself off when Eddmina gripped her arm and gave her a stern look; neither of their parents would want to hear that sort of language from their youngest daughter. "We're done. Is everyone else here?"

"Managed to get in without much fuss," he said, though his voice sounded like a curse, and that was when Eddmina noticed the sword he held, the one drenched in blood. "Those red fucking Lannisters put up a good fight but not as good as usual. Slip something in their wine as well, did you?"

"Others?" Eddmina frowned, glancing between the two of them so quickly her head spun, and in that moment her back ached again.

She forced herself to hide the pain, and hide how vulnerable she felt in not knowing what was happening. So much and had happened in the outside world during her five month imprisonment, and while Brynden had tried to catch her up on it all, it still felt like drowning when confronted with the world and people who hadn't been locked away.

Whatever plan she had formed with Brynden had clearly gone out the window. They had planned for him to flee the castle and alert the Brotherhood, hoping that their desire for Lannister and Frey ruin would win them to the cause of helping them, and then he would continue north until he found the camp of northern survivors heading home, the northerners who'd sworn to fight again the moment she asked. She had expected Brynden to break down the door of her cell and retake his castle with whatever strike force he could rouse, but she and Arya had taken matters into their own hands. She didn't regret it, but she regretted how it threw off the course she had expected, especially when she had grown so used to not expecting any certainties.

"Do you really think one little dagger is going to protect you, princess?" he suggested cruelly as he marched to the pair of them, gesturing to the knife Eddmina still held out. He barked out another snide laugh that made Arya glare at him. "Or should I say 'your grace'?"

He spat her title so cruelly that she had to force herself not to flinch, but it was his tone and the way he towered over her that triggered her memory of who he was, remembering the night she saw her sister again. Uther's nameday, when her uncle and Willas slipped from the hall and she found them with Sansa curled into her direwolf while they talked business with her saviour demanding ransom. The Hound had left the next day with rewards aplenty, and Eddmina had thought never to see him again, yet there he was, stood at the side of yet another Stark girl, though this time was less a protector and more a partner in crime. The dynamic shift was a shock, and yet again Eddmina was floored by how much she had missed and how much the world had changed in her time locked away. If she wasn't already on the edge then the realisation would have floored her.

"What are you doing here?" Eddmina tried to maintain her composure, mimicking her sister's glare, when in reality she wanted nothing more than to grimace in fear and groan through the ache she felt in her back.

"I had your sister here as my captive, another wolf pup to sell back to you Starks, but the Freys had killed you all before I had the chance to get her to you," he explained in his own cutting way, and Eddmina saw the way Arya's mouth twitched in a pained grimace, biting back the horror of the past. That said what words didn't need to: Arya had seen what had happened from afar. "From then she was hells-bent on revenge, as were so many other dumb fucks. I would have taken her to the Vale and handed her off to your mad aunt were it not more interesting here. I bet you don't even know the fighting that's been done in your name."

"Robb's name," Eddmina corrected with a shake of her head. "Robb was the King, any revenge is for him-"

Denial that she was actually a figurehead for a northern-and-riverlands cause made her chest tighten, but before she could finish her point others stormed into the hall, their armour battered and mismatched. They wore helmets, battered and most likely secondhand, but their swords were bloody, and they all seemed to be in high spirits as they jeered to each other. Out of instinct, Eddmina flinched back, forgetting how she should steel herself and instead wanting to get out of their way. If not for Arya holding onto her arm she might have darted to the far corner of the hall, but instead she was forced to confront the new arrivals. She could hear her sister listing names, explaining people's roles and who they were, but her words fell on deaf ears. All Eddmina knew was that the arrivals were the men of the Brotherhood, and given the amount of blood they were all splattered with, they had retaken Riverrun from the Lannisters and Freys.

She could hear them all talking to each other, retelling battle stories the way she had so often heard men talk, she could see them looking at her, but she edged backwards, feeling as if she was in a cage again, back in her tower at the Twins. Arya gripped her arm tighter, and for some reason that was what got through to her, remembering who she was with, recalling that she was meant to be brave for Arya. She was the eldest, the one who was meant to look after the others. In truth she felt rather pathetic realising that the roles had reversed so easily, and that was what forced her to straighten her posture and look at the man of the Brotherhood who was so clearly the leader. He was the one who had come straight to her, the others lingering behind looking at her warily as if she was either a deity or a ghost. He, however, smiled, and dropped to his knee.

"Riverrun is yours, your grace, as is the Riverlands," he told her. Eddmina had to stop herself from shaking her head, forcing herself to accept people calling her the title that should have been Robb's or Jon's. "It was our pleasure to see off the last of the western invaders, though we see you saw to the Frey scum yourself."

"I don't want the Frey girls hurt," she said, the first thing that came to mind. It felt foolish, but she realised the man was smiling at her, as were some of the others. "Can we see that they're safe? And can you stop kneeling?"

"Of course, your grace, Lady Frey will be given suitable accomodations and whatever care you see fit, as will the other women," he nodded, rising to his feet. "I don't know what Lady Arya has told you-"

"I'm not a lady!" Arya protested, and Eddmina couldn't help but let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"No, you're a princess," one of the other men from the crowd of Brothers called with a laugh that was echoed by the others. Arya scowled.

'"I Imagine Arya would be less than thrilled at her new title too,"' Robb had joked once, and Eddmina felt a sharp pain in her chest remembering how bittersweet her brother had laughed, trying to hide how much he missed his sister. At the memory, Eddmina pulled her arm free from Arya's grip to instead hold her hand, squeezing it three times.

"A few of our men have gone to chase down the Lannister party, they should be with us soon, as should the northerners," the leader continued to explain, and Eddmina desperately wracked her mind for the name Arya had called him that had gotten lost in the blur of their arrival. Before she could recall it, he'd turned to the man just behind him, nodding at him. "Do we know where Lady Stoneheart is?"

"No, but-" the man shook his head, cutting himself off just as the door slammed open once more. "But here he comes! The Golden Stranger!"

A hushed whisper of admiration went up among the crowd behind the two leaders, and like a command from the gods they all parted so that the newcomer could walk between them. Whoever it was was tall, broad, and commanded a chilling sort of respect. Whoever was close enough hit him on the back, or the shoulders, as if they loved him. The younger ones looked at him as if he was the Warrior in flesh-form, staring wide-eyed, while the older ones regarded him like he was a hero in the making, smirking proudly. He nodded at a few who he walked past, but it was like he couldn't feel them touching him, like he couldn't hear the praise they whispered for him.  He walked like a man off to battle, and for the most part his gaze remained fixed forward. Whatever he was looking at, Eddmina didn't know, not since his face was hidden under a helm, a hood pulled up over his head. Even so, there was something oddly familiar about him. She supposed she should feel a little scared of him, since he was so effortlessly unnerving even to those among them who clearly adored him, but there was something in her that told her not to be scared, told her that the man approaching was someone she could trust regardless.

"Eddie..." Arya began, gripping her hand tightly, sounding concerned once more. Eddmina couldn't tear her eyes away from the approaching figure, even to look at her sister. When Arya realised that, she turned to the two leaders of the Brotherhood. "This isn't fair, you're ambushing her with this. Send everyone else away, she should meet him alone!"

"Bit late for that!" the Hound barked another laugh from the side of the hall he had moved to, though stalked back over to Arya, towering over to her as he shot a sneer to Eddmina. "You haven't told her, have you? You fucking idiot girl."

"I didn't think... I thought we would have more time, she..." Arya argued, though kept drifting off to shoot nervous looks at Eddmina, who barely noticed in favour of watching the approaching man, the one they called the Golden Stranger. "I was going to tell her once we were done with the Freys, I didn't think you'd all be here so soon. She doesn't know about either of them."

"Well she's going to fucking know about one of them now, isn't she?" the Hound stated bluntly.

Eddmina barely heard how her sister swore and cursed at him, because the Golden Stranger stood before her, holding a sack in his left hand and a sword encrusted with two emeralds in his right. He sheathed the sword without looking, before grasping the sack and tipping it over, emptying it's contents for all to see; a severed head. Eddmina forced herself to look, and forced herself not to scream when she realised it was Jaime Lannister's.

Was she a widow? Did she care? It turned out that she did care, because she dropped her dagger to instead hold her hand in front of her mouth, suffocating a sob. Another pain wracked through her belly, but she made herself stay upright and act as if she felt nothing. For once she hoped the men would see her horror as a womanly weakness and a dislike of blood and violence, because she didn't know what she would do if they realised the truth that she was truly hurt to see her husband dead. Her farce husband from an unconsumated wedding, a man that had been her enemy, but a man who had instead been a strange sort of friend. A knight who had fallen from grace yet so desperately still wanted to be good. A man who did unspeakable things for love. She should have hated him, but part of her respected him, and a strange part of her liked him. The tears that escaped were involuntary and made her hate herself.

She allowed herself that moment of strange grief, staring down into Jaime's unstaring eyes that had so often regarded her with an odd respect mixed with the desire for mischief. He'd so often seen their conversations as a game, prodding at her to see how long it would take for her to snap at him, and she hadn't realised that she had also seen their talks as sport too. He had been someone who didn't have to like her, didn't have to respect her, and would always tell her the truth no matter how blunt or crass. She hadn't realised he had become a friend, even if it was a friend she could barely trust. Through trauma and situation, they had bonded together, and seeing him dead, knowing the sport was over, knowing she had lost an unexpected protector, Eddmina allowed herself to feel the loss, not caring that the Brotherhood saw her tears.

Had they expected her to celebrate? Expected her to smile or cheer? They would get none of that from her, not for Jaime Lannister, not for the man she knew could be good, the man she knew was bettering himself and would no longer have that chance.

"Your grace," a voice called, gruff and tired, yet a southern tinge to the words that made her gaze snap upwards from the head of her husband. It was the man stood in front of her, the Golden Stranger, the man every fiber of her being was telling her to trust. "It's good to see you. I thought you were dead."

"Did you kill him?" she asked bluntly, ignoring how his voice had almost shook at the last part he'd spoken.

"I did," he nodded once. "I went after Lord Tywin too, but he got away from me. I trust the northerners will see to him. I wanted to get him myself, but once I heard you were here, that you were alive... I thought it more important to get to you."

He dropped to his knees then, just as the Brotherhood leaders had done, just as her uncle had. Eddmina hated it, but felt nothing. His voice was too much of a distraction, knowing exactly who had that sort of accent, who had that sort of build and stance, who owned that two-emerald sword. She gestured for him to stand, and he did so, if not a little shakily, as if he had become uncertain and nervous but was trying to hide it. She wanted to ask him to remove his helmet and hood, but couldn't find the words, clenching her jaw and trying her best to stay on her feet when her back ached again. It was as if he read the command on her though, because with bloodied hands he moved the hood away, and took the helmet away from his face.

The first time they had met, he had winked at her and smirked. He tried to smirk then, but there was no chance of him winking, not since that eye was missing and had been stitched closed. Eddmina wanted to scream again, but as she took in a deep breath to tell him how he shouldn't have been stood there she felt the world spin. She wanted to scream at him that she had seen him die, that she had wept over him and mourned him, that she had thought her husband had hated her because of his death, but the words didn't come as she found her vision overcome with black spots, slipping into a black abyss.

She heard Arya scream her name, but the last thing she recalled was Garlan Tyrell darting to catch her as she fainted.

***

Whatever bed Eddmina was lying upon, it was cold, and felt far too big.

That was the first thing she realised when rousing awake. The second thing she felt was the searing ache across her lower belly, the tight cramping that was too familiar yet felt like a distant memory. Her head was aching too much to pay any attention to any of that though, as well as the overwhelming urge to sit up and get out of bed, suddenly aware of unfamiliar surroundings. The fear that she was somewhere she didn't know was so overwhelming it made her eyes fly open, and she flung the sheets of the bed away as if the cotton was stinging nettles. Getting out of bed was not as easy, however, not as another cramp forced her back down and the sudden movement and surge of pain had her breathless and letting out a slight groan.

In an instant a figure appeared at her bedside, grabbing her hand and easing her back down into the bed, and Eddmina wanted to feel scared of being touched and angry at being forced to do something, but then she saw Arya's concern and her mood quickly shifted. Arya held her hand, whispering a quick reassurance to her, and Eddmina was only more than happy to lie back down when her back ached again, and she didn't protest to Arya pulling the sheets back over her. She realised she should feel ashamed or embarrassed at being looked after and coddled, but she was too tired and too on-the-knife's-edge to feel anything other than relief at seeing the familiar face of her sister, the person she had destroyed a House full of enemies with.

"You're alright, I promise, you're alright," Arya told her hushedly, so unlike the fierce girl who stood and watched as poisoned Freys died.

"But..." Eddmina began, her last few memories rushing back to her like a tidal wave, filled with so many questions that the words she was so desperate to speak practically choked her. "What... Where are we?"

"Still in Riverrun," Arya answered simply, until Eddmina's stare became impatient. "Sorry. After you... well, Garlan caught you from falling, then he carried you here. I thought you wouldn't want to go back to the tower, and he thought you wouldn't want to go to your old rooms, so he brought you to the old lord's chambers."

Eddmina's head swam with even more questions to the point she felt her temper theatening to boil. Why the Lord's chambers - where she had sat at her grandfather's bedside and watched him die? Surely her Uncle Edmure was occupying the Lord's chambers as he recovered? Why would Garlan think she wouldn't want her old rooms? Why did it feel like everything was a huge secret? Why did it feel like so much was being hidden, and so much was so confusing? Why was Garlan Tyrell carrying her anywhere when he was supposed to be dead? Arya noticed that, and sighed, squeezing her hand.

"I fled the Red Keep when the King died and hid from the Lannisters out in the city," Arya told her, deciding to start her tale from the very beginning. Eddmina sighed, grateful. "I was there in the crowd when they... when Father... I didn't see what happened though, a man called Yoren saw me and recognised me. He was from the Night's Watch and stole me away. He cut my hair and disguised me as a boy so I could travel with him north, and he planned to hand me over either to you and Robb at your camp or take me home to Winterfell. I wanted him to take me to Castle Black so I could see Jon, but it doesn't matter, because the Lannisters killed him before we had the chance to make it all the way.
"We were taken to Harrenhal, where the Mountain was torturing prisoners for information. Tywin Lannister put a stop to that though when he arrived, and he took me into his service as his cupbearer. He didn't know who I was so he spoke quite a lot in front of me. He used to talk about Robb a lot, and you. He didn't like either of you, obviously, but I think he respected you too, and was a bit afraid. I had to hide from him a lot so he couldn't see me grinning when he cursed your names. While I was in Harrenhal I made friends with a man called Jaqen Hagar. He said he owed me a debt for saving his life so he promised to kill three men for me. I didn't think that was particularly fair, him doing the killing for me-"

"The man who passes the sentence should always swing the sword," Eddmina cut in, her voice tried as she managed a small laugh when her sister nodded. "Father would like that. Not his little girl wanting to kill people, obviously, but you holding that code."

"That was what I thought," Arya continued. "So instead I had him train me. He was from Braavos so I thought he would be like Syrio, my old dancing teacher who taught me how to use Needle my sword, but... I didn't realise the Faceless Men were real. I thought they were just something Old Nan came up with to scare us. Well, they are real, and Jaqen is one. Was. I don't know if he's still alive, he disappeared from the keep, but not before training me. He taught me how to take a face, how to change my face, how to kill. He made me an assassin, and offered to take me back to Braavos with him where I could work and... He talked a lot about becoming 'No One'. Faceless Men are no one, they only exist through the faces they take, they have no lives of their own, and I... I told him that I was Arya Stark, and I wanted to find my family, but not before I'd helped you and Robb. I went to kill Lord Tywin, but the night I planned to do it he'd left, and the next day Roose Bolton was in charge.

"I know father never trusted him, but I thought... He was northern, he should have been someone I could have trusted, but before I could tell him who I was I overheard him talking. He was saying that his bastard son Ramsay holds Winterfell, that he had Theon Greyjoy as prisoner and Arya Stark was going to marry his son the moment the war was done. I knew it was a lie, I know he had some imposter girl he was pretending to be me, but I thought surely it was a ruse that Robb knew about. That was, until I saw the letters to him from Lord Tywin about the wedding.

"I fled Harrenhal that night with a few of the other boys I could trust, but before we could get anywhere near Riverrun or your camp the Brotherhood captured us. They knew who I was, they kept calling me Princess which annoyed me but they promised to get me home. I thought I could put up with it if it meant getting to you all and saving you, but then the Hound appeared and took me from the Brotherhood to ransom me himself. He said he saved Sansa too?"

"He did," Eddmina nodded, wincing when she remembered the night Sansa had been returned to them. Arya scowled bitterly. "We are not children, Arya. Put aside whatever spat or disagreement you had with Sansa, because the three of us are all that is left."

"She stood next to Joffrey when he had father killed!" Arya snapped, furious. "She watched!"

"She was fourteen!" Eddmina snapped back.

"I'm fourteen now, and I wouldn't have just stood by!" Arya argued, her arms folded across her chest, her face reddened. Eddmina felt like a knife twisted in her chest when she realised just how much time had passed since she'd last been with her littlest sister.

"We cannot all be warriors, nor can we assume what we would do in each other's shoes," Eddmina sighed, trying to be the voice of reason despite the urge to protect Sansa. She squeezed Arya's hand tight, forcing her sister to look at her.

"You killed Roose Bolton, and at least twenty Freys," Arya shot stubbornly, calmer than she had been but her voice still ringing with hurt. "Are you telling me that you wouldn't have tried to put up a fight when they took father's head?"

"I'm telling you that we are all capable of surviving different things, and that Sansa is not your enemy," Eddmina replied, wishing that Sansa was there with them to tell her own tale. "What I did... I remember killing Lord Bolton, but the others I dont remember at all. I remember one of them pinning me down and pinching my nose to try and pour moon tea down my throat, and I remember another one of the Freys trying to sing the Reins of Castamere to me while I was holding a sewing needle, but I don't remember what I did to them. All I know is that they'd taunt me or try and hurt me or threaten to do something to my sons and then..."

Arya must have noticed Eddmina's hands clench into fists, or how she was grimacing while her eyes had glazed over. For a brief moment, Eddmina felt as if she was back in the cells, or back in her tower room, waiting for a Frey to come along and torment her, and it took Arya gripping her hand to remind her that she would never be a prisoner again. When she snapped out of it and met her sister's concerned gaze, she took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"Will you keep telling me your story?" Eddmina asked, knowing her sister was nowhere near done with her tale.

"Well..." Arya began again, trying to recall where she lft off before they had started bickering over Sansa. "Well, like Sandor said, we saw what happened at the Twins, and he wanted to take me to the Vale, but then we heard that apparently Aunt Lysa isn't even there. I told him some woman I've never met would never pay a ransom for me but he disagreed, but in the end he decided trekking all the way to the Vale when she was away wasn't worth it, so we found the Brotherhood again and they promised him whatever riches he wanted for working with them once the Lannisters had been overturned. We didn't realise you were actually alive, I thought they'd killed you with Robb, until we ran into a camp of Lannister soldiers escorting Jaime to the Twins and I overheard them talking about you. I saw they had a group of girls intended to serve you as your handmaidens and I knew I had to sneak in amongst them."

"Did you..." Eddmina tried to ask, but wasn't sure how to phrase it, not wanting to say the horrible words she was thinking. "I don't know how you take faces, but I'm assuming you took the face of one of those girls to become Nan."

"It's not pleasant, but the girl who was once Nan I overheard calling you a mad whore, so..." Arya drifted off with a shrug, not meeting her sister's eye guiltily. "I don't know what father would think."

"He would be glad you are alive," Eddmina assured her quickly, then realised with horror she never offered that sort of reassurance to herself. "I don't think either of us have lived to his moral code, but I don't think he expected any of us to live these lives."

"He would be proud of you," Arya offered with a shrug and a quick but pained smile. Eddmina felt her face burn. "Mother too."

Mother. Their mother, who was alive. Any praise Arya had given went forgotten quickly, and the reminder of what the last Frey had taunted her with before meeting his end made her struggle to sit up further, ignoring the cramps and aches, ignoring how Arya tried to help her. She would have tried to get out of bed again, but Arya held onto her shoulder, keeping her firmly in place.

"Mother, we need to find her, we..." Eddmina began urgently, but caught her sister's expression of guilt and how she didn't meet her eye. Her voice trailed off, recognising the look as the one her sister always wore when secret-keeping. "Arya. Look at me. Did you... did you know?"

Arya didn't look at Eddmina, yet she still nodded. Eddmina couldn't help the involuntary gasp of pain she let out then as another cramp seized her, though it was easily mistaken for a sob, even by her as she quickly moved to cover her face with both hands.

"Who do you think really runs the Brotherhood?" Arya asked quietly, though when Eddmina refused to look at her still, Arya sighed. "I saw a Frey camp one night just after the wedding, not long after we rejoined the Brotherhood. The Freys were talking about what had happened, how funny it was listening to you all screaming, so I set upon them, wanting to kill them all for laughing. I got three of them, but another one had me cornered and would have killed me, if not for someone coming up from behind with a rock and hitting him over the head repeatedly. I didn't even realise they had a prisoner with them, and I didn't know it was her at first... Edd, are you alright?"

Silent tears poured down Eddmina's cheeks as she shook her head. Five months of imprisonment had left her with very little grip on what was happening in the world, but the few things she had known seemed to be constantly probed as false too. Her mother alive, her sister alive, and Ser Garlan... Eddmina felt as if she couldn't breathe.

"She isn't like how she was," Arya stated after Eddmina was unable to answer, though her sister thought it was a stupid statement; how could anyone witness what had happened and remain the same? "Eddie, she... she is different with me than with all the others but, she's cold, and cruel, and I don't think I've seen her pray at least once in the whole time we've been together. When we found out what was happening with you and Ser Jaime, she wasn't relieved you were alive, or upset you were being used as some sort of pawn, she was just... angry. At the Lannisters, the Freys, the world... you. She didn't command the Brothers to attack or try to rescue you, she just demanded that they continue on with their raids and kill any Lannister soldiers or any man connected to the wedding that they could get their hands on."

Eddmina barely heard Arya's words. All she paid attention to was the fact her mother was alive, and commanding a force that had wreaked havoc in the Riverlands. Her mother was alive, her mother had survived, and had managed to break free and regain some sort of power, some sort of control over her life. Her mother had survived, set herself free, and had enjoyed the respect of men who wanted vengeance for what had happened to her. Meanwhile Eddmina had remained in the Twins, locked away like an animal, haunted and grief stricken, taunted to the very edge of her sanity, only to find freedom after being used as a pawn in someone else's game for power. Her mother was alive, Garlan too, two of the people she had wept for, somehow they had survived and found their freedoms, yet never once had they come looking for her. No one had come looking for her.

"I rot alone, while the lot of you march around the Riverlands," Eddmina managed to breathe out, each word feeling like a dagger twisting in her. "Where is she? Does she know I'm here, is she here too?"

Despite it all, Eddmina longed to see her mother, and felt a little of her despair slide away upon Arya's slow nod. Only a little though, because Arya didn't seem herself. The girl who'd barged into her room brandishing a sword to encourage her to massacre an entire house with her looked to be gone, because that girl that been confident and assured, while the version of Arya who sat at her side then was nothing but uncomfortable. It was as if she knew she needed to say something, knew what she needed to say, but couldn't bring herself to say it. Eddmina knew her sister well enough, and even if denial gripped her like an iron vice, she had suffered enough horrors and knew her sister well enough to gather what Arya was too afraid to say; their mother was within Riverrun, or at least nearby, but did not care to see her.

It stung, but Eddmina tried not to let it show, especially when a knock came at the chamber door. Without waiting for her to bid them entry, the door opened, and hesitating in the doorway was Garlan. Out of instinct Eddmina sat up straighter, moving away from him as far as she could. By the way his face grimaced, she could tell he knew what she was doing. She had to force herself to look at him, finding the act of taking him in burningly uncomfortable, but she did it anyway, and hated what she saw.

The Garlan she had adored as a brother had been big and broad, shorter than her first husband by a head but bulkier than their lean youngest brother. His hair was darker than his siblings, and while his brothers had tighter curls both garlan and his sister instead wore their hair in looser waves. What she had assumed was once baby fat had toned into muscle, and she'd watched him work tirelessly at the art of sword fighting so she knew his physique was one he'd crafted over years and years of exhausting work. His strength was undeniable, given how many times he'd carried her or hugged her tightly, but out of everything about Garlan, she had adored his kindness. He'd taken her into his family with ease as if she had always been there. He'd always thrown a caring smile her way, always had a joke to spice up any conversation no matter how serious. He'd winked a great deal too, at her and his siblings after jokes, and at his wife after attempts of flirts. He had rolled his eyes at his family's show of wealth yet enjoyed it all the same, constantly dressed finely, always in green and gold, and always with two roses.

He had been a man entirely at ease with himself, completely sure in his own skin. It was obvious that the man stood in the doorway was greatly changed. He looked thinner, his face more drawn and tired, as if he had not known rest for a long time. Fine clothes had been replaced with a ragged shirt and trouser combination paired with battered armour that was clearly not his and instead picked off several other men, and none of it fit him at all well. His once wavy hair fell flat and limp as if it hadn't been washed for months, and as well as being thinner than before there were also several streaks of grey marking it. He held himself like he was in pain, like he was fighting to stay upright despite injury, wearing a scowl mixed with a grimace as he glared at the floor with his one remaining eye. She assumed it was from the injuries he'd sustained during the wedding, though the worst injury - the one that she thought had cost him his life - was hidden beneath a sash of cotton tied over his right eye and across his face in a makeshift eyepatch.

When he dared look up at her, he forced a smile the way he had done back in the hall, but it was obvious that both of them were incredibly on edge, neither of them knowing how to act or what to say. That was when Eddmina noticed the gash on his collar bone, his skin peaking out through a tear in his clothes. Even in the dim candlelight, Eddmina could see the shine of his blood.

"You're bleeding," she breathed out, half-expecting him to faint.

"Oh," Garlan replied simply with a shrug, glancing down at the cut, dabbing his finger to it and looking at the blood. He barely shrugged, drying his finger off on his already filthy trousers. "Are you well?"

"Am I fucking well?" She frowned, her voice sounding breathless. Arya stood up, but Eddmina held onto her tightly. "I have mourned the pair of you, mourned my mother, and now you're all here as if nothing has happened?"

"A bit more than nothing has happened, Edda," Garlan snapped, before he bowed his head. "Apologies. My Lady, your grace."

"You were dead," she said curtly, hating it when he nodded in agreement. "You held my hand and told me we would get out of there, then they took you from me. You told me we would get home to Will and Leon-"

"Don't," he warned, recoiling at the names of his brother and his wife. "It hurt. It was cold. Then I woke up, except only one eye opened and the world it saw was vastly different. If I could have stayed, I would."

"Are you going to talk fucking sense?" She snapped again, sick of vagueness, wishing he would talk as openly as Arya had done.

"What would you like for me to tell you? That they killed me and my last thought was that I'd never see home again? That they tossed my body out into the rain to rot and if not for the Brotherhood finding me and recognising me I would have stayed rotting?" He seethed, storming into the room and stopping at the foot of the bed, carefully keeping his distance. "Do you want me to tell you that whatever spells or magic they used to bring me back hurt almost as much as dying, and that they hadn't stitched my eye up while I was dead so I had that pain to endure too? Do you want me to tell you how I was raised to believe in the Seven and now I know it's fucking pointless because there's no heavens and no hells? That they cheered and called me the Gallant Returned but I told them all to get fucked because I'd never felt less gallant in my life and the man who'd first called me that would surely hate me for not protecting his wife? That I finally let them call me the Golden Stranger because I'd actually met the Stranger and I desperately wanted to feel like someone else, and desperately needed to kill Freys and Lannisters just to feel something? Do you want me to tell you that the minute I learnt you weren't actually dead but were instead here as a Lannister prisoner I fought to try and get to you as soon as possible but was instead forced to go and hunt down Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime, and while I got one of them it will haunt me losing the trail for the other? Do you want to know how fucking miserable I am?"

"Yes," Eddmina nodded, her throat tightened as she tried not to cry.

Arya's best attempts were overthrown as Eddmina quickly leapt from the bed and threw herself at Garlan. Despite seeming a shadow of himself his embrace was still just as strong, and though it took a moment for him to hug her back it felt just as safe as it always did. She buried her face into his chest, barely grimacing at the fact he hadn't washed in weeks because it simply didn't matter; she would rather have him pungent and dirty than not at all. When his hands moved to hold her arms she realised just how cold he was, but again, she didn't care. He was different, he was changed, but he was still Garlan, and it was better than not having him at all.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice no longer pained and angry, changed to remorse and grief. "Eddmina, I am so, so sorry. I thought they had killed you. I failed you-"

"You did nothing of the sort," she shook her head quickly, pulling away so she could make eye contact just so he knew how serious she was. "You kept me safe, you shielded me, it was me who failed you."

"I thought we'd both died that night," he confessed. "Perhaps we both did, parts of us at least. When I heard you were alive, married to the Kingslayer..."

Eddmina cut him off then with an involuntary groan of pain, withering into his grip as her stomach shot with a sharp, stabbing ache. Arya, who had previously been rearranging pillows on the bed to give them both their moment, shot straight to her side, wrapping both hands around her arm in an attempt to pull her back to bed. Garlan was holding her too tight, however, looking her up and down until his eye landed on her swollen belly.

"I cannot believe they let you remain with child," he breathed out in despairing relief.

"They didn't have much of a choice," she told him, her hand gripping his arm tightly as she screwed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth through another wave of pain.

"Fierce mother wolf," he laughed, but the noise died when he saw how tense she was. "I think perhaps we ought to get the maester here to you."

Eddmina wanted to protest, going as far as opening her mouth go voice her distaste in summoning Vyman, who must surely be working on healing her uncle Edmure's injuries, or tending to one of the men of the Brotherhood. None of those words came out, both in place of another short grunt of pain as she swayed into his arms and he caught her from falling or the second time that day. Garlan carried her back to bed but not before telling Arya to fetch Maester Vyman, and to find their mother. She tried to focus on him, on the feel of his cold hands holding her, or the way his smile was almost like normal when he looked at Arya, desperate not to confront the reality that awaited. Once he had her laid back down, he stood and looked as if he wanted to leave, until she reached for his hand, taking it with both of hers. For the first time in months, for the first time since witnessing the deaths of her loved ones, Eddmina felt terrified.

"Don't leave me," she begged, tears threatening to come again. "I don't want to be alone, not for this."

"I'm right here, your grace," he told her, his voice soft as he knelt at her bedside. "Or should I say, sister?"

***
Word count: 12171
***

Authors note:
Did you really think I was going to leave my favourite character for dead? Welcome back Garlan xoxo