It was tradition after a wedding in the godswood for the groom to carry the bride back to their celebrations, but given that Jaime was still getting used to only having one hand and Eddmina was larger and heavier than usual, the idea was scrapped. As was any notion of celebration, which Eddmina was grateful for. A celebration would have meant going in the hall, and she was more than happy to avoid that place, since even walking past it put her on edge. Instead, Lord Tywin nodded to his guards, and they surrounded both herself and her new husband to escort them back to the keep. It was then that she realised Lord Tywin expected trouble not just from her but from his son, who's jaw was tight and eyes dark, and despite having his arm looped through hers, looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else.

That look stayed when his father had them sit across from him at the table in the same meeting room that he had given her the conditions she needed to agree to survive. The room was just as cold, felt just as hostile, yet as Jaime helped her into a seat, she felt more suffocated than she had before. She didn't know if his presence at her side in the seat next to her was a help or a hindrance, because she still received a cold glare from his father, and it made her feel trapped between two Lannisters, surrounded by enemies, and it forced her to accept the fact she was not only a prisoner but now one of them. She steeled herself off, forced hereself to remember the dark courage that had driven her to murder countless times just to protect herself and her babe, and though her hands were bound and her murderous bravery was often bouts of madness, she managed to muster enough strength to stare Tywin Lannister directly in the eye, unflinching.

"I suppose you will be wondering what happens now," he addressed them both. Jaime grunted and shrugged indifferently, hinting at how betrayed he felt that his father had forced him into such a position. That made his father clench his own jaw. "I have given you the north, boy, you might think of showing a little more gratitude."

"Yes, thank you, I am so grateful," Jaime muttered bitterly. Eddmina glared up at the ceiling, wishing she was not caught between the father-son moment, having been trapped in so many before with her last husband. "If you wanted the north so badly you should have wed her yourself."

"Perhaps I considered it, until I decided it was you who needed a marriage more to put to bed the ugly rumours this war was founded on," Tywin told his son shortly, and at the prospect of saying vows with the man himself, Eddmina felt her skin itch, and knew she was lucky. "You're married to Eddmina Stark, and you'll be happy about it. You'll have children that bare the Lannister name and will rule the north and the west, and you'll show all those who dared lie about you and your sister that they were wrong. You're a Lannister, and my heir, it's about time you start acting like it. If I catch word of you wasting this opportunity or shirking your duties, I will dissolve this marriage, disown you, and wed the girl myself. What would you do then, without your family? I doubt a one-handed man would do well at the wall."

"The head blacksmith at Castle Black only has one arm," Eddmina told him bluntly, earning a small amused snort from Jaime and a glare from Tywin, neither man knowing how her heart ached at the thought of Jon. To distract herself, she edged closer to Jaime, forcing a smile. "We will not waste this opportunity, I swear it."

"Good, you're going to have your part to play as well," Tywin nodded at her. "I saved you the shame of a feast and bedding ceremony, Lord Walder was keen for both but I kept him at bay for that. Lannisters don't face such farces."

"Thank you," Eddmina breathed out, not having to act or pretend her gratitude.

"Tomorrow you will face the remaining northerners, tell them how content you are, how sorry for rebelling you are, make them believe it," he instructed her, and she immediately sensed the threat to his tone. "The Freys have been kind enough to let you stay here until after you are fit to travel-"

"I'm not staying here!" She interrupted, outraged. "Anything else I will do, I'll do absolutely everything you wish, but I won't give birth here."

It had been a thought haunting over her, of what she would do when her time came. The first time had been hard enough, surrounded by people she thought cared for her and trained professionals. If Willas was to be believed then she had nearly lost too much blood, but she doubted she could believe him or anyone anymore. Even with the betrayal of trust, she had forced herself to ignore what was inevitable just out of pure fear. She doubted the Freys would send their maester to her, doubted they would offer any sort of help, and so she'd resigned herself to birthing alone in her tower cell, in pain, scared, and most likely about to die.

She'd not considered a life after the birth, not considered what would happen if she survived, but the upon her new marriage she was gifted new options. She'd not considered ever leaving the Twins, but upon being forced into being a Lannister, she knew she had leverage she could use to her advantage, and she had a way out. She refused to waste the opportunity.

"I will not have our babe be born surrounded by ghosts and monsters," she declared, much to Tywin's annoyance.

The memory of how happy she had once felt at being pregnant was so distant and faded it felt like imagining another person's life. Joy felt impossible for her, yet she knew she had once felt it, and it had overtaken her when finding out about her condition. She was meant to be happy, having the baby was meant to be a good thing, yet one thought of the babe taking its first breaths in the keep where so many of its family had taken their last struck sorrow and fear in her like nothing else. She still heard the screams of her dying friends in the dead of the night, the cries of pain and betrayals of the victims of murder, and she was expected to hear the first cries of her child in the within same walls? She hadn't felt nerves for a while, hadn't experienced breathless fear for months since all her emotions were replaced with searing hatred and sorrow, but the fate that awaited her in a few months time came close to throwing her off the edge.

If Tywin Lannister knew that then he didn't show it, nor did he care. Good. Eddmina didn't want his care or compassion; she wanted his head.

"You may not have a choice," he declared with finality, ripping away any last shred agency she had for herself, and she knew with that her life was really in his hands.

"Yes she does," Jaime defended, much to both of their surprise. "We may not make a full journey to the north, but we could make it to Riverrun. Considering the Blackfish only surrendered me and not the castle and himself, don't you think if he saw his niece on our side would spur him on to give in to the siege?"

That was the first she'd heard of her Uncle, and for a moment Eddmina wanted to feel relief, until the rest of what Jaime had said registered with her. Brynden was still alive, Riverrun was still his, but not for long, and they intended on using her for that. Using her as a pawn to manipulate her uncle disgusted her, but Eddmina was cold to the horrors and lengths the Lannisters would go to. At least if they did that then she would get to see her Uncle again, possibly even help him keep his life, maybe even have him by her side to have the baby so she didn't have to be alone. It was a fantasy and she knew it, but it was a far more comforting thought than having to remain in the Twins for another two months.

"I'm pleased to see you taking an interest in the politics of this," Lord Tywin told Jaime, sounding truthful. He glanced at Eddmina then, cold once more. "You are to tell the men helping your Uncle in this farce that they should surrender and accept the Freys as their new lieges. You'll talk all the remaining Tully bannermen into accepting it. You look enough like your mother for them to see you as a Tully and accept your word."

Eddmina ignored the searing ache in her chest as he drew comparison to her mother. She'd once hated such things, longed to be compared to her father and not her mother, but after everything, after the suffocating, devastating guilt she felt over not knowing the end her mother met, she longed for anything that made her feel closer to the woman who'd given her life. Grudges and grievances seemed so foolish upon losing her, and Eddmina had to fight to stay stoic and not scream at how much she wished her mother was with her.

Her mother would think her decisions disgraceful, her mother would think that she was a dishonourable coward. She had taught her to be a lady and to be honourable and good, yet there she sat, between two Lannisters after swearing her hand to one and bending to the will of the other, her hands bound together to stop herself killing anymore people. Wondering what her mother would say about all of that was almost as agonising as wondering what had happened to her.

"I'll do it," Eddmina said quickly, because speaking drowned out the screaming in her mind. "After Riverrun, what will happen?"

"There's no need for you to know that far ahead," he dismissed her quickly, and her face burnt with anger as she struggled to accept her role as prisoner. "The pair of you should go and enjoy your wedding night in privacy now. Go. We'll speak more tomorrow."

A wedding night? Gods, even without feasts and ceremonies, even with being with child, he still expected them to follow traditions and have a wedding night? It shouldn't have made her nervous, it shouldn't have made her heart race in fear, but there she was, stunned to silence and frozen in place, unable to move as she realised what her mind had refused to comprehend. She was wed to Jaime by law, and it was expected for her to make it official. She'd not once considered a wedding night, or any other night afterwards, even when Tywin had given his demand for sons. Somehow, her mind had refused for her to consider it almost as a form of protection, but it had backfired dramatically, because she was suddenly having to hum to herself under her breath to stop herself spiralling into a panic.

'I don't want him to touch me,' she thought, but it was her who offered her arm for Jaime to take once he'd helped her to her feet, and the way he grimaced told her he was thinking the same.

The guards who had escorted them to Lord Tywin's makeshift office surrounded them once more, and Eddmina expected them to lead her back to her tower cell. She wanted them to, craving the familiarity of the room that was practically her cage, but rather than lead them up spiralling stairs and down narrow corridors, they were led to a room just down the hall, four guards already waiting outside the door. They were closer to Lord Tywin that way, closer for him to control and keep an eye on, yet far enough away for him to not hear anything.

Eddmina was grateful that the guards did not follow them into the room, especially when she caught herself gazing at it as if it was the height of luxury. Compared to where she had spent the last few months it was, but it was still in the Twins, and so much smaller than the rooms of Winterfell, and much more basic than any room in Highgarden. Eddmina shook her head and screwed her eyes shut, desperate to rid the thought of her last two homes from her mind, knowing the safety she had felt in both could not help her anymore. Nowhere was safe anymore. That seemed to echo around her skull when she heard the guards mutter about her being a cruel creature as they stepped outside and locked them both in.

"How does it feel being prisoner to your father this time around?" she asked coldly, unable to help herself as bitterness seized what was left of her heart.

That was the first time she looked at him properly. He looked healthier than he had done in months, yet there was still an emptiness to him that hollowed him out. His gaze did not linger on her for long, and she wondered if she disgusted him, or if he was scared of her too. Somehow, that didn't empower her as she expected, the way she usually managed to feel when she noticed Freys looking at her warily. He was her husband no matter how much she hated her situation, and she was not used to disgusting a husband.

Perhaps she should have been used to it. She had disgusted Willas enough for him to set her aside. She had disgusted Theon enough for him to steal her home and kill her brothers. It was not just lovers either, because many men had hated her or threatened her. Had any man ever regarded her with love or any other affection that was not lies to further themselves?

At least Jaime disgusted her too, or he was meant to. He was the man who tried to kill her little brother, sent assassins after her and her unborn child, ambushed and killed her father's men. She was meant to hate him, meant to be repulsed by him, yet when he took her by surprise by taking hold of her hands and working the knotted rope away from her wrists, she did not do what she expected. She should have wrapped her hands around his throat, choked the life out of him as she reminded him of all he had done to wrong her. She shouldn't have stared at him with her mouth fallen open, only to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him close, close as only a husband and wife should be.

She had sworn herself to him in front of her gods, so what she did was no sin or surprise. She had cursed herself to her gods to be wed to that man, and so she could only think to silence the screams in her mind for betraying her roots and her morals by committing further. Jaime Lannister was her husband, whether she liked it or not. She didn't care for herself, but for her child, and if being his wife was how she kept them safe then she felt nothing as she pushed her lips to his. Perhaps the kiss would solidify something in her mind, confirm to her that he was who she was bound to spend the rest of her existence with, or perhaps it would replace the memories of other men that made her skin burn.

Theon had been a desperate kisser, always chasing more, always seeking to be dominant and take charge. Willas had been careful and considerate, until they had gotten comfortable with each other and everything they did became a partnership, even their affections. With Jaime, she knew she had to lead, otherwise he would hesitate in silence around her forever. She wondered if he'd ever thought that they would end up this way, and she wondered if she'd ever considered the possibility of kissing Jaime Lannister, let alone marry him. Willas had thought it possible, had questioned her fidelity, and she felt spiteful pleasure in proving him right, seeing it as revenge to cash in on his insecurity if it meant saving her life. Many would think her a whore for having kissed multiple men, as well as comparing them and the experiences, but Eddmina knew there were far worse things about her than the fact she had given her affections out, even if that had often been her downfall.

"What are you doing?" Jaime asked as he pulled away, though he had hesitated in the kiss longer than he would have done had he been uncomfortable. He was gripping her shoulder with his hand with a protective hold that she thought unusual for enemies.

"I... I don't know," she told him, suddenly unsure as to why she had kissed him. "We're married. It's expected of us."

"Married in name only," he told her, though he did not let go of her. "We aren't doing anything, we don't like each other, let alone love each other."

Perhaps it was the pressure of it all that made her temper snap. There she was, forced into a marriage to preserve what little she had left, forced to wed an enemy in front of her father's gods, disgracing herself and the memory of all her loved ones, while he seemed reluctant and aloof, refusing her after the vows were sworn. Was he truly so blind to her situation, did he truly care so little to not see how her existence and her child's life rested on being wed to him? She wanted safety, wanted an escape, yet all he did was turn a blind eye.

"Am I not blonde enough?" she snarled, guarding her pride and heart with a fierceness that had developed from months of having to protect herself. Jaime rolled his eyes at her. "We're married. Our lives rely on us being married. Forgive me for wanting to ensure my safety."

Jaime looked her up and down, still holding her. When his eyes met hers, his hand drifted unsteadily and unsurely from her shoulder to hold her face, his hand holding her cheek. He hesitated, before his thumb gently stroked over the scar that marked her cheek, the one given to her by a Lannister. It made her want to squirm, not because she was having to tell herself to trust him as her husband, but because her last husband used to do the same, sometimes kissing the mark to tell her she was beautiful. It used to make her stomach swirl with butterflies, but the memory made her gut twist in bitter hatred. How had she allowed herself to be tricked and sweet-talked so easily? No one could be trusted enough for such closeness, and so she stepped back, taking Jaime by surprise as he held his hand out in front of her in a gesutre of surrender.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, a mixture of catuious and hurt.

"What are you talking about?" She snapped defensively, wrapping her arms around herself.

"You were not like this in camp, you would have rather thrown yourself out of a tower window than marry me," he pointed out.

"You'd know all about tower windows," she let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob, which made her face burn red in shame.

"I am trying to understand you here," he snapped himself, before recovering, remembering all the times she'd threatened violence against him in the camp when the roles had been reversed. "I shouldn't have, call it madness of imprisonment, but I used to think we were friends. Foolish, I know, we are enemies, we should want to kill each other if given the chance."

"You're my husband," she reminded him venomously, though neither knew if her disgust was at that situation, him, herself, or the world.

"I am not though, am I?" He said, and it felt like a searing hot dagger to the gut for her. "One moment I am your prisoner and you despise me, now you're my wife and you despise me yet you're also trying to bed me?"

"Funny, isn't it, how times change," she shrugged, though neither of them laughed.

Jaime sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he collected his thoughts. Were she fully sane and aware of herself, she might have wondered how he felt. To have spent a year as a prisoner rotting, to have been mutilated and abused, to be surrendered by his only remaining captor to his father but instead of being cherished and appreciated by his father who'd waged war for him, he was marched down the aisle to set aside vows of Kingsguard duties and swear a few more to marry his enemy. What a horrible twist of events, but Eddmina couldn't see it. All she could see was her own pain, and how the man she had sworn herself to was as cruel as the first and as difficult to understand as the second.

He tried to reach out to her again, but whether he intended to touch her shoulder or her face she didn't know. Either way she jerked back, unsure of whether she was scared or hated him so much she wanted to get away, yet hating how in the back of her mind she knew they were newlyweds meant to be doing something else. To say she had kissed him sounded foolish, because where she had tried to force desire she felt nothing but a brewing storm.

"What did they do to you?" He asked, trying to be gentle but fuelling her fury. "What happened to you?"

It was against her will, but her mind threw back to the wedding, to the night her life was torn to shreds. One little question had her forget all strength as she flinched, recalling the knife on her throat and how cold it was, yet how little she cared for it being there compared to everything else that she had endured that night. For a brief moment she remembered enough anger, recalling how Lord Walder had laughed and watched the sport unfold, and that anger had to be directed at no one but Jaime for his pure stupidity. Surely he knew what had happened, surely he knew what his father had ordered to be done to her family? Surely he knew of the betrayals, of the murders, of how she would never feel alive anymore, how she was a mere shell with almost everything she cared about torn away, her life demoted to nothing but existence as she struggled to keep her babe safe against all the odds?

"Watching everyone you love die will do that to you," she snapped, frustrated that he wouldn't assume that rather than asking. "Try holding your twin's hand as they die and stay sane. Try having multiple people fight to save you only to perish themslves in awful ways. Try hearing someone scream for you and beg for your life only to have their pleads be granted with this imprisonment. It is not easy."

Jaime winced, but Eddmina was too deep in grief to notice. The ghosts were surrounding her, her vision was nothing but the faces of her losses, her ears were echoing with her mother's screams. It was so encompassing that she didn't realise she was shaking, nor did she notice that she'd started humming to herself in desperation to drown out the screams in her head. Until she felt his hand wrap around one of hers she didn't notice how she had balled her fists against her ears to stop herself hearing the screams, but at his touch she darted away, no longer bold and courageous as she had been when kissing him. He'd asked her what happened, and carelessly she'd told him, unknowing that it would throw her right back into the wedding. She could smell blood, she could feel Garlan's hand in hers, she could see Dacey trying to say her name, she could hear her mother begging for her life.

It made her burn, and without knowing it she had backed herself into the corner of the room, kneeling on the floor and curling into herself, desperate to hide while at the same time feeling an itch in her hands. It was like she could feel blood burning into her, the blood of her loved ones, the blood of those she'd killed. All she could hear was her mother's screams, and not her own as she relived it all against her will.

"What of Ser- Lord Will-" Jaime asked as he dared get close enough, but stopped himself when she shook her head furiously.

She wasn't sure if she explained the situation to him, or if she screamed abuse at how her first husband was a traitor. Either way, red hot tears poured down her cheeks, and she kept her hands in fists and wrapped around her stomach, scared as to what her mad rage would drive her to do, especially with Jaime so close.

She didn't want to hurt anyone, she didn't want to be a monster caught in the memories of the past. She didn't want to be a mad woman suffocated by grief. She wanted to be at home, with a man who she thought had loved her at her side, with their sons, surrounded by people she thought loved her. All of them safe, all of them healthy, all of them whole. None of it was possible though, and without knowing it she was screaming curses.

"Damn Joffrey Baratheon, damn Roose Bolton, damn Walder Frey, damn Tywin Lannister," she chanted, even when Jaime knelt at her side. "Damn Willas Tyrell, damn Willas Tyrell, damn him, the traitor, damn him, I love him, damn him, I hate him."

If the world was making sense to her she would have been embarrassed at the outburst, and she would have felt pathetic at how she had broken, yet her mind and reality were not hand-in-hand. It was as if she had finally pushed herself to a limit and had descended into not simply murderous madness but complete madness. She hated it, she hated herself, but found herself doing nothing when Jaime wrapped his arms around her in an attempt of comfort. He held her close with his grip tight, and when she felt his lips graze her hairline she didn't protest, even when she knew how much she didn't want him to touch her.

It could have taken hours to calm her for all she knew, but to her it felt simply like waking up from a bad dream, the dark cloud passing as she blinked and it all went forgotten. She remembered a dull ache of pain, felt her chest hurt from the crying and screaming, but her mind refused to touch the memories that had thrown her to the abyss, as well as the memory as to why she had allowed her new husband to touch her. All she knew was that he was holding her, and despite who he was, for the first time in months she felt as if someone was on her side keeping her safe.

"I am sorry, Princess, truly sorry," he told her sincerely, and she knew he meant everything, especially her grief and abandonment. "I am so sorry."

"I thought he loved me," she whispered against her will, wishing she'd kept enough fury to keep her guard up rather than weeping it all out. "I thought someone would save me."

"Instead you've had to save yourself, that's very you," he shrugged, as if it was simple and easy. "It will not be so bad when we are out of here, when we're away from the Freys and my father."

"I don't want any Freys near me," she told him, grimacing, hardly noticing how she curled into him until she moved her hand to stroke over where her baby had kicked in her belly. "I don't want the Freys near him."

"They won't hurt you again," he promised, and despite exhaustion and feeling dazed, Eddmina laughed.

"It's me that hurts them," she told him like a confession. "Is this what it feels like to be a monster?"

"I suppose so," Jaime nodded, sounding as dazed as she felt. "What a pair we make, wife."

***

It had not been comfortable, but both of them had fallen asleep like that, wrapped in each other's cocooning embraces, curled on the floor. It was the morning chill that woke Eddmina from a broken and unsteady sleep, as it did every morning, yet it was not every morning that she woke with her head in the crook of the Kingslayer's neck, nor did she spend every night without nightmares. Her dreams hadn't been filled with screams for the first time in months, nor did she have to see her brother and father down in the Winterfell crypts as she had been seeing them. Cold tear tracks were marking her cheeks though, because instead of horrors she had dreamed of Honour.

She hadn't seen her wolf in months, both in real life and in her dreams, and it made her heart ache and yearn to be with her and pet her. She didn't even know if the wolf was still alive, if she was still protecting Uther as she'd been instructed to, or if the Tyrell's had disregarded Honour as quickly as they had Eddmina. It made her want to cry more, but tears were an impossibility that only ever occurred when she was in the bout of an episode of madness, so she instead screwed her eyes shut and hummed, willing the thoughts of the wolf away. Honour was safety, Honour was  home. Neither of those things existed anymore for her, and so Eddmina decided the best course of action would be to shove thoughts of her far away, just as she did thoughts of Uther. They hurt too much, they were too all-consuming, and unless her mind spiralled, her mind danced around them briefly before ridding any thought of them, as if knowing it was all too painful.

Fidgeting to get to a more comfortable position, she heard Jaime grunt tiredly at her side, and knew she'd woken him up. It disgusted her for a brief moment that he was her husband, that she'd allowed herself to sleep wrapped up in his embrace let alone try and engage in a wedding night, but upon clearing her throat she realised how rough it was and remembered blurred images of him attempting to rescue her from her own spiralling madness. Suddenly he wasn't disgusting, nor was he a despicable betrayal to her family. She was all alone, abandoned, and he was there. He could have killed her, or hurt her, or ignored her completely in the exact same way that she could have stepped aside and let Rickard Karstark kill him months ago. Perhaps they were never meant to be enemies the pair of them, forced into it through war. Eddmina felt far more comfortable accepting him as an unsteady ally, not trusting him but not hating him either, and so she curled back into him, wondering if he suffered nightmares like her.

"Cersei..." he mumbled tiredly with his eyes still shut, drawing her closer.

That snapped something in her to alert, and she quickly pulled away from him, shoving his hands away from her. He woke properly with a start, eyes wide in terror like a man who had spent a year in captivity. As he looked around he seemed lost and confused, until his gaze fell upon her, and instantly seemed to relax. His remaining hand reached out for her as if to hold her in solidarity of the horrid situation they found themselves in, but the damage was done and Eddmina was fighting to get to her feet, a battle that was getting harder to win as each day passed.

"Not me, I'm afraid," she replied dryly, almost sounding like her old self if not for the heavy excess of venom in her voice. "You ever call me that name again and I'll kill you."

"But what is our relationship without death threats?" Jaime raised his eyebrow teasingly, but when she stood over him unflinching with a glare, he sighed, rolling his eyes. "You do not see me complaining when you kept whispering 'Willas' at me all night."

Her face burnt hotter, and she wanted to scream. Willas had left her for dead, Willas had given up any claim on her despite always swearing to love and protect her. She knew he hated her, and she hated him, yet in her most vulnerable state she still called out for him? That was a shred of the old her still shining through, the part of her that had foolishly let herself get so attached and reliant on another person, let alone a man, and she hated that part. Eddmina decided then to trust no one but blood relations, and since she didn't have many of those left, she knew to trust no one.

Jaime caught the cold, sour glare that she wore, and for some reason, nodded. It was as if he understood, and as their eyes met, it was like the pair of them silently agreed a boundary. They would never talk about Willas, or any of the Tyrell's. Nor would they talk about Cersei. Eddmina wondered if he missed her, if he longed to be holding her rather than some northern traitor prisoner, if he felt his whole being yearn to be with her the way Eddmina sometimes caught herself feeling for her first husband, but she knew she would never ask.

Jaime got to his feet as well then, stretching. At some point in the night he had thrown the prosthetic hand off his stump, which both of them seemed glad for, as Eddmina hated the reminder of what had happened that night, and she'd noticed Jaime subconsciously glaring down at it. The stump must have been uncomfortable, but surely it was worse to attach a great heavy metal tool onto the end. She'd seen how bitterly heartbroken he was to have lost his hand, his sword fighting hand, and she wondered if the golden hand made it worse, if its weight and grandeur drawing attention to everything he wanted to forget, not just for himself but for everyone else.

"Whose idea was the hand?" She asked, unable to help herself. He glared down at the floor for a moment, cursing at her curiosity, but he met her gaze once more with little bitterness. "I doubt the first thing you think of upon being released from capture was to find yourself such a gaudy bauble."

"My father's, apparently, but the whole thing smells of Cersei too," he replied, crossing the room to sit on the bed. "You'd think one of my first nights free of imprisonment I would enjoy sleeping on a bed, but no, I find myself on the floor again."

"You didn't have to sleep on the floor," she crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "You're changing the subject. Why did they make you have a fake hand?"

"I don't know," he replied, tired and frustrated. "Stops me looking broken, I suppose."

"You're not broken," she replied shortly, and though she felt tense there was a subconscious softness to her voice, one that was usually used for reassurance, usually directed to another man and his insecurities. "We fought for our lives that night, you could be dead."

"I'd rather be," he shrugged, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Aye, as would I," Eddmina said truthfully, thinking briefly how nice it would be to join her loved ones rather than be used as a tool for power. She caught herself on the edge of the abyss of grief, and swallowed, blinking to force away the dark clouds. "But we are not. See it as a new beginning."

"A new beginning, with my new wife," he jested with an eye roll, and despite it all Eddmina felt the joke sting, wondering if she was truly that disgusting. Of course she was, she was his prisoner, he hated her, of course he didn't want to be married to her.

"Think of the dishonour you did with that hand," she said sharply, detracting attention away from their marriage. "Was it the one that shoved my brother out of the tower?"

"Are you going to bring that up for the rest of our lives?" He snapped, and for a moment she caught regret in his eyes. "What if I told you that I was sorry for it? That I think of it constantly? That I wish I never did it despite knowing if I didn't myself and Cersei would probably be dead?"

"Your children too," Eddmina pointed out. Jaime let out a single bitter laugh. "Do they know? Do you think they ever looked at you and thought of you as their father?"

"Of course they didn't, they didn't even look at Robert as a father, Cersei never let them," Jaime told her, and Eddmina wondered if there was hurt behind his voice, if it bothered him that he'd fathered three children and had to ignore them. "To her they are no one but extensions of herself. It is as if they only have one parent, but can you say you will not do the same? When you have that babe that is apparently mine but we both know isn't, are you really going to tell them to call me their father?"

Eddmina had barely thought about that, and had to sit down on the bed opposite him to face how dizzy it made her head spin. Regardless of betrayal, she'd never once imagined anyone else fathering her children but Willas, never imagined any of her children calling another man but Willas their father. Yet, that was the reality, and if Tywin Lannister got his way there would be several more children from her who would be fathered by Jaime. It made her want to retch, a feeling she hadn't experienced for several months, completely overwhelmed by what her life had become.

It was not Jaime's fault. She was meant to hate him, meant to want him dead, and sometimes she did. The way her temper to him flipped so fast gave her whiplash, because thinking of the life they were expected to live together made her sick but not because of him, but because of how trapped she felt, how trapped the two of them were together. Neither had chosen it, neither had wanted it, and despite her being the political hostage, he was as much a prisoner as her. She was meant to hate him, and the thought of having children with him made her sick, but that was merely because day by day she was having to process having her life reshaped from what she had wanted and expected. Life with Willas and the life they had wanted to build had been a fairytale, one she hadn't even realised she'd fallen for. Stupid fool, she should have known that happy endings like the one they promised each other never occur.

It was too much to figure out how marriage to Jaime made her feel, how all what was expected of them and what would be forced onto her made her feel, completely overwhelming and emotionally paralysing. Eddmina hadn't noticed the way her heart rate sped up, how she was humming to herself with her eyes screwed shut and his fists pressed against her ears. She'd not noticed that it was what she seemed to do whenever she got stressed or overwhelmed and there was not a Frey present to take her rage out onto. She did, however, notice when she felt fingers wrap around one of her wrists, gently easing her fist away from her face, working their way into her hand and intertwining their fingers together. It was like being pulled out of a storm, and though her humming didn't cease, she dared to open her eyes, meeting Jaime's concerned stare.

That was not the man who pushed her brother from a window. It was not the man who killed her father's men and her friends, or the man that was captured in the Whispering Wood. It was not the man who called her a bad mother. She wasn't sure when the change in him had happened, if it had happened at all and she was simply imagining it out of mad desperation to not feel so alone, but when she truly looked at him she realised it was not the man he had been. Something had broken in him, possibly long before he'd lost his hand, and he had reshaped and reformed. Still bitter in places, still angry at the world, but so was she. Still a Lannister, but lacking arrogance and entitlement. Still Jaime Lannister, but different. Looking at him like that, seeing him as the man who'd just pulled her from the edge of her own spiralling mind once again rather than the man of his past crimes, her imprisonment and fate still felt suffocating but she at least felt as if she was not as alone.

She let out a long sigh, one of months worth of exhaustion, glancing down at their hands. It felt odd, almost wrong, but it would be the rest of her existence. When he forced her away from her own mind she felt a little of her rage still, and after months of exhausting grief-fuelled fury, the desire for calm was addicting. Perhaps it was a different sort of madness, perhaps it was a desperation to forget parts of the past and erase bitter memories, but she squeezed his hand gently, looking back up to his eyes.

"Do I disgust you?" She asked, almost meek in tiredness. He frowned, not expecting such a question. "I've done some terrible things."

"As have I," he admitted, sounding just as tired. "I'm sorry for this. I don't want this, I don't want this marriage, but... you don't disgust me."

"You don't disgust me, either," she shook her head, her voice quiet.

"Do you think..." he began, trailing off before he found his courage again. "I know you're technically our prisoner, I know I was your prisoner once, but do you think we could start over? Forget the hatred, just try to be allies? I do not want to be miserable the rest of my life."

Eddmina wanted to say no. She really, truly did. She wanted to laugh in his face, proclaim she was no one's wife but Willas Tyrell's, that she would not rest until every Lannister bled and until all her loved ones were avenged. Instead, she nodded. Willas didn't love her, so loyalty to him was foolish, and the only people left that she loved relied on her compliance. She wanted to burn the world down and watch the flames engulf everyone and everything she hated, she wanted to make everyone hurt as much as she did, but doing so would hurt Uther. How could she knowingly risk him and his safety? That was why she nodded.

"Jaime," she said quietly, trying out the way his name sounded. Hopelessness seized her, but an idea sprang to mind, and she felt a faint smile appear. "I would like you to kiss me. Please."

She'd done the same the night before, but as his lips hesitantly touched hers, as her hand moved from his to instead hold his face, she wondered how many women Willas had kissed since annulling their marriage. She wondered if he'd rushed to find another woman just to erase any memory of her, if he'd wanted to remind himself of life without her and how much more he would enjoy it. They'd enjoyed countless nights of passion, innumerable moments of tender affections, and they had touched each other in places she had never imagined in her wildest fantasies, even when she had experimented with Theon. She'd loved almost every single moment of intimacy with the man she'd called her husband, and he'd always sworn she was the only one for him, yet the image of him lying with another woman was impossible to shake off, the thought of him laughing at her and finding greater pleasure with strangers and eventually a Lannister was enough to rid any thought of enjoyment from her mind, wanting nothing more than to replace the memories with her new husband.

Even so, the feeling of Jaime kissing her was nothing like kissing Willas, or even kissing Theon. It felt strange, odd, almost wrong. It had been that way with Theon, when they had first started sneaking around and she was still learning what it all was about and what she liked. She had been so inexperienced, and he had been a dedicated teacher, showing her the ropes of affection in a way that was surprisingly unpatronising. He could be quite kind when he wanted to be, and gentle, and Eddmina knew despite everything she would much rather be kissing Theon Greyjoy again than Jaime Lannister.

She recoiled away the moment she felt Jaime's tongue brush against her lip, shaking her head rapidly. If he was offended or annoyed by the fact she jumped off the bed then he hid it well, nor did he seem embarrassed at how she rubbed her hand against her lips as if wiping away any trace of him. If anything, he seemed equally uncomfortable, getting off the bed himself as he strode to the window, gazing out at the land to distract himself from what they had just been doing.

"I'm sorry," they both said simultaneously, and though Jaime followed that up with a laugh, Eddmina was stunned to silence.

"At least we do not have to engage with each other as a married couple for a few more months," Jaime pointed out, gesturing to his her arms had unconsciously wrapped around her stomach. "That buys us at least two years before my father expects anything else of us."

"Perhaps we will all be dead by then," Eddmina shrugged, her bluntness surprising him. "I know it is what the Freys hope for, that I die in a months time during my labours. I thought it a certainty last time, perhaps this time it will happen and mess all your father's well thought plans up."

"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Jaime asked with a small laugh, though Eddmina shrugged.

She was saved from answering properly when a knock came at the door. Jaime took charge and called for the visitor to enter while Eddmina paced to the corner of the room, whispering the words to a song that only made sense in her head, though the newcomer had been sent for her. With a song on her mind Eddmina didn't hear the guest and Jaime speak, nor did she notice Jaime leave. She only realised when the guest cleared their throat and her attention shifted, her neck snapping up to see the handmaiden from the day before, the one who had been strangled. Surprisingly she didn't look particularly scared, nor did she look fazed when Eddmina looked at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"What do you want?" Eddmina demanded when the girl merely stood, staring at her. It was as if the two girls were not practically strangers but in fact old friends with one of them determined to examine the other. It infuriated Eddmina, who clenched her jaw. "Do you intend on gawping at me forever?"

"No, my lady, my apologies," the girl spoke, averting her eyes to the floor as she dipped into a quick curtsy, looking as if she was remembering manners in a blur. Her gaze did not stay off her for long, as if she couldn't help but look at her, a strange haunted look in the back of her gaze, as if she was seeing someone from long ago. "Lord Tywin has asked that I come get you ready for the day. There is to be a breakfast feast to celebrate your wedding."

Eddmina couldn't think of anything worse, but knew she had no choice. She rolled her eyes, clenched her jaw tight, then nodded as she crossed the room to sit at the vanity table. She sat, and waited, and after a moment that seemed to drag infinitely, she turned around to the maid with a glare.

"Are you going to get on with it or what?" she snapped, hating herself for her lack of courtesy yet unable to muster any at all.

"Apologies, my lady," she exused herself again, jumping into action as she moved to stand behind her, instantly working at removing the braids her hair had been styled in the night before; unlike her first wedding, her second husband had not taken her hair down on their wedding night. "Is there a particular style you care for?"

"Not since you cut off all my hair," Eddmina remarked bitterly, glaring at the girl in the mirror, anything to distract herself from catching her own reflection. "You've not been a maid for long, have you?"

"A few weeks," the girl confessed, unknotting the tight braids as she brushed all the hair out.

Eddmina couldn't stomach to look at it. How was it that she'd endured so much yet it was a few maids slicing away her hair that bothered her the most? Still, she forced herself to watch as the girl combed her hair, the locks instantly falling limp and losing any curl that the tight braids should have given her. Her hair had always been straight and had always relied on plaits for any sort of wave, and it was hard watching and realising that part of her had gone too. She clenched her jaw, pushing her fingernails into the palm of her hand as her fists tightened, desperate not to show that a foolish thing like hair really bothered her.

A distraction came in the form of the baby moving, so her fists unfurled as her hands rested against her stomach, and she didn't even realised she'd begun to sing softly until she felt the girl behind her drop her hold on her hair. Eddmina was too busy looking down at her bump to notice, and it took her a moment to glance back up to the mirror to catch the look on the girl's face. She looked as if she had seen a ghost, or at least a person from a very long time ago, the sort of person one never expected to find again. Eddmina had no idea why the girl stared at her like that, her mouth dropped open only slightly as if desperate to not show the emotions that were obviously overflowing, but when she looked at her maid's reflection properly, she caught a shining in her eyes that could only be tears.

"What's wrong with you?" Eddmina grimaced.

"I'm sorry, I..." the maid replied quickly, wiping her eyes before she had the chance to cry properly. "My sister used to sing to us all a lot when we were children. My brothers would ask her to sing the rude songs and my sister would ask for fairytales. I don't think I ever particularly cared about any of the songs until I realised I'd probably never hear her sing again."

Whatever cruelty had festered deep in Eddmina's heart in the months since the wedding thawed ever so slightly. The girl was of the Westerlands, her enemy, but truly, she was just a little sister who was also a victim of the war. Eddmina wondered how many girls had endured their family being torn apart, how many other young folk would not realise the deep chasms of their grief until confronted with subtle reminders. Eddmina wondered what pains would await for her upon leaving the Twins, if seeing swords would remind her of her brothers, or axes remind her of her friend. Would the sight of roses make her weep, would the smell of summer flowers or morning snow render her a mess? She'd spent so long living with nothing but the ghosts that inhibited her mind, she had not considered what would happen when exposed to the wider world.

That realisation was probably why she withdrew one hand from her belly to reach up and grasp the girl's hand. She looked as if she wanted to pull away, looking terrified and startled with wide eyes, but after barely a moment she took Eddmina's hand with both of hers, squeezing it tightly. For a moment, they were not Stark and Lannister, they were not enemies. They were just two girls with unspoken grief who had lost everything.

Deciding her hair was a lost cause, the girl pulled half of it up and tied it back with a leather band, and Eddmina wanted to laugh and sob when she saw how much the style made her look like her father. She settled for laughing, because at least mourning her father had been something she'd lived with a great deal longer than the rest of her pains, and it was almost nice seeing him. The resemblance was almost like seeing that he was still there with her, even if she'd betrayed herself and him, sacrificing the morals he'd taught her for survival.

There was not long to dwell on it, as the maid was helping her to her feet, stripping her of the simple wedding gown she'd slept in and into another crimson dress. There was little detailing on it, though the collar had a lion embroidered onto it on its rounded neckline, and the cuffs of the sleeve were also marked with the sigil of her new house. She wanted to tear them off, but took her mind off it by focusing on how grateful she was that the maid was being so gentle in lacing her into the gown, taking great care around where she was heaviest and the most sensitive. It was as if the girl actually cared about her. The Lannisters had to be paying her extremely well for her to be so nice.

"Your baby..." the girl began warily after a long silence, her voice drifting away as she finally looked down at where she had avoided looking all morning; Eddmina's bump. "What will you call it? Do you think you'll name it after your brother?"

"No," Eddmina answered, far too quickly, horrified by the thought of having the ghost of Robb hang around her constantly in the form of her son. "Perhaps I'll name him after one of the Kings of Winter. Torrhen, or Harlon, or..."

'Or no kingly names at all, perhaps I'll name him after his grandfather, the way I always planned,' she thought, recalling all the dreams of her two sons. 'Eddard Mace Tyr... No. Not Tyrell. Lannister.'

"I suppose Ser Jaime will have his choice of names," Eddmina concluded, trying not to wince as she considered her son being given a Western name.

"I always thought it should be the mother who chooses the name," the maid said with a slight shrug, earning a small smirk from Eddmina until she felt a memory hit her like a stone to the chest, recalling who had named her firstborn.

"It depends on the marriage," Eddmina shrugged, forcing away the stinging ache of betrayal from Willas and the searing worry for Uther.

A knock came at the door again, and without waiting for a call to enter, four Lannister guards filed in. All of them were glaring at her, which she quite enjoyed. She would have probably preferred the maid to be sour and hate her too, because alongside kissing Jaime, her sudden mad sympathies towards Westerners was uncomfortable. At least she had the guards' hatred to count on, at least their obvious and strong dislike and distrust for her felt familiar.

They didn't need to say anything, their presence signal enough of what was happening. The maid had just finished lacing up her dress, and so Eddmina looked at them all expectantly, raising a single eyebrow while the rest of her face contorted into a cold glare. She hated their stubborn silence, hated that they didn't speak to her as if she was below them, and she imagined how good it would feel to bludgeon their heads in with their golden helmets.

'I'd do it while singing the Rains of Castamere,' she thought bitterly, then let out a quiet laugh that encouraged one of them to grasp her arm and drag her into the middle of them, forcing her to walk as they turned and marched her out of the room before she could refuse or protest.

She didn't even get chance to ask the maid her name, or even offer sympathies for the girl's sister.

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