A war camp felt just as familiar as any other home Eddmina had known, though being the one leading and ruling was an odd change she was silently struggling to adjust to.

In the weeks since they departed Riverrun and began their march north they had made good progress, moving faster than they ever had done when they had been lead by Robb. Some bannermen had started their march a few weeks before her own party set off, but by the end of the first week they had caught up and reassembled, and by the end of the second week, they had passed the border of the two kingdoms. Perhaps it was because they had the weather on their side, or perhaps it was sheer impatience fuelling them to move as quickly as possible, because Eddmina wasn't the only one who wanted to go home, all the bannermen sharing her sentiment of returning north as soon as they were able. The only breaks they took were to eat or sleep, though Eddmina knew little of the latter, since Lyarra was practically nocturnal, and she had insisted on an hour of training each morning for everyone, herself included.

"Are you sure?" Garlan had questioned her apprehensively as she pushed a sword into his hands, insisting that out of everyone, he was the one she wanted to train with. "You don't have to do this. The rest of us fair enough, but you're a queen-"

"Aye, and a shit queen I'll be if I won't fight with my people," she pointed out, and didn't give him the chance to protest again as she swung her own sword at him.

Garlan was easier to train with than Arya, but that was only because she had trained with him before. She knew his style, his strengths, his lack of weaknesses. He'd grown up training against four men at a time to replicate actual combat, and it had perfected him into not just a pretty tourney knight but a formidable warrior. Even so, he was familiar, whereas Arya... Her little sister wasn't as good of a teacher as Garlan, but she was perhaps better because she was so unexpected. While Garlan broke everything down for her, took it at a slower pace knowing that months of imprisonment and pregnancy had left her utterly out of practice and easily winded, Arya wasn't as gentle, nor as patient. She remained quiet while she fought, not flaunting her victory over her elder sister until her practice sword was pointed at Eddmina's throat, or stomach, or neck, simply uttering the words:

"Now you're dead."

"I don't know what man father found to teach you to fight, but it certainly wasn't a Westerosi," Eddmina remarked bitterly one morning after her sister had knocked her into the mud, recalling how her twin used to do the same. Arya never offered her a hand up like Robb had done, and she assumed that was something else her tutor had bestowed upon her.

"You shouldn't be as harsh," Garlan had scolded Arya after he helped Eddmina to her feet. "It's not very becoming to hurt your sister, let alone your queen."

"Better I hurt her than someone else hurt her," Arya shrugged, though she turned to Eddmina with badly hidden concern as she asked: "You're not hurt, though, are you?"

"No, but you will be," Eddmina informed her as she swung her sword at her once more.

Once training was done, the banners would gather and discuss the plan for the day. It was usually the same - ride north, not stopping until it became too dark or the weather forced them to halt. They ocassionally discussed what would happen once they found Sansa's camp, how they would deal with reclaiming Winterfell, but Eddmina often encouraged them all to move on to mounting their horses the moment that topic arose, desperate for none of them to notice how she didn't have a single clue as to how to get her home back. It made her feel helpless, stupid, and she knew that if Lyarra didn't keep her awake most nights than the thought of Winterfell would have had the same effect. Often late at night while she paced the tent she shared with Arya and Garlan, desperately attempting to get her daughter to sleep or at least stop crying, she would wrack her mind for ideas, clues, absolutely anything that would help her get home, but she always came up short.

So much for being the formidable Hand of King Robb, so much for being a good Queen.

Refusing to let anyone catch on to how foolish she felt, she never let them see her without Robb's crown, especially when they were riding, insisting on leading the procession. Riding didn't feel as easy as it used to, a mixture of being out of practice and childbirth recovery, but yet again, she refused to let anyone see. She often rode with Lyarra wrapped to her chest, just as she had done with Uther, but she had brought her two Riverlands maids along with them, and the two of them often rode in a wagon and offered to look after the princess. It was rare, but the few times that Eddmina wanted to be alone, she took up the offer in the hopes that time away from her daughter might clear her mind, help her think better, but if anything the aching in her chest made it harder.

Eddmina hadn't felt herself sinking into a dark pit until three weeks into their journey. She found herself sat outside their tent, bundled up in her thickest cloak, Lyarra swaddled up in multiple blankets, sleeping restlessly against her chest. Eddmina watched her closely, wondering just what stopped her daughter from sleeping properly. She was fed, she was clean, she was warm, she was safe, there was nothing stopping Lyarra from sleeping, except for... except for the exact same things that kept Eddmina awake at night even when she was utterly exhausted: nightmares.

Surely her little daughter had nothing to see in her dreams to be scared of, surely she knew no fear yet... except for the fear she had inherited. She had lived through a war and the wedding, after all. She had been present for countless Freys dying for her survival, she had gone through just as much horror as her mother, even if her experience hadn't been first-hand. Every time Eddmina wept through a nightmare in the cells of the Twins, everytime she fought to keep the pair of them safe, every time she paced her room like a caged wolf, Lyarra had felt it, inherited it. Tragedy was in her blood, horror in her soul, and nothing made Eddmina sadder. Nothing made her hate herself more, and that was what snapped her aware of just how far she had fallen.

"Edda, you should come inside," Garlan called from the tent opening, though Eddmina didn't glance up to look at him. "Even I can feel how cold it is."

"You're a southerner, of course you're moaning about the cold," Eddmina rolled her eyes, though the joke was dry and unfeeling. "We're both fine out here, thank you."

"No, you're not," Garlan sighed, and though she didn't want him to, he sank down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest as he sat. He glanced over at his niece, managed a smile, then looked back at Eddmina. "She's asleep, you should set her down and go to bed yourself."

"She's not, not properly anyway," Eddmina shook her head. "She's going to wake up-"

"Or are you simply hoping that she does so that you might have something to do rather than actually look after yourself?" he cut in, his eyebrow raised. She had once found that gesture charming, but she had begun to find it irritating, simply because he used it to point out the obvious that she was desperate to hide from. "You're not in this alone, you know. I understand you wanting to protect Arya so not talking to her about your troubles but... let me help you?"

"And what do you want me to say? That I feel completely out of my depth? That I do not know what I am doing, that I resent every second I spent in the Twins because I cannot seem to remember how the real world is or how to function?" Eddmina snapped, not even realising that she felt that way until the words were out. "I see the way they all look at me, it's the way they looked at Robb. I'm not him. I love him, I would do unspeakable things to have him here wearing this bloody crown, but he made mistakes. They cost him his life, the lives of countless people, your life. I can't do the same, I can't do what he did, but I spent a lifetime wanting to be just like him. I'm scared, I'm so bloody terrified, and I am sick of jumping between feeling that fear compared to feeling absolutely nothing. They crowned Eddmina Stark their queen, but I fear she died with her twin, and the shell left behind will only cause further damage to the north."

She let out a quiet curse the moment she was done speaking, hating herself for being so open and vulnerable, even if it was to Garlan. She sighed bitterly, glaring up at the sky, hating that she noticed the stars and the constellations and instantly thought of a man who - were he with her then - would have named them all and told her their whole history. Willas had loved the stars, it was one of the first things she'd learnt about him, the first detail his sister had told her to explain the sort of man he was. He had spent their honeymoon laid out on the beach with her pointing out specific stars, drawing her diagrams of them all, and to impress him she'd sewn the drawings onto a dress. The memory stirred painfully deep in her gut, making her cringe as she recalled just how lovesick she had been. It felt like another lifetime, like they were memories belonging to someone else.

Garlan said nothing for a while, leaving her brewing in her self-hatred. When he did at last let out a small sigh, he reached out, hesitating for a moment before he placed his hand on her shoulder. He'd noticed how much she hated people touching her, how she flinched away any time anyone even went near her, though she managed to disguise it well enough that no one said anything or called her skittish. When she didn't jerk out of his touch, he shuffled closer to her, and his hand moved from one shoulder to the other, gently encouraging her into a side-embrace.

"Sometimes I think that the last proper rest I had was in that bog," Garlan shrugged, and despite how casual he was Eddmina felt her breath hitch in her throat as her heart broke. "I can't sleep either, I don't like trying to in case I see... I don't know, your brother, my father, you. I spent months thinking you were dead, and I had some rather colourful nightmares imagining how they did it. Sometimes I see those two little Lannister boys, the ones Harrion's father killed, or I see things from battles or... the other night I saw that cursed joust. I used to dream about it a lot, we all did, the maester had us all on dreamwine at one point, my mother especially, but it's been such a long time, a long bloody time since I thought about it, since I heard..."

"He... Willas once told me that all he remembers from it was hearing screaming," Eddmina couldn't help but add, glancing down at Lyarra to check she was still sleeping so that she didn't see Garlan's grimace.

"Yes, that will have been me," he let out a cold, humourless laugh. "It's funny, I once thought that day would forever reign as the worst of my life. Hearing my little sister crying, my mother screaming, having to listen to my brother beg for them not to cut his leg off because he was perfectly fine despite the fact he looked about as grey as a storm... One of my uncles pulled me aside when the worst of it was over, when the maesters sent everyone away - well, tried to, my parents refused to leave - and told me he was sure I would one day make a fine lord, that it was good I'd married only the month before so my line was secure. I can't remember what I said, can't remember if I said anything or if that was when commotion broke out that my wife had punched Amariah Oakheart in the face, but... I remember thinking 'nothing will ever be worse than this'."

That was the deal with being ten-and-five. Everything seemed like a catastrophe, every harsh nature of the world was being revealed for the first time, and everything was an absolute nightmare to be endured. Even so, there was a lot of life to be had beyond that, and the cruel twist of fate was that more often than not, there were always more nightmares to be faced.

"It still ranks pretty highly as one of my worse days, but... there's more things haunting me at night now," Garlan shrugged, and she knew he was saying it more for himself, as some sort of nihilistic reassurance. "I used to find that the best ways to sleep were to imagine that I was somewhere else. Leonette used to call it 'going to one's happy place'. I used to imagine I was on a beach, at night, listening to the waves. When that doesn't work, sometimes I count. I usually go up to fifty, then work my way back down, then go back up to fifty but in another language, it's the only Valyrian I remember from the dull lessons we were forced into as children. Other times I would imagine I was reading a book, trying to piece the details of the story together from memory. I found that if I went to sleep with my mind that tired I'd never see anything too terrible. If I think too hard about it though, I feel foolish, because all those tricks were cooked up by a boy who had no idea what he was going to face, just how bad the nightmares could get, and I... I feel sorry for that boy."

Against her will, Eddmina yawned. As Garlan chuckled, she realised that had been his intention, to talk about his own issues to take her mind away from her own, and with her mind occupied away from her fears, the exhaustion had seeped in. She wanted to feel annoyed, but she was just too tired, and when she tried to string her thoughts together to ask him how she could stop feeling so scared so she could focus on staying alive and reclaiming the north, the words jumbled, and she realised just how exhausted she was. Without thought, she rolled her shoulders back, stretching through the aches of fatigue, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here," she muttered, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"Likewise," he remarked. "You are not in the Twins anymore. They're dead, you're free, and the best way to spite them is to stay living, but that responsibility is not yours alone. No one wants you to be Robb, they want you to be you, and the only reason you are so scared is because you care so much. Everyone else cares too, it is not a crime to ask for help, they will not ask you to shoulder this burden alone."

"But-" she began to oppose, but felt him shake his head.

"You're not in the Twins anymore, Edda," he repeated, firmer than before but still gentle. She wondered if he was told himself that fact regularly too. "Now give Lyarra to me, go inside, and get some proper sleep."

Eddmina didn't argue, despite wanting to. She carefully laid her daughter into her uncle's arms, glad when she didn't wake or even murmur, still sound asleep even after Eddmina pushed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. If she lingered then she would surely never leave, so she quickly got up and headed inside, crossing to the bed before she could think twice.

Arya was curled up like a cat on one side of the bed, her eyes closed. Eddmina thought she was sleeping, until she saw her lips moving slightly, and for a moment she thought her sister was praying, until she heard her soft voice, muttering with determination:

"Ramsay Bolton, Ser Gregor, the Hound, Ser Illyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, King Joffrey. Ramsay Bolton, Ser Gregor, the Hound, Ser Illyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, King Joffrey. Valar Morghulis."

"What are you saying?" Eddmina asked as she climbed into bed beside her sister, fighting a shiver at the mention of the names of their enemies.

Arya started, not hearing her sister enter, quickly rolling over and sitting up so she could face her. Eddmina remained dressed, too tired to care about removing her day clothes, though she did take a moment to remove Robb's heavy crown, stretching her neck in relief as she set it down beside the bed. All the while her little sister watched her, looking as if she didn't know where to begin explaining her words.

"I... I can't sleep without saying their names," Arya's cheeks tinged pink as she looked down, though as Eddmina laid down on her side wrapping her arms around herself, Arya relaxed a little and settled back down. "They're the names of all the people who have hurt us, or wronged us or... they're all the names of the people I want to kill."

The answer knocked the wind from her. Eddmina remembered her little sister, cheery yet mischevious, always running where she shouldn't be, constantly fearless in speaking her mind yet desperate to be liked and loved. She didn't care for what anyone thought of her, but secretly envied the ease their middle sister found to life. Arya had been young, a wild and free spirit. Arya wasn't a murderer. Arya wasn't vengeful or bitter, she wasn't a killer. Yet, she was. She had killed the Freys alongside Eddmina, she had survived horrors alone, and had endured training that Eddmina couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Arya was her little sister, but in the same way that she felt a shell of herself, the world had changed her. Eddmina was proud of her survival, yet desperately wanted the wild Winterfell girl back. Perhaps that was why she opened her arms out and beckoned Arya close, enveloping her in an embrace.

"Could you not just count like Garlan does?" Eddmina remarked, managing a small laugh. "Do you imagine yourself killing them the way Garlan imagines a beach?"

"I  just have to say their names," Arya explained. "It started in Harrenhal. It was less painful than naming all the people who had died, or naming all those still alive but far away, and I felt like it gave me purpose. I couldn't die until all of them were dead, so I had to survive. I can't sleep until I've said them all. Do you think it's stupid?"

"No, not if it gave you the fuel to stay alive," Eddmina reassured her. "Arya, I'd never think you are stupid. Though, perhaps we could name more pleasant things now?"

Back and forth they proceeded to name the Kings of Winter, the tombs that they had visited from being children in Winterfell's crypt. Eddmina must have fallen asleep after Arya had named King Harlon because she fell into a dream that was more like a memory, seeing a prank executed by herself and her eldest two brothers as they were children, one that resulted in Sansa screaming, Bran crying, and Arya hitting Jon. The images of them faded, but the statue of the king didn't, nor did the cool air of the crypts that seemed to suffocate her. Through the blur of her dream, she saw the figures of two little boys, as she had done so many times before, hearing them laugh the way she and her twin had done so many years before when they had coated Jon in flour and paraded him as a ghost.

The sound of their laughter was still ringing in her ears when she awoke to the sound of guards outside of her tent. She woke with a start, feeling her heartrate jerk as she looked through the darkness for Lyarra. At some point Garlan must have come inside since she could see him laid on his side on his own bed, and her daughter was sleeping in the cradle next to her bed. Eddmina didn't have chance to feel the relief of seeing her safe while she could still hear voices, raised in alarm, and there was a voice closest to the tent entrance shouting for her. Or, it was shouting for 'my Queen', and it took Eddmina a moment to realise that was her.

She forced herself to stand, to get up out of bed, to place the crown back onto her head and cross the tent to the entrance, clutching the dagger that had once been Robb's. She ignored how her sister called her name and followed her like a shadow, her sword primed and ready in her left hand. She tried not to notice how Garlan swore and jumped into a sitting position as if he had been pulled from a nightmare, instantly clutching at his chest where she knew his arrow wounds were, his other hand cupping over where his eye had once been. All Eddmina cared to focus on was the men at her tent, and how when she stepped out they bowed. They were Riverlands men, soldiers Brynden had sent to acompany her as personal guards, though her weariness and the surprise of being woken so suddenly robbed their names from her.

"Your grace, our apologies-" one of them began to excuse them, but she shook her head, wanting nothing but the necesities. "We've caught intruders in the camp."

"Lannisters?" Arya asked before Eddmina had the chance. "Or Boltons?"

"Plain clothed men with no banners," the second guard informed them, before he frowned. "But... one of them had a sword with three emeralds in the hilt."

Plain clothed but carrying an emerald sword. Gods, he may as well have had three roses stitched to him after all.

'Was he with a man whose sword only has one emerald?' she had instantly wanted to ask, but the words didn't come.

Eddmina didn't have the chance to feel shock, or horror, or annoyance. She felt breathless, but that seemed to be a state she constantly existed in, and she felt her heartbeat in her throat, but her mind raced too quickly to the obvious conclusion, and before she had time to properly consider what she was doing, she had darted back into the tent to retrieve her weapons belt, the one that housed her new Valyrian steel sword still yet to be named, wrapping it around her waist as she left the tent once more, nodding to the guards to take her to where the intruders were being held.

"Eddie, what's happening?" Arya called desperately as she ran after her.

"Go back to the tent, stay with Lyarra," Eddmina instructed without turning back. Before Arya could oppose, she continued, "Tell Garlan to come."

"I'm coming too-" she tried, but Eddmina stopped then, turning to her properly.

"No, you're not, I want you to stay with Lyarra and protect her," Eddmina told her. Arya wanted to protest, it was obvious, because as much as she loved her niece she didn't particularly care for babysitting duties, but in that moment, Eddmina didn't care. "You're the only one I trust. Keep her safe. I'll be back soon."

She ran after the guards, desperate to catch up, and when she fell into pace with them she was throwing every question she could think of at them. Where the intruders were found, were the borders of camp secured, who had been on guard, who had allowed intruders to get in. The fact she had a suspicion about who the intruders were didn't come to mind at all, too distracted by the anxiety of a weakened guard, her camp secured by men who allowed people to breach their boundaries. How was she supposed to feel safe, how was she supposed to keep Lyarra safe? Was she supposed to just guard the camp perimeters herself? She hated the anger that burnt through her when she thought of questioning the guards, when she considered that they would have to be disciplined for letting their duties slack, and when she recalled a story Jaime Lannister had once told her about his father and how he punished men who failed in their work, she realised her new role was bringing up old wounds within herself. Would her own men bring back her old nickname, the names the Freys had started calling her, just because she was furious some men had slipped up and put everyone's lives in jeopardy?

If she ever heard anyone ever call her mad again, or cruel, or even breathed the name of the man who had murdered her family before she killed him herself... Eddmina was sure in herself that she was mad, and she could be cruel, but she never wanted to be compared to Tywin Lannister ever again. She would have to think of some other way to deal with her guards.

They were at the tent before they knew it, the two guards who accompanied her nodding to the ones stood either side of the entrance. It was the tent they usually used for war planning, where their maps were laid out, where she kept the few scrapped drafts of letters to various potential northern allies including her sister, where everything had to be kept secret. Without voicing her annoyance, Eddmina tore off her cloak and stormed inside, straight to the table that they had left exposed to prying eyes. Ignoring the figures who stood on the opposite side of the tent, she wordlessly threw her cloak over the table, glad it was large enough to cover the majority of what needed to be hidden, and without acknowledging their intruder guests, marched right up to the guards stood in the entrance, hating that they all instantly seemed wary of her but unable to do anything about it as fear and fury flooded through her.

"The lot of you were there with me in war tents with my brother the King," she began, unable to help the cold bite of her voice, the one that made them all look amongst themselves unnervedly. "On the rare ocasion a prisoner was brought to the tent, or a spy was caught, or we had to treat with someone from outside our trusted ranks, what was the first thing the King would do?"

"We're sorry, your grace!" One of them burst quickly, and he suddenly no longer seemed like a man twice her age, especially as the others nodded with him.

"I'm not asking for apologies, I'm asking for answers," she continued calmly. "That table should have been covered the moment you brought them in here, or they should have been taken somewhere of lesser importance. Did none of you consider escorting these men back out of camp and summoning me to meet them there?"

"My queen, we simply thought..." another of the guards began, trailing off as he gestured to the men behind them. Eddmina didn't dare look away, didn't even spare a glance to their intruders. "Given who they are, we thought you-"

"You thought wrong, ser, no one is to be admitted into here or any other part of this camp without my explicit permission," she snapped, hating how they flinched more than she hated herself. She took a breath, calming herself, before she continued, "I will deal with these men myself, the lot of you are to go march the perimeters of camp until we are ready to leave tomorrow. Those who are currently guarding the borders, have them sent to me at first light, I'll discuss with them why they did not catch our visitors before it was too late, and you can tell them from me that they will be removed from their current positions until they can be trusted again. I appreciate mistakes can be made, but we have all been through enough. Do they not have enough experiences during this war to make them wary, to know why they should always be vigilant?"

The men nodded hesitantly, and worse than looking scared of her they all looked disappointed amongst themselves. They were quick to leave when she gestured for them to go, but not before bowing and assuring her with further apologies. Eddmina sighed, closing her eyes as her hand moved to clench around the hilt of the sword on her belt, a nervous twitch she had developed whenever she wore the weapon. Whether it was because the steel had once been her fathers, or if simply holding a weapon kept the screams of her memories from taking over her completely, or because it stopped her from scratching at her arms the way she had done in her tower cell, she wasn't sure, but it helped either way. It gave her something to think about, something to focus on, anything to stop herself overthinking turning around and facing her intruders.

She only turned when she remembered all the times people had attacked her from behind. She'd started wearing her cropped-but-growing hair in two short braids looped and pinned to the back of her head, making it impossible for anyone to grab and manipulate her with, but ocassionally she would remember how cold steel felt to be pressed against her throat, how all it took to kill most of her family and friends were people sneaking up behind them. Every time she recalled it, her breath caught in her throat and her head would spin, and that ocassion was no different, though she fought harder to conceal it, and tried not to cringe when she turned a little too fast, ignoring how she must have looked as jumpy as a hare knowing a hound was watching.

It the brief seconds of being without guards, she had convinced herself that her assumption had been wrong, that she would be face-to-face with another enemy, another person she would have to kill to keep her daughter and loved ones safe, another face that would threaten to haunt her whenever she tried to sleep. Relief washed over her, because despite seeing three men she didn't know, there simply as the intruder's guards, and a man she vaguely remembered, she saw Loras.

Not an enemy, not someone who wanted her dead, but Loras, her goodbrother.

Instinct would have once had her running to him. She would have hugged him, ruffled his hair the way she saw Tyrell brothers do to each other constantly, apologised to him endlessly for his father and all the other grief he had surely endured. Part of her wanted to, but then she remembered all the nights she had curled up shivering in the Twins praying to any sort of god she could think of to offer her some saviour, all the afternoons she found herself drifting off sat in the windowsill watching across the hills willing a Tyrell banner to come clear from the distance, all the meal times when whichever pitiful Frey had the task of delivering her supper and she ate just to keep Lyarra alive because she was meant to be part of a family that loved her. She had wasted so much time wanting someone to come rescue her, had driven herself mad over it. For the poor sad woman who sobbed herself to sleep most days to the sound of screams in her head, she straightened her posture, and only offered Loras a polite nod.

He, however, was looking her up and down, as if unsure that she was real, though he wore no amazement on his face. Relief was there, but it was only for a second, buried beneath exhaustion from whatever journey he had been on and frustration at how the guards had thus far treated them. He seemed older than the last time she had seen him, the six months apart transforming him into a hardened man, no longer a pretty tourney knight, but someone who had carried a great deal of responsibility. He was dressed plainer than she'd ever seen him, so used to seeing him wearing green and gold, adorned in roses and finery, yet he still managed to look beautiful in a dark, dirtied shirt and trousers with a thick and hooded cloak pulled over the top. It was almost comical that he had tried to look plain, inconspicuous, though if the sword didn't give him away, his perfect hair and pretty face made him stand out anywhere. Willas and Garlan had always cursed him as the greater looking brother, the prettiest Tyrell, and Eddmina understood completely.

He was almost scowling, and she couldn't help but wonder just why he was stood before her. Why hadn't he come sooner, why had he waited until she had found her own way to try and seek her out? Why had he come alone too, with men she could only assume were vague relations? The man stood closest to him she recognised from her visit to Old Town, one of Lady Tyrell's brothers that she didn't particularly care for but was adored by his nephews, and when Ser Humphrey Hightower bowed his head respectfully at her - though not without looking at her like he was seeing a ghost, a look she was irritatedly used to - she nodded back. The gesture helped her hide the sinking disappointment and brewing resentment that he was not someone else.

For a brief second in her own tent she had allowed herself to consider the idea of Willas being the one waiting for her with his brother. She had allowed herself to imagine him stood there, looking just as tired as Loras, just as plain as he tried to hide who he truly was, but she'd know him instantly because she saw him every night in her dreams in short interludes from her nightmares. She'd know him, because despite every effort to hate him, he was engraved on her very soul. For the girl who'd yelled curses when the Freys chained her in their cells, the girl who'd screamed at her Uncle Edmure that Willas would come and rescue the pair of them and put everything right only to collapse on him weeping when it became clear that it was a fantasy, she allowed anger and betrayal to burn through her once more; it was easier to be angry than waste any more time on tears, after all.

"Your grace," it was Humphrey Hightower who spoke first, as if knowing neither Loras or Eddmina were not going to make the first move. He nodded at her again. "Don't be too hard on the guards, it was extremely difficult for us to sneak in, and we certainly didn't intend on scaring you."

"I'm not scared," she answered calmly, though felt her hand clench around her sword again. "I'm merely curious why men of the Reach found themselves here, and couldn't wait for a more polite hour of the day to present themselves."

Loras scoffed a laugh then, a sound of disbelief and bitter amusement. It made her frown, though the moment she looked at him, she realised he was still scowling, but was also battling unshed tears he quickly blinked away. When he ran both hands through his curls, tugging at his hair, Eddmina felt herself shiver as she recalled who else did that when he was stressed.

"You're all welcome here as long as you're not posing any sort of threat, " she told them, manners and courtesy taking over. "I'll have someone bring in bread and salt for you so you can count on your safety-"

"Are you being serious?" Loras cut in, ignoring how his uncle nudged him to be quiet. "Do you think we care about guest rights right now-"

"I care," she snapped against her better judgement, remembering her father and his honour, remembering when she had been offered guest rights and her hosts had trampled over sacred laws, knowing she had to be different, had to be like her father but smarter.

"I think you'll find we're all more concerned about coming face-to-face with a woman we had all mourned for the better part of a year than some custom," Loras snapped back, and though she understood his bitterness, she didn't show any sort of sympathy.

"If any of you deigned to leave the safety of your homes sooner you would have found you were mourning in vain a long time ago," she told him coldly, unable to help how her eyes rolled.

Loras took a moment, looking her up and down again, and Eddmina wondered just what had happened in Highgarden during her absence. She knew Willas had made some deals with Lannisters before going to Dorne, knew he was doing something with some foreign dragon queen, but as for the rest of the Tyrells, she knew nothing. Curiosity was eating away at her, suddenly desperate to ask over them all, Lady Tyrell, Margaery and Leonette, Lady Olenna, Uther. Then she saw Loras shaking his head in disbelief again, letting out another short laugh before he looked up at the tent roof, clearly not wanting to meet her gaze until his emotions were under control. She kept quiet, and waited for him.

"So it's true then," loras breathed out eventually, looking as if he wanted to smile in shock, but that emotion flickered away almost immediately, replaced by a scowl again. "It's true. You're alive. You're alive and a bloody Queen too. Is he here?"

"Your brother?" Eddmina asked hesitantly, waiting for him to nod before she returned the gesture. "He's on his way here, he-"

"Was dead?" Loras questioned. Eddmina winced, but nodded. "Were you dead too?"

"No, they kept me alive," she replied quietly, fighting against the memories: the cold of the cells, the voices of the taunting Freys, feeling Lyarra kick for the first time after having to defend herself with nothing but a sewing needle. "Loras, I know you must have so many questions, but-"

"Did you ever think about us? Either of you?" He cut in, still scowling, sounding more hurt than she'd ever heard him. "Did you ever think about my brother, even once?"

"Every day," she said, her voice cold and more seething than she had intended it to be. She remembered Jaime commenting that she cried out for her first husband in the night, remembered all the times she'd dreamed of him holding her only to wake up alone and shivering. "Is he well? Did he enjoy his time in Dorne?"

"He only went to Dorne so that he could make an alliance to avenge you," Loras told her sharply, more defensive than she'd ever heard him talk of his brother. It must have shown accidentally on her face, as his scowl deepened. "You would be protective too if you saw your brother repeatedly try to destroy himself."

"I don't have any brothers left," she reminded him, regretting it when the aching loss of them all made her want to scream. She had thought the grief would be a distraction from wondering just what he meant about Willas destroying himself, but when she forced away the longing for her twin, she found herself confronting her curiosity. "Tell me about them. Tell me about Willas, about Uther. You might think I'm a monster for not coming home, but I promise there were far greater monsters stopping me from doing so."

Eddmina remembered tracing her finger over the signature on the annulment letter, how she had wanted to kiss it just because it was the name of her beloved. It was a forgery, but she had learnt that after months had passed, and those months had only served in letting the abandonment seep into her like infection sinking into a wound. Only a monster would turn someone against their love so thoroughly, but then only a monster would believe the lie so thoroughly.

Perhaps Loras saw that realisation dawning on her, saw how she paled and her eyes narrowed as she fought away the memory, because for a moment his expression softened. It was as if he realised that anger was pointless, that they had both gone through things the other didn't understand. He almost looked as if he wanted to hug her if he thought she wouldn't flinch away, but just as he took a step closer to her, Eddmina heard the tent open once more and Loras' expression fell into one of trauma and disbelief, as if he was looking upon a ghost. As he blinked away instant tears quickly while his bottom lip twitched, as he fought against his face crumbling into devestation by forcing it into a shocked glre, Eddmina knew exactly who had entered.

His expression was mirrored by hs Hightower uncle stood just a little behind him, though instead of settling into anger, he broke into a smile as he let out a relieved laugh, crossing the tent in a few strides to pull his once-lost nephew into a tight embrace. Eddmina was good enough at reading people to know Ser Hightower's reaction was not as easy and genuine as he wanted it to be, knew his smile was as false as Loras' frustration, because both of them found it easier to find fake emotions than let their real horror show. Eddmina had gotten used to Garlan, gotten used to him being paler and more drawn than he used to be, gotten used to him feeling cold and wincing whenever anyone touched him especially near his wounds, gotten used to seeing the stitched up wound where his eye had once been covered by a poorly sewn patch (she had vowed to herself that once they knew a bit more stability she would make him a better one, one that suited him more that hadn't been a poorly made job by one of the Brotherhood). She was used to him, but then he was used to her too, familiar with both their mental and physical scars to the point that she was jarred to her senses seeing his family's poorly concealed shock.

Eddmina watched as he stiffened slightly, not used to being hugged by anyone but her, but slowly Garlan wrapped his own arms around his uncle, forcing a small smile. For the first time in a long time, his cheeks reddened, though it was not with joy or relief for seeing his loved ones. No, he was embarrassed, uncomfortable, desperate to escape the situation and hide. He broke free from the hug as soon as possible, and gave Eddmina a desperate, pleading look, wanting her permission to flee. She shook her head; if she had to be questioned, then so did he.

"Hello, Uncle Humph," Garlan greeted, his voice stiff and emotionless, though it was obvous it was due to him holding back everything within him; panic, nerves, anger, all of it. It took him a moment to look at his brother, but when he did, his jaw was tight. "Hello, little brother."

"'Little brother?'" Loras burst, furious. Their uncle shot him a warning look, still clasping onto Garlan's shoulder even though the middle Tyrell looked desperate not to be touched. "You disappear for months-"

"It was hardly by choice," Garlan cut in, shrugging off his Uncle so he could cross his arms; Eddmina grimaced as she realised where his folded arms settled was where there were arrowhead scars marking his chest.

"That still doesn't give you the right to greet me like nothing's happened!" Loras snapped. Eddmina had never seen him like that, his temper reminding her of his eldest brother. "If you knew what we'd all been through, if you knew what has been happening-"

"Loras, enough," their uncle warned gently, sounding like his elder sister before he turned back to his middle nephew. "You're looking well, lad."

"I never took you for a liar, Humph," Garlan muttered tiredly, and Eddmina hated how despairing he sounded, how he let out a small bitter laugh and looked away. "Quite frankly, I don't think I've ever looked worse."

"You never saw yourself after a night down the street of taverns," Humphrey Hightower attempted to joke, taking hold of his shoulder and squeezing it tightly, lovingly. "It is good to see you, even if you can only see half of us."

Eddmina couldn't help how sharply she drew in her breath, how it sounded almost like a gasp. She knew Garlan was self-conscious about his wounds and scars, especially his lost eye, she knew he'd trained tirelessly to make sure his partial vision didn't catch him out in combat, she knew most nights he suffered headaches. She knew all of that, just like he knew she sometimes slipped into a daze as memories took over, he knew that she had to wear longsleeves even if the weather didn't call for it to hide the rashes she'd caused from all her nervous scratching on her arms, he knew that she was just as scarred emotionally as he was physically. They were allies, understanding each other and what they had been through more than anyone else in the world. For that joke alone, Eddmina wanted to take Ser Humphrey's eye, just to see how he liked it.

Somehow, though, the impossible happened. Somehow, Garlan let out a low chuckle. He was looking to the floor, but somehow, as his uncle still held his arm, his mouth crept up into a small smile, and he let out a quiet laugh. It sounded pitiful at first, almost like a sob, but by the time he met Ser Humphrey's gaze, he was grinning. Eddmina tried not to let her surprise show, and tried not to watch as Garlan hugged his Uncle, allowing him a moment of privacy as he almost seemed like his old self, but looking away meant looking at Loras, and that hurt more than Humphrey's joke. Loras looked as though he wanted to scream, as if he wanted to punch Garlan but also kiss him, as if he had worked endlessly to rebuild the world only for someone to swoop in and take the credit. He looked absolutely desperate to hug his brother, but didn't want anyone else to know. If Eddmina didn't hate the idea of people touching her, then she would have hugged him herself.

"It wasn't like I didn't want to come home," Garlan began as he parted from his Uncle's arms, glancing at Eddmina nervously, who merely nodded, encouraging him. "I wanted to-"

"Then why didn't you?" Loras asked, his voice stinging with devestated betrayal. "We thought you were dead-"

"I was," Garlan insisted, his voice cold again. "I was dead. Do you want to see the scars to prove it? Do you want to ask Edda about it all? She'll tell you the whole story, I'm sure."

"No," Eddmina said a little too quickly, flinching as she shook her head. "Please don't make me talk about that. Please..."

She could smell the blood again, hear the screams, feel Garlan going limp in her arms. Suddenly there was the chill of steel on her throat, and Walder Frey's laughter filled her ears. She hardly felt herself cover her ears with her hands, hardly noticed she had closed her eyes as if to escape, but she felt her heartrate pick up, felt her skin burn, and struggled against the urge to run. She surely looked like a mad woman, but she didn't care, not as she felt as if she couldn't breathe, felt as if her entire chest was going to burst, felt as if she was right there, back in the hall, kneeling by her twin once more as their mother begged for them. Her hands burnt, as if she could feel the blood of all the losses soaking into her.

She was humming, desperate to drown out the screams, but it was no particular song and she didn't even consider how stupid she looked. She was meant to be a queen, meant to be strong, yet she surely looked a fool, but instead of feeling the sting of embarrassment, all she felt was desperation to escape the suffocating memories. She was going to drown in them, weighed down by Robb's crown.

All it took to take her back to that hall was Garlan asking her to recall it, and that was when she realised with sheer horror that she would never leave. She would never get free from the hall. It didn't matter how brave she tried to be, how strong and stoic she forced herself to act, how liberating having her daughter felt, she would always be beholden to the memories of that wedding, and the months of isolation that came after. She would never be free, never truly be herself again. All she could be was the Northern Queen who avenged her losses and killed anyone who had hurt her, the scarred and broken woman who just had to pretend for the good of a Kingdom. That realisation was just as heavy as Robb's crown.

"What's wrong with her?" she heard Loras ask, and only then realised that she had knelt on the floor, and Garlan had knelt with her, hands on her shoulders. The younger Tyrell sounded concerned, anger forgotten in place of genuine worry.

"What do you think happens to a person after they've endured so much?" Garlan snapped at his brother before turning his focus back to her. "Eddmina. Edda, look at me. You're not there. They're all dead."

"I killed them," she managed to gasp out, shaking her head as she lowered her hands, allowing them to form fists, her fingernails biting into her palms.

"You did, they deserved it," he reassured her, taking hold of her chin and forcing her gently to look at him. "You're free. I'm here, Arya's in the tent, Lyarra is safe. You're safe, I promise. Take a deep breath."

She was scared to, just in case she smelt blood again, but she trusted him and did as he said, and was relieved to smell nothing but the cold night air, made stale by the canvas of the tents and the dusty old maps she'd hidden. For a moment she was dazed, feeling her head spin as the panic cleared away, but the moment the haze left her shame set in, feeling like a terrible excuse of a Queen. What sort of monarch broke into nerves so quickly? Garlan pulled her into an embrace before she could linger on the thought for long, pushing a kiss to the top of her head, banishing any thoughts of self-hatred or embarrassment.

"Don't," he whispered to her. "Let them see what we've become."

He had a point, she supposed. She felt embarrassed for exposing just what a nervous wreck she could be, what a mess of mad fury and anxious attacks she had become. She was not the woman the Tyrells had known, that woman had been broken in the Twins, but Garlan was not the same man either, and that was fine. They were still alive, still themselves in some strange new form, and if their family really did possess the nerve to track them down after so long, then it was only right that they saw the full extent of it; Garlan's scars, Eddmina's ghosts.

When she looked up to Loras, not quite having the strength to stand again so quickly, she expected him to look at her with shame, or discomfort. Instead there was nothing but sympathy, and a strange sort of yearning.

"Lyarra," Loras said quietly, as if it was the name of a ghost, as if the name Garlan had uttered to pull her free from her panic was haunting him. "My brother spent a whole afternoon sat in the kennels saying that name over and over."

"It's a good name," Humphrey offered, as if he didn't trust his nephew and wanted to weigh in to break up any potential tension. "Very Northern, and my sister was very flattered by the middle name. Congratulations."

"Thank you," she replied quietly as she rose to her feet, fighting away the burning instinct to protect, to run and hide her daughter away. The men stood before her were Lyarra's uncles, they would surely never hurt her, yet she couldn't help the fierce survival need that kicked in. Against her will, she added, "You can meet her come the morrow, if you would like."

"It's not right," Loras shook his head, looking at the floor, his voice sounding strained. At her side, she felt Garlan tense, glaring at his little brother. "What I mean is... How can I... Garlan, how can you..."

"How can I what?" he asked defensively.

"How can you expect me to meet Willas' child before he gets to?" Loras shot, equal parts angry and upset.

"Well, perhaps he should be here," Garlan shrugged, deflecting his own emotions, hiding how much he clearly missed his elder brother. "Why isn't he here?"

"It was my suggestion that Lord Tyrell remain with his duties to his dragon queen while the two of us sought out the truth," Humphrey explained, and Eddmina tried to ignore Garlan's wince at his brother being called 'Lord'; that was their father's title, after all. "We couldn't be sure what your northern couriers said was the truth, even with the letter."

"Letter?" Eddmina frowned. "Cayn and Harwin left only with the sword, I didn't write any letter, no one did, I forbade it."

"Lady Stoneheart wrote it, I believe," Humphrey continued.

Eddmina felt her whole face burn, and hoped that she didn't look as red as she felt. Her mother had meddled, her mother who refused to even look at her or call her by name. Her mother had called her monsterous, then thought to interviene in the mess of her marriage. She dreaded to think what she had written, what cruelties she had spouted. She wanted to apologise, but instead when she looked at Loras she caught him shaking his head.

"Speak your mind, little brother," Garlan demanded impatiently, sighing.

"You shouldn't be angry at Willas for not being here, or me for wanting to look out for him," Loras spoke, sounding tired and far older than his years, though until Garlan scoffed he looked like he wanted to cry. When he heard his brother's bitter laugh, his face turned to a stony glare. "You don't know what we've been through. You don't know-"

"No, forgive me, I'm sure you've truly suffered, do tell me how many times you have died and been forced back against your will only to discover none of your family rode north to seek vengeance for you?" Garlan shrugged.

"Careful now, lad," Humphrey sighed, looking as uncomfortable as Eddmina felt. Garlan's quiet disatisfaction and biterness was almost as suffocating as Loas' brewing anger. "There's a great deal none of us know. Perhaps in the morning-"

"In the morning we will be moving on," Eddmina spoke quietly, remembering the crown on her head. "We have to get north."

Loras looked at her with absolute betrayal, as if he had expected her to announce they were leaving behind any northern cause in favour of going to the Reach. How could she, as a northern queen, abandon her own war? Garlan caught his look, and stepped in front of her protectively.

"How can you expect me to not feel so strange about this, you here with Willas' wife and daughter, while he's... while Leonette is..." Loras explained, drifting off when he caught his uncle shaking his head at him, as if warning him not to say something he may regret. Loras was quiet for barely a moment before a glare settled on his face again. "Oh, fuck this. No, because while you are here, running around undead or whatever you are, pretending you are a northerner or a riverlander or anything but what you really are, killing Freys and Lannisters and planning another war, hiding away with Willas' family, we've all been a mess, dealing with losing all of you! Marg sold herself off to the Lannisters to keep us safe, mother's constantly jumping between trying to hold it together for all of us then completely losing it. Uther is an emotional disaster that constantly asks for his mother. Willas is a wreck that nearly killed himself through drinking and is constantly toeing the line of being a drunk if not for drowning himself in duty. Every banner of the Reach is looking to him for guidance while three growing dragons are calling the Mander home, all while your wife-"

"I think you've said enough, lad," Ser Hunphy interrupted sharply.

His remark fell on deaf ears as Garlan had left Eddmina and crossed to Loras, standing right in front of him, the closest the pair of them had been the whole time.

"What about Leonette?" Garlan asked, his voice as frosty as the north.

"She's pregnant," Loras announced before he or anyone else could stop him. Eddmina felt a jolt of shock run down her spine, wanting to retch.

"You're lying," Garlan replied too quickly, shaking his head. He remained still for a moment, looking as if he'd gone even colder if that were possible. "You absolute lying bastard."

"Why would I lie about that?" Loras exclaimed furiously. "When the news about you came we all thought she was going to walk into the Mander, or throw herself from one of the towers, especially when she wrote to her father and asked him to rally his men to ride north. She never told Willas, and good job too since he refused her call, calling you a lost cause and her a fool. I thought she was going to... but then she found out, and she started eating again."

"Stop it," Garlan shook his head, his voice a low, simmering whisper that shook. "Stop it, now. Stop lying."

"Willas spent weeks not looking at her, scared he'd see a ghost of what we'd lost," Loras continued anyway, and against her will, Eddmina felt as if she had been punched in the gut as her fingers gently traced her stomach, remembering how affectionate her husband had once been with her, how loving he had been when he discovered her to be with child; Leonette had never gotten chance to experience that. "She loves him still though, we all do. It has been hard for him, hard for all of us, but not all of us have had to take over rule of a Kingdom as well as grieve so many. She hasn't told him but she's going to name the child after him, because she said it would be what you would want. At least, that's what she planned when you were dead."

"No," Garlan said simply, all emotion drained from him.

He stood for a moment, shook his head, then he bolted. He moved so quick Eddmina barely saw him go, and though she called his name and ran to the tent entrance, desperate to follow him, she couldn't run after him. Her knees ached, and she wondered if they would even support her weight if she did want to take after him at great speed. He had practically disappeared into the night, and she couldn't follow, couldn't do anything but stand and clutch the canvas of the tent door and stare out at her camp.

Her inability to move was only made worse when she heard Ser Humphrey curse his youngest nephew scoldingly before he excused himself, stepping around Eddmina as he too fled the tent. In search of Garlan, no doubt, but Eddmina knew it would be a struggle considering how little the Hightower knight knew of their surroundings. The other members of their party who had so far remained silent trailed after him, abandoning Loras completely. Eddmina knew she should care, should feel furious at the lack of courtesy as they left without leave, wandering her camp where they could see anything worthy of selling back to the Lannisters. She knew she should care, but she just couldn't make herself, not when her insides felt so cold.

Poor Leonette. Poor, dear Leonette, her first true friend, the first of the Tyrells to help her see Highgarden as a home. She had shown her nothing but kindness, and how did Eddmina repay her? Bitterness and self hated stirred deep within her, the usual sensation of her stomach twisting and throat tightening, but Eddmina decided that she couldn't show it, wouldn't show it. They had already seen her break down over the wedding, she couldn't allow for anymore weakness, especially not when Garlan needed her to be strong. He'd allowed her so much free reign with her emotions, provided her with a shoulder to weep on whenever necessary, the least she could do was hold down their front while he dealt with whatever he was feeling.

She forced away any personal thoughts about Highgarden, refused to feel guilt for Leonette, didn't acknowledge Margaery and Lady Tyrell's sacrifices, fought against every instinct to ask a dozen questions about Willas and Uther. She swallowed, readjusting the sleeves of her dress to make sure her scratched arms weren't on show, repositioned her weapons belt, and turned to face her youngest goodbrother.

"Would you like to go after him too?" She asked, her voice calm and controlled. It took Loras a moment to look at her properly.

"I do not think he would want me to," Loras shrugged stubbornly, clearly not saying all he felt.

"He loves you," Eddmina insisted firmly, assuming where Loras' mind had gone, especially when he looked at her with mild surprise and badly hidden upset. "He loves you, and your brother. What we have been through, however... it's complicated."

"What we have been through is complicated too," he muttered, running a hand through his curls; Eddmina felt a stinging longing for someone else she knew who did that. When he looked at her, his eyes shone, watery. "Tell me. Tell me everything so I might understand."

Eddmina thought about it for a moment, the last half-year flashing through her mind. There had been so much pain, so much confusion, so much... emptiness. She loved songs and storytelling, but even she had no idea how to explain it all.

Yet, when she looked at Loras, she saw a faint ghost of her first husband. They looked similar, same eyes, same hair colour, same mouth, but Willas favoured their mother more while Loras looked like their paternal family. He looked like a perfect knight, a storybook prince, the sort of man her sister would have once fantasised about. He was beautiful, but there was so much pain behind his eyes. Against her will, she remembered how he danced with her at her wedding, how in her early days of being a Tyrell he indulged her unladylike enjoyment of archery with contests, how he had asked for Sansa's favour at a tourney because he knew it would make her happy. He was her brother, just as much as Garlan was, and even if they were not bonded through the same traumas, she owed it to him to explain it all to him, no matter how hard it was.

She took a deep breath, and gestured to the table on the other side of the tent. It was a long story, and not one she wanted to tell while on her feet.

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Word count: 10736

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