The journey was arduous and exhausting, and the constant rain and wind did nothing to make it easier. In fact, everyone was downright miserable the whole way, because what was meant to be a three-and-a-half day trip was slowed to six days due to the poor weather.

Perhaps if Eddmina hadn't been confined to the carriage the whole journey it might have been easier, because even with the rain it would have been fresh air and new surroundings rather than four walls and constant juddering. Yet, she had promised Willas no riding, and wasn't up for it anyway. Her sickness had returned and meant she spent most mornings pale and shivering, fighting to keep her breakfast down. It had worried Robb, who at one point considered turning around and sending her home, but come the evenings she was more than well, if not a little bored to have been cooped up inside all day, even if people took turns keeping her company.

Her mother was a constant, as was her lessons in wreath weaving, but others alternated in spending time with her to prevent her feeling completely isolated. Garlan would come with jokes and card games, and he was the one to manage to make her laugh despite feeling full of despair. Dacey came with weapons to be cleaned or sharpened, and the two of them would discuss anything and everything while working on the weaponry. She brought with her a sense of sisterhood that she had thought she would be leaving behind when she said goodbye to Sansa. Robb couldn't spend too much time with her, not since he was expected to lead the procession, but when he did they would study maps and strategy, and trade stories of home. In the evenings when they had stopped for the day and all tents and shelters had been erected, she would eat supper with Garlan and Lord Tyrell, both of whom had caught onto how nervous she was to return to Highgarden and so spent the evenings trying to educate her on the culture and the people of the Reach. All of them were better company than her uncle Edmure, who was still sullen and bitter about his part of the arrangement.

"We're going to have to stop for the day," Garlan called as he entered the newly-halted carriage, bringing with him what looked like half the rain-storm, his hair a drenched mane that dripped when he pushed it away from his eyes, his boots soaking puddles in the wood floor. The sky was so dark it could have been the evening, but it was really more like midday. "Too muddy, my horse nearly fell, Lord Umber won't stop sneezing, it'll be a wonder if we reach the Twins and we haven't all developed gills it is so wet out there."

At their current pace they were only a day away from the Twins, and stopping early would only irritate the Freys more, surely. In better weather conditions they were hours, if not half-a-day away, but that seemed impossible. Eddmina sighed, drawing her thick cloak around her closer as she shivered, because even the carriage wasn't an escape from the chill. An inconvenience like stopping would give the Freys more to hate them for, as they would find some reason behind the unavoidable inescapable riding conditions to turn it into a personal attack. All the while she'd been in the carriage, no sort of distraction could take her mind off the dread that stirred inside when she considered what awaited them upon arrival.

Lady Stark saw Eddmina's worry, and reached over to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. She was still working on her wreath, while Eddmina had tossed hers aside in a huff when she noted the Maiden looked more like the Warrior, so instead had an embroidery hoop on her lap. They did not have much thread to hand, and so was making use of the dull-coloured cottons she had packed in case she needed to repair any clothes to work out an outline of what she could finish off in Highgarden. It had hurt a little to start on the piece, considering she intended on sewing a family portrait tapestry and doing so meant she had to think about her beloveds she'd left behind, but it was a good way to keep them on her mind without focusing on all she'd done to hurt them. In sewing Honour she didn't have to think about her desperate whines as she was shut away in the coach, but her fierce loyalty, and how her ears and tail twitched when she was happy. In sewing Willas she could think how handsome he was, how much she loved his curls, how he smiled as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and not how empty he looked heading into the carriage alone. In sewing Uther she could daydream about the sort of man he would become, how she hoped he would be clever and kind, and not that he was still on the way to Highgarden without her, and was possibly still screaming for her. In sewing herself, she could merely think of the woman she could try to be once the war was over, and not the monster it had turned her into.

Not that anyone knew any of that, as they merely saw her sewing, nor did they see her growing nerves for dealing with the Freys. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could get on with things and go home, but in the middle of all that they still had to make amends, and suffer through the wedding; Edmure didn't let anyone forget that latter part. She refused to add to anyone's struggles by voicing her own concerns, not when most everyone else was having to battle the poor weather while she got the luxury of constant shelter. That was why she set her sewing aside and tossed one of the nearby blankets at Garlan for him to use as a towel.

"What does Robb think to stopping?" she asked, knowing that her twin had spent most of their journey stoic and quiet, using the time to reflect before they arrived and all his wrongdoings were laid out before him.

"It was him who called it," Garlan shrugged. "None of us can help it, Edd. We will get there when we get there, they can hardly hold a wedding without a groom."

"Much as Edmure might like," Lady Stark muttered, and Eddmina was glad she and her mother were in agreement about the new Lord Tully's attitude erring on foolish. "Though, no groom is what got us all here in the first place."

"Well said, my lady," Garlan smirked, rather enjoying her dry remark before he looked at Eddmina once more. "The tent should be up by now, I'm sure plenty will have started to gather for food."

She took that as a cue to go, and so stood, stretching as she moved in the hopes of battling the aches in her back. She had forgotten how exhausting travelling was, and her condition certainly didn't help things, as she hadn't slept properly all week. Still, she moved to Garlan's side, and the pair of them began their mad dash from the carriage to where camp was being organised. If she wasn't getting soaked, then she would have been laughing, at least she would have until she remembered the last time she ran through the rain and how it was a different Tyrell man who's hand she was holding. Longing and guilt hit her in the chest just in time for them to make it to the tent, so she had very little time to focus on it and how much she missed her husband before she was being approached by Robb, who hugged her despite how wet both of them were.

"Are you well?" he aske cautiously, looking her up and down. When all she did was nod, he sighed. "Edd, if I'd have known the weather would have been like this-"

"You would have insisted I not come?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Try explaining my absence to Lord Frey then and make it sound as if I'm not some stupid woman scared of rain."

"You know it's not just the rain worrying me," he pointed out, and glanced down to her stomach briefly.

Eddmina continued to stare at him, even if she did wrap her cloak around her tighter once more. Robb knew better than to draw attention to it, knowing well enough how she still didn't want people to know. That was getting harder, as she'd found since they set off that she had to lace her dresses looser. It had made her cry the second night when changing for bed to see that her stomach had started to properly swell ever so slightly, and Willas wasn't there to share it with her. It was something she was determined to keep a secret for as long as she could, but that felt even more important the closer to the Twins she got, to the point she didn't want to discuss it at all. If anyone who knew of her condition asked her anything, she would give them quick, brief answers before moving the conversation on, and if anyone who didn't know asked her why she was so pale or why she wasn't drinking she would think up a quick excuse. It was one of the reasons why she longed to get it all over with, because the sooner she got home to Highgarden, she could go back to being happy about it.

She could hardly be angry at Robb though. He had a great deal on his mind, and she couldn't help but think he looked lonely. He was surrounded by men who loved him every day, yet he looked alone. Perhaps it was because she was not physically by his side as much as usual, or perhaps he missed Jeyne, or perhaps it was because he'd sent Grey Wind north with Sansa. The pair of them both felt as though part of them was missing with the absence of their wolves, even if they knew it was for good reason. Honour could protect Uther and Willas in the south, while Grey Wind could protect Sansa and Harrion in the north. It made sense, but Eddmina knew Robb felt the same longing ache she did.

A fire had been built in the middle of the tent, with many of the men gathered around to dry off, and Eddmina watched as Garlan headed over to join his father. Lord Tyrell seemed to be talking with the Mormonts, an unlikely combination as Eddmina wondered what they would have in common to discuss, but her mother had arrived, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, preventing any speculation. Behind Lady Stark was her brother, Edmure looking as miserable and hard-done-to as he had since finding out about his betrothal.

"They will not take kindly to this postponement," Edmure remarked, his jaw clenched in frustration as he regarded his nephew. Eddmina found herself incapable of not rolling her eyes, mostly because he said what she was thinking, but was using it to voice his bitterness. "Not that I care. The longer it takes us to get there the better, I say."

"Aye, so it gives Lord Frey's daughters time to grow prettier for you?" a passing lord who'd overheard his comment remarked, laughing heartily as he was making his way to the fire. His smile died when he saw Eddmina's cold glare, and his head bowed in shame. "Apologies, your grace."

"I should think so," she nodded back at him, turning to her uncle the moment the man had fled to the fire. "And you should be sorry too. Your future wife is probably as happy as you are, and she's most likely lived a life of misery under the rule of her cruel father, being mocked for things she cannot help such as her appearance. She also doesn't want to marry a stranger, I'd wager. Maybe she'd dreamed of a love match."

"Edda," her mother told her warningly, though looked as if she agreed with her.

"Doesn't matter how long it takes us to get there," Robb said, in the hopes of killing any tension. "Lord Walder will still get the wedding he wanted."

"He's getting a wedding," Lady Stark said, almost sharply before she could stop herself, and instantly Robb looked guilty. He looked to his twin, but was surprised to see that at long last, both his sister and his mother were in agreement. "Do you know what you will say to him yet?"

"I've something planned," Robb nodded, glancing to his sister. "Do you? I imagine you've drafted at least five versions of some sort of speech by now."

Eddmina didn't respond, not in favour of hitting him on the arm sharply. He feigned hurt, while she merely smirked at him. She hoped that would mean serious conversations were over for the night, and headed over to the fire to join Garlan, who quickly threw his arm around her shoulder in a brotherly embrace, rolling his eyes at her as he gestured to his father, still deep in conversation with the Mormonts.

"Unlikely friendship, isn't it?" Garlan remarked under his breath, and both of them had to stifle their laughter quickly when the trio turned to them, Dacey smiling and offering Eddmina a wave of greeting. "Evening, Lady Maege, Dacey."

"Ah, Eddmina, good to see you," her goodfather greeted her, and though she was getting  more used to them trying to be friendly, it still surprised her sometimes. "I completely forgot that your Mormont friends would have known my wife's sister!"

"Aunt Lynesse?" Garlan exclaimed, his nose wrinkling. "That is hardly a happy mutual friend, she fled from their island to Lys."

"Willas wanted us to go and visit as part of an extended honeymoon," Eddmina recalled with a quick smile, though it died when she remembered that those had also been Garlan's cancelled honeymoon plans, had the joust not happened.

"Aye, Bear Island is not for everybody, least of all soft southerners," Maege Mormont remarked, Dacey nodding in agreement.

"She laughed at me for practicing with my axe once," Dacey cut in, her cheeks a little pink, and Eddmina gave her a look of outraged solidarity.

"She once called me fat," Garlan offered with a shrug and a smirk. "That was why Will knew he had to call me 'Gallant'."

"I never did understand what my brother saw in that woman," Maege practically cursed, before remembering her audience, and for once looked almost apologetic. "No offence meant, obviously."

"I wouldn't worry, the Hightowers never liked me, and Lynesse liked me the least," Lord Tyrell laughed. Somehow, the Mormonts laughed with him.

Food was served out to all those in the tent, a thick meaty stew that was easy to make while on the move yet just as delicious as something prepared in a proper kitchen. There wasn't much to go around, and while Eddmina's stomach still felt delicate, Robb gave her half of his portion, and Garlan claimed to not be hungry at all as he ate merely a spoonful before pouring the rest into her dish. She hated the special treatment, hated how men looked at her and wondered why her brothers were so determined to feed her, but as she sat across from Dacey to eat and felt her stomach rumble, she knew she was grateful.

"Will you visit Bear Island, when all of this is done?" Dacey asked upon finishing her own bowl. Eddmina nodded, her mouth too full to speak without getting an ettiqute lecture from her mother. "I know what my mother said about southerners, but Ser Willas would be welcome, too."

"Of course we will come visit," Eddmina told her the moment she had finished her mouthful. "I'd love to meet your sisters."

"Lyanna would love you," Dacey said with a proud, affectionate smile. "As will Jory, and Lyra, they'll all pester you for war stories. Alysanne will try and scare you off by telling you she can become a bear, but considering westerners whisper that you change your skin into a wolf I'm sure you'll get along. They'd all see it as an honour to have you visit."

"You will come to Highgarden too," Eddmina couldn't help but smile at her friend's eagerness, and how fondly she spoke of her sisters. "It would be my pleasure to show you all around. Will was restoring a godswood for me before we left, and by the time you visit I will be able to spar again."

"I have missed fighting with you," Dacey admitted with a small smile. "Is it not awfully hot down there?"

"It is, not as bad as Dorne though, have you ever had sun-stroke?" Eddmina nodded, but when Dacey shook her head and looked curiously concerned, she gave her a grin. "I thought I was dying, all because it was too hot. I am glad I'm not married to a Dornishman."

"I suppose I will need to get married once all of this is done," Dacey groaned, grimacing as she glanced about the tent to observe the men that surrounded them. "They would have to be strong, and northern too, and I think I would chuck myself off the island if he was stupid, but he can't be too ambitious."

"Marriage isn't so bad," Eddmina shrugged, feeling the ache of longing inside, as she expected. "Just as long as you don't marry a fool. Do you have anyone in mind?"

Dacey shrugged, clearly unbothered by the whole affair, and though she didn't react with absolute disgust, Eddmina couldn't help but think of her littlest sister. Before she was lost Arya used to complain and moan about the potential of having to get married, and Eddmina used to enjoy teasing her over it, even if she was proud of her sister for wanting to be different. She couldn't help but think how Arya would love Dacey, how she would idolise her and follow after her the way she used to chase the younger guards in Winterfell, desperate to be included.

Eddmina wanted to make another joke about men and marriage to distract from the stinging grief she felt at considering her vibrant and lively sister as gone, but there was a slight commotion at the entrance of the tent. When she glanced over in concern, she saw there was a newcomer, a new arrival that was bowing to Robb. With a sigh she knew duty was calling, so she heaved herself to her feet and moved across the tent quickly taking her place at her brother's side. As soon as she saw who they were greeting though, she wished she had stayed with Dacey.

"Good day, Princess," Lord Roose Bolton bowed to her, and when she held her hand out to shake, he took it and kissed her knuckles. It was a mark of respect, she knew that, but it made her burn inside and her skin itch, knowing there was only one man she wanted to kiss her hand. "I trust you are well."

"As well as can be, in this miserable weather," she attemped to joke to hide how uneasy he made her.

Why did he make her want to squirm? She had never been able to pinpoint why he made her uncomfortable, though she often wondered if it was because her father had never particularly cared for him. He respected him, he respected his council, that was his job as his warden, but Lord Eddard Stark had always liked to keep Lord Roose Bolton at arm's length. Eddmina had most likely inherited that from him, but it didn't help that he had seen her at one of her most vulnerable moments. He'd caught her and Robb arguing, he'd been the one to break the news over the betrayal in Winterfell, and he'd witnessed her and Willas have one of their worst moments in their marriage. If he didn't unnerve her before, then knowing he had seen a side to her that she would have usually concealed made her extremely wary over him.

He'd disappointed her too. He'd promised Robb and herself that his illegitimate son would be able to recover Winterfell from the Ironborn for them. He'd given them his word that his son Ramsay would recover their home and save their brothers. Those promises had turned fruitless, and her brothers were cold and in the ground. It was hard to look him in the eye after all of that, but even so, she forced herself to, even if her insides felt prickly.

"I was just telling Lord Bolton that we are glad to have him here to be accompanying us for our Uncle's wedding," Robb told her, though she knew his words were a ruse as he looked at her with concern; he was only speaking to her for an excuse to look at her and check she was alright.

"Yes, we're both pleased to see you again," she nodded, forcing herself to act as diplomatic as possible. "The last we saw you, you were riding for Harrenhal. How does it fare?"

"Well enough, after fending off Lannister attacks and seiges," he reported, and the few other northmen who surrounded them grumbled at the mention of their enemy, while Lord Bolton remained cool. "I will be returning once this wedding is done. That is, unless my King or Princess see any other use for me."

Eddmina was more than happy to send him back off to Harrenhal, but she kept quiet and nodded, letting Robb deal with the matter. By that point one of the other bannermen wanted her, calling her over for council, and soon enough before she had even realised what was occurring she had moved throughout the tent, conversing with anyone who had the chance to speak with her. She was glad of it, because at least it meant she didn't need to speak to just Lord Bolton, though she kept glancing behind her, checking Robb was alright. He looked fine, as he should be as a King, and so she carried on, offering advice to whoever asked, and laughing whenever anyone joked with her.

They spent the rest of that day in the makeshift camp, and when Eddmina retired to her own tent that had been put up for her to share with her mother, she dreamed of the Twins again. Yet another cold nightmare that stole her breath, and as she jerked awake, scared that she might've woken her mother, she listened out, desperate to hear more thundering rain on the canopy up above. The air was silent, and so there was no choice but to carry on their journey to the Twins.

***

The hall of the Twins was about as cold as Eddmina remembered, and their welcome was just as chilly. At least it wasn't like before, when it had just been her and her mother, as there was a comfort to the number of northmen who were stood behind them, and with her brothers stood either side she felt more prepared and like she could take it all on with ease.

Even so, looking on at Lord Walder as he sat at the head of his table, surrounded by his bitter looking sons and sad young wife, Eddmina knew to expect the unexpected. He looked older than he had done before, but that had been almost a year ago, and a year was a long time for someone in their nineties. No matter the age, he still looked like a weaselly little thing, hunched in his great seat carved to resemble his castle. She remembered how he called her ugly and mocked her mercilessly the last time she met with him, then she remembered Willas' reaction, how he vowed he wanted to kill him for insulting her. Recalling it made her want to chuckle a little, amused by her husband's infatuated protectiveness, and it made being looked up and down by every Frey in the room a little bit more bearable. Except, while they looked at her with their usual smug, bitter superiority, they looked at Robb with uneasy hatred. It made her protective, it made her want to hide him away and take on his responsibilities, but in the same way she had forced Willas to stifle his defensiveness, she forced her elder-sibling instinct away, and knew to let Robb fight this battle himself. Besides, she knew that no matter how much they glared at Robb, the two Westerling boys who lingered behind them were receiving far worse stares.

The stewards of the hall passed around plates of bread, which they were all expected to eat from in order to instil the guest rights, and though her stomach felt off and she was sure she needed to visit the privy, Eddmina choked down a chunk of bread, glad when she didn't gag. She felt Robb nudge her with her elbow, nodding at her to check she was well while eating his own piece, and it was only when she forced a small smile to him that he continued with that they were there for. He stepped forward, and she knew not to follow. He cleared his throat, and she considered everything she would say were she him. He looked at Lord Walder, and bowed his head respectfully, and she felt glad in knowing she too would have started in the same way.

"Thank you for welcoming myself, my family, and my men into your halls," he began, his voice strong, his gaze never wavering from the man he was addressing. "While I wish we were here just for the happy occasion of my uncle's wedding, I am here to apologise for my actions and the insult I served your house."

"It's not me you insulted," he sneered carelessly, barely even looking at Robb, save for when he regarded him up and down with a smug glare. "That crown you wear, forged of bronze and iron, is it? They say it is a poor man who cannot afford a gold crown."

"Gold is not my colour," Robb answered calmly. "Nor is it tradition for Northern Kings."

"Your sister have a matching one, I see?" he ignored Robb's reply in favour of turning his eyes upon her, frowning to see the details of the circlet that rested upon her head. She nodded, not wanting to speak to undermine Robb, but her silence made him croak out a laugh. "Leftovers. Still, an honour, I suppose, for a girl. War suits you, Princess, though I'm not sure that's a good thing. Usually ugly women get hidden away to the Silent Sisters, not sent onto the front line."

Out of instinct Eddmina quickly looped her hand around Garlan's wrist to keep him in place and keep him close. Just in time too, as she noticed her goodbrother square his shoulders furiously. If such a small comment infuriated him, Eddmina dreaded to think how he would keep his composure throughout the rest of the greetings. By then though, Lord Walder's gaze had skipped over her again to rest on her mother, who had been stood on the other side of Robb, her brother next to her.

"Lady Catelyn, a pleasure to have you returned to us, and Lord Edmure, my new liege and the fifth Lord Tully I have served under, what an honour," he spoke, though his tone was dry and careless, almost sarcastic. Once he'd looked them over, his gaze fell to Garlan, and even with his aged eyesight, he noticed Eddmina's hand on him. "And a man I am yet to meet. Forgive me, Lady Eddmina, I thought your husband was a cripple."

"My brother-" Garlan began, his tone tight and defensive, yet Eddmina gripped him tightly and he recalled where they were, remembered how much they needed him to be level-headed no matter the insults. "I'm not the Princess' husband, merely her goodbrother. My name's Garlan, my lord, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Are you?" Lord Walder coughed out a sneering laugh, and Eddmina felt her face flare hot as she noticed Garlan's jaw tense. She was thankful when Lord Frey stopped looking at them and back to Robb, gesturing his hand at him boredly. "Were you saying something, your grace? Ah, that's right, you were about to present your lady wife to me! Where is she?"

"Queen Jeyne remained back in Riverrun," Robb told him calmly. "She wanted to come and meet you all, but so much travel makes her ill, and-"

"An awful shame, I was so looking forward to seeing her," Lord Frey interupted, not buying Robb's excuses. "I assume she is most fair."

"She is," Robb said with a icy nod, and Eddmina felt a hit in her chest as her brother reminded her so much of their father.

"She must be, to turn the head of such an honourable young man," Lord Walder continued, grinning as if Robb was a prey that had fallen into a hunter's trap. "I was always told Starks are honourable and hold promises dear. Well, this girl must be quite a sight to behold for you to forget your sacred vows. You say you're here to apologise to me? Well it is not me that you offended. What about my daughters though, and my granddaughters, my sweet girls who thought they may be in with the chance of marrying a King? Perhaps it is them that you should apologise to."

As if things were not bad enough, having to listen to his insults and swallow his harsh truths, Lord Walder gestured his hand lazily, and one of his sons nodded. A door was opened from behind the table he sat at, and one of the Frey sons led out a procession of young ladies. All of them were dressed drably, all were pale and meek, heads bowed as they shuffled out nervously. The ones who dared to look up had a tiredness in their eyes that spoke of cruelty or neglect. A few were rather unfortunate looking, inheriting their father's look - though Eddmina knew she too looked like her father, and so could hardly use that against them. A few were pox-marked and drawn out, unattractive in their own right in a way that was caused by a lack of sunlight and happiness. There were a few though that were almost beautiful, were they dressed properly and treated to enough kindness that would have made them smile. They all had such thick hair that made Eddmina think of braiding her sister's hair. One of them had a faint black eye that looked as if she had been caught in a brawl. A couple of them exchanged uncertain glances to each other in a way that spoke of sisterhood. Then Eddmina noticed one of them, one that must have been her age, clutching at their swollen belly, looking to be at least halfway through her term. Her complete lack of smile made her hard to read, the fact she wouldn't meet Eddmina's eye making it harder, and that was the final thing that made her feel cold and ashamed.

It was Robb who had broken his vow, so why did she feel so awful? Perhaps if she knew the lives of the girls, then she might feel better. If she knew that the one with the black eye had a spirit like Arya and had gotten her mark from play-fighting with brothers or friends, if she knew that the ones who shared glances did so not because they were scared but because they were sisters who shared everything and spent every night together giggling over stories in each others bedchambers, if she knew the one in a condition similar to her own had ended up like that with as much love and care that had gotten her in such a way... Perhaps looking them in the eye might have been easier. If Robb had stayed true to his vow, one of them would have been taken from the Twins, one of them might have ended up a little happier, a little safer, a little more loved. He was her brother, he was her King, but even she couldn't help but resent him for it.

Thankfully he looked as uncomfortable as she did, especially as Lord Walder introduced them all, listing their names. He only got some of them wrong, but Eddmina tried so desperately to remember them all. Two Waldras, three Waldas, Freya, Alyx, Marrisa, Serra and Sarra, Ginea, Sherei, Merry, and Marriane. Eddmina assumed there would be more daughters, more granddaughters, but they would have the name Rivers, and that thought only made her feel more sorry. As he'd listed them they nodded or curtseyed, and if they dared to glance up, Eddmina made sure to smile at them and nod back.

"My ladies," Robb spoke, after swallowing uncertainly and glancing at his sister and mother. He took the time to look at each one of them. "All men should keep their word, Kings most of all. I broke my vow to you, but that fault is not with you. Any man would be lucky to have any one of you. What I did was not to slight you but because of love for another, and though I know that these words cannot make it right what I did to you and your house, I beg your forgiveness, and pledge to do all I can to make amends so that the Freys and the Starks can be friends once more."

It was a good apology, and Eddmina felt pride surge through her. It was a hard thing to acknowledge wrongdoing, but he had done it with ease and humility, and had sounded so genuine. She wondered what their father would think, and despite knowing their father wouldn't be pleased about the broken vows, he would regard the apology highly.

Lord Frey nodded along, looking almost pleased, and then he looked to Eddmina. He gestured her forward, and she shoved away her nerves with a deep breath. She withdrew her hand from Garlan's wrist, though not before he grasped her hand and gave it a tight squeeze, and stepped into her place at Robb's side. An apology had been expected, she knew that, she had practiced it, but she hadn't counted for his daughters and granddaughters making her feel so sorry.

'I am sorry your father has done this,' she wanted to say. 'I am sorry he has wheeled you out as a cruel play on all of us. He laughs and mocks you, cannot even remember your names. He has never looked after any of you with the care you deserve simply because you are not boys and sees you as nothing more than pieces on a board to move about for alliances. I am sorry. I am sorry that the world is so shit for women, for you especially. I am sorry that men mock you for being ugly when the same features on your brothers go unnoticed. I am sorry you have never been given the chance to live the lives you deserve. I am sorry that my foolish brother loved one woman then married another instead of staying true and giving one of you the chance for happiness. I am sorry, I am sorry for everything.'

"My lord, it is a pleasure to meet your daughters and granddaughters," she said instead, making sure to look at each of them. "The last time I was welcomed into this hall I made several promises that would have benefited all of you. I was not raised to lie, nor was I raised to break promises, and so it brings me great shame that I haven't been able to fulfil them. I ask for your forgiveness, and while I know that may not be possible, I will strive to make it right, for all of you. With your lord father's permission, I will personally see to it that you are all taken care of. Whether that is fostered in my own home with my family or negotiate betrothals for you with worthy men, I want to ensure you all get the chance to live better lives than we originally promised to you. And to you, Lord Frey, I apologise that I was unable to deliver in our original deals, but I hope that we will be able to remain allies-"

"Yes, yes, enough now," he interupted boredly, waving his hand as if it could dismiss her completely. He didn't notice how she clenched her jaw in frustration, not in favour of sneering at her. "I'm assuming my fools of sons told you my intentions of how you can make right your wrongdoings?"

Of course he would bring that up, and she could tell by the faint smirk he wore that he was expecting her to crumble, or show her anger, but she found it far more satisfying to keep level-headed and not show anything. She nodded, trying not to think about her son, miles away probably still hating her for her absence.

"I was hoping that would be something we discuss while I am here," she told him, expecting him to laugh or imply she was a traitor again. Instead he looked at her blankly, unbothered, and she decided to run with it and keep the upper-hand in the conversation. "Of course, that conversation doesn't need to happen today. You have asked us to apologise and we have, so I presume we may begin with the happy occasion that brings us here?"

To her surprise, he began to applaud. Eddmina took that opportunity to step closer to Robb, grateful to feel his hand on her arm. Unsteadily, Lord Walder rose to his feet.

"Now that is dealt with, let us begin with the merriment," he announced, and Eddmina almost sighed with relief, even if she could hear her uncle muttering about how he was still yet to meet his bride. "We'll have music, the wine will run red, and we'll put to rest all these wrongs."

It was a sweet relief to be dismissed from the hall, but such happy emotions were short-lived.

***

Much to Edmure Tully's glee and relief, Roslin Frey was beautiful, and despite only meeting her at the aisle, he looked rather overjoyed. He married her without complaint, which made a change given his melancholy since discovering the betrothal, and his happiness to just go along with it was the main reason why Eddmina applauded when the ceremony was over.

The other reason why she clapped was from pure satisfaction, because if the ceremony was over that meant all she had to get through was the feast. Once the feast was over all she could go to sleep, and then she and the Tyrells could go home to Highgarden the next morning. She could go home and see Willas, Uther, and Honour, and she could put the war out of her mind for a few months and focus on nothing but her family. It was sickeningly sweet and she almost wanted to grin at the thought of it, but of course her excitement had to wait until she through with the celebrations, because at the feast she found herself sat with her family with a group of Freys across from her.

Robb and her mother were either side of her, but Garlan was sat on the other end of the table with his father, and as much as Eddmina wanted to swap places and join the Tyrells, she instead had to be courteous and attentive to her hosts. When they joked, she laughed, when they told stories, she listened and asked questions at the right time, and when the food arrived, she made sure she let them eat first. The latter was easy enough, as great platters of steamed trouts were brought out and presented to them, and the smell instantly threw her. The Freys didn't notice her holding her breath and eating only the vegetables that surrounded the fish, but Robb and her mother did, and when one of the Freys served her a slice of fish onto her plate, Robb made sure to distract them so that she could sneak it onto her mother's plate.

"Trout at a Tully wedding," Garlan remarked under his breath, and Eddmina hoped the Freys couldn't hear his japes. "Ingenious."

It felt like a cruel joke when the next platter that was brought out was mutton. That was when Eddmina excused herself to go and offer her congratulations to the top table. Her uncle practically had his new wife sat upon his lap, and they were feeding each other from their forks. They had only just met, yet were friendlier with each other than some couples married for years. Eddmina remembered her own wedding, how she had sat awkwardly at Willas' side, nervous to move because of so many eyes on her, nervous that she liked the man she was sat next to and what it all meant, scared of what she had left behind and what was to come. If Roslin Frey was scared or nervy, she excelled at hiding it, especially as she looked to Eddmina with a smile as she approached. She was the only one who did, her uncle too busy staring at his bride, and her father the Lord Frey offering her his usual superior sneer.

"Congratulations, Uncle," she offered Edmure first, then focused on Roslin. "And congratulations to you too, our new Lady Tully. It's an honour to have you as our new Aunt."

Roslin was Eddmina's age, if not a few months younger, and it felt strange to call such a woman her Aunt. Yet, sat at the side of Lord Walder was his wife, who was younger than both Eddmina and Roslin by at least a few years. That made it harder to nod and smile at her than it was to address Roslin.

"I must thank you, Lady Frey, for welcoming us into your hall," Eddmina said, and the young woman looked uneasily from side to side, as if she was unused to being spoken to directly.

"No need to thank her, she's done nothing and it's not her keep," Lord Walder dismissed before his wife could speak. The woman in question merely sank back in her seat and took a sip from the goblet she clenched with both hands. "I, however-"

"Were about to receive my thanks next," Eddmina replied smoothly. She refused to be intimidated, refused to give in to the nervous swirl in the pit of her stomach, and so she continued, "I had hoped, my lord, that once all the festivities are done, that before I leave tomorrow we might discuss some of your terms that your sons brought to Riverrun. Specifically the one surrounding my son."

"Why, don't want to hand him over, do you?" he asked knowingly with a small laugh that made her skin itch. "How'd you expect the boy to learn to be a man if he's always being coddled by a  woman? I'd wager I know a lot more about sons than you do, I've got more of them, so I thought you'd enjoy some expert advice."

"Aye, my lord, and I'd be grateful for some of that advice when we discuss it properly tomorrow," she said, taking another deep breath as she forced another smile. "I will not trouble you tonight over such matters, not during such a happy occasion. I best return to my brother."

She left before he could test her patience anymore, before she put her restraint to the test again, and was glad to see that in her absence someone had slipped into her seat. It looked like one of the Umbers, deep in conversation with Robb and even deeper into a tankard of ale, and so she sank into a chair next to Garlan. Her goodbrother had been watching her like one of his brother's hawks, and was quick to place his hand on hers, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not going to say anything, but I expect we will debrief on everything on the road," he told her hushedly, and she nodded, knowing that many a night on the road to Highgarden would be spent gossiping and complaining about the events of that day.

She could barely hear him over the band, not as the drums pounded and drowned out every other sound in the hall, even the noise of the other instruments. It gave her good excuse not to talk, as she instead plotted how she would announce to Lord Walder that he would never get to meet her son let alone foster him, but do it as gently and diplomatically as possible, and as she thought she sipped at her water cautiously, wishing the hours away so that the night might be done sooner. She was exhausted, and the band's terrible rendition of 'Alysanne' was not helping her head at all.

"Are you well, Eddmina?" Lord Tyrell asked her with mild concern. She nodded quickly, hoping she looked convincingly fine. "I must say you were rather impressive before when we first arrived."

"What've we been telling you?" Garlan rolled his eyes, sounding bored of his father's surprise. "Edda's no fool, neither is Robb, how do you think they're winning this war?"

"I know you've been telling me, boy, you and your brothers, but it makes a difference seeing it in person," Lord Tyrell answered stubbornly with a laugh before he turned back to Eddmina.  "Where did you learn diplomacy like that?"

"I suppose I just paid attention to my parents," Eddmina replied simply, because she truly didn't know. To say it came natural sounded boastful and crude, so she added, "I think I spent a lot of time when I was younger not speaking until I was sure of what to say so I had a great deal of experience watching what happened around me and how best to navigate certain situations."

"Well it's certainly serving you well," he nodded, looking to Garlan. "We will be calling the banners when we get home for this war, do you suppose we ought to have them meet with Eddmina again now she is a Princess? And little Uther too, I suppose he counts as a Prince?"

"I'd be more than happy to," she replied quickly, seeing Garlan's frown. She ignored his point about Uther, deciding that was another matter all together as she added, "Whatever helps the cause."

Both she and Garlan knew it went beyond the cause. His father wanted his banners to see her not as the warden of the north's daughter as she had been at the wedding, not the daughter of some far away Lord, but as a princess and Hand. It was a much different status to who she had been when his banners watched her join house Tyrell, and one that commanded far greater respect and power. It made him look better, to have a princess for a gooddaughter and for his grandson to be in line to inherit not one but two kingdoms, possibly three until her uncle had children. She imagined telling him that Jon was actually heir to the north over her would dampen his mood, and maybe even make him question his support. She knew he wanted the status he could gain from a connection to any sort of monarchy, and she knew Robb and the war needed his support, so she stayed quiet about her inheritance, simply smiling and nodding, ignoring how his praise came with something he could gain.

"We should dance," Garlan suggested to her, gesturing to the floor where several couples had started to dance, her uncle and Roslin included.

"Two left feet," she reminded him in resistance.

"Your rhythm has gotten better after sword practice," Garlan shrugged, rising to his feet as offering her his hand.

"Your brother wouldn't want me exerting myself," she tried, unable to fight the faint smile as she thought about Willas' protectiveness, even as Garlan rolled his eyes.

"Then it will be our secret," he laughed, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet, dragging her to the dance floor. He waited until they were in position and until they had spun close enough before he whispered to her, "I'm sorry about him."

"It's fine," she understood exactly what he spoke of, shaking her head with a smile to show how fine it was, even as she spun and trod on Garlan's toes. "At least he likes me now."

"He should have always liked you, simply because Willas likes you," Garlan reminded her, gripping her hands tighter and not even wincing as she stood on his foot again. "I don't think any of us ever thanked you enough for what you've done for him. In the few years he's known you I've known him smile more than he has done his whole life."

"I love him," Eddmina shrugged, as if her answer was the easiest thing in the world. "I love you, too, you're a wonderful older brother."

"And you're a fantastic little sister, less annoying than my other one," he joked, but the initial sentiment was true as he winked at her, twirling her around so she almost looked elegant. He glanced across the dance floor, then gestured with his head to Robb, who was dancing with a Frey girl. "He's promised to dance with each of them, the poor fool. He's a good king."

"And you're a good knight," she said, with a raised eyebrow, and though he sighed, he knew what she was implying.

When their dance was over he did as she had silently suggested, venturing to the table of Frey girls and offering each of them a dance, charming as ever as he winked and acted the perfect gentleman. He was a perfect southern knight, making the girls blush and giggle, and some of them looked truly happy for the first time all night. Eddmina wanted to retire back to the table, seeing a seat free next to her mother, but she still had a part to play, and so forced away her own wants as she offered her hand to the nearest Frey son. She ignored how he squeezed her waist too hard and gripped her hand too tight, and when she moved on to her next partner she paid no attention to how his gaze lingered up and down her body. Robb needed allies and as his Hand enduring a few difficult dance partners was the least she could do.

She was almost grateful when a fourth Frey stumbled and dropped his hold on her, so she went spinning into the arms of her brother. He caught her, and instantly began to laugh when he caught the look of disguised frustration on her face. He held her hand gently, and rather than releasing her to go back to the table and rest, he began to dance with her himself.

"My toes are bruised," he commented lowly when he knew no one else could hear.

"Then why are you dancing with me, I'll surely only cause further injury," she reminded him with a dry smile.

"You'd never hurt me," he shrugged. Even with such a gesture he looked Kingly, his crown shining in the candle light as he appeared as gracious and noble as all the king's from the story books. "Thank you, by the way. You've excelled yourself today. I'm sure you'll be glad to go home and get some proper rest."

"Do you remember what father said? 'War was easier than daughters'," she said with a faint sad smile, noticing a look of longing in Robb's eyes; he still missed him. "I'll be finding out if the sentiment is the same with sons."

"You will bring them to visit the north, won't you?" Robb asked, smiling when she nodded eagerly. "Good. They should know it's their home as much as Highgarden is. Father would have wanted that."

Too much talk of their father and the evening would have taken a melancholic turn, and so when the song ended they parted for different dance partners, but before she could find another Frey, Dacey had grabbed her and and pulled her in for a dance. It wasn't expected or proper for two girls to dance together, but nothing about the two of them was ever really proper, and so they laughed and grinned as they spun each other about, ignoring the looks of the men who watched as if they were madwomen.

"How many have you danced with?" Eddmina asked with a teasing look.

"At least five," Dacey shrugged as if she'd lost count. "Some of them are not so bad."

"How about marrying one?" Eddmina suggested jokingly, laughing when her friend frowned in disgust. "It would certainly help Robb's cause of uniting the Freys and the north."

"I love his grace, I will do anything for the north," Dacey answered diplomatically, but Eddmina sensed the part that was going unsaid: 'I will do anything, but not that.'

When their dance ended, Dacey went to find another partner, while Eddmina was quick to take her seat once more, sitting at her mother's side. She smiled and nodded to the Lord at her mother's other side, barely realising it was Lord Bolton until she noticed the cold eyes that made her want to squirm. 

"Princess, you dance rather well," he offered her the compliment, and despite everything she snorted out a laugh. It earned a glare from her mother, but Lord Bolton didn't seem to care. "Perhaps later on you would do me the honour of a dance."

"Perhaps, my Lord, though I am sure there are so many better partners here tonight," she smiled courteously. "I think I might've broken one of Garlan's toes."

"I'm sure Ser Garlan will make a full recovery," Lord Bolton attempted to join in with her joke, and while both she and her mother laughed, she so desperately wanted to cringe.

"How much longer will this last?" She whispered, leaning in closer to her mother.

"Stay another hour, at least," her mother suggested, then out of nowhere moved to grip the hand Eddmina had left resting on the table top, giving it a loving squeeze. "You've done very well today."

"As have you, I can't imagine it's particularly nice having to watch your children grovel and be insulted," Eddmina noted, her voice still low. "Retire to bed with me? The earlier we get up tomorrow the sooner we get home."

"Home?" Lady Stark frowned, letting out a sigh of happy disbelief as the shock wore away. "Oh, Edda, for so long I assumed you'd think of nowhere but Winterfell as your home. I never thought... You really do love that man, don't you? I thought you would hate us for that betrothal."

Eddmina wanted to tell her mother that despite childish grievances and foolish traumas that in the moment didn't seem to matter, she could never truly hate her. She wanted to tell her that becoming a mother herself changed her mind about so many things, most of those being the way she saw her mother and understood her decisions. She wanted to tell her she loved her and thank her for the betrothal that turned out to be the greatest thing either of her parents had ever done for her. Eddmina didn't have the chance to say any of that, because instead the band went quiet as Lord Walder dragged himself to his feet, his goblet in the air in a toast as he looked at his King. All eyes went to him, and all conversation went forgotten.

"Your grace!" he addressed her brother, a crude smirk in place that made Eddmina want to shudder. "The septon has said a few preyers, we have drank a few toasts, but they are not yet man and wife! What does our king say, shall we have them bedded?"

Eddmina glanced around the room, hating the bawdy calls from the men who had clearly been looking forward to that part of the night. Robb didn't seem particularly bothered, or keen on the tradition, but to show that truth was to throw another insult at the Freys, and so he forced a smile, pretending to go along with the joke, and nodded. Eddmina noticed her new Aunt go pale, and her brothers and cousins seemed to glance at each other with knowing, eager looks.

"If my Lord thinks that it is time, then by all means let us proceed," Robb agreed, earning the cheers of most in the room.

The music started up again, and Eddmina couldn't help but wince watching as all the men in the room rushed to a terrified-looking Roslin, while the women crowded around her Uncle. She swallowed uncomfortably, looking down at the table, realising it was the first wedding she'd attended where the bedding actually went ahead. As the men lifted Roslin in the air and began to carry her to the door, as the women swept a grinning Edmure away, their clothes were torn and pulled at, and Eddmina almost reached for the goblet of wine in front of her mother. Seemingly out of nowhere, Garlan appeared, his jaw clenched as he sank into the seat next to Eddmina.

"I bloody hate this tradition," he muttered, pouring himself a cup of wine. "One of Leonette's cousins joked about what would happen during our ceremony. He doesn't speak to us anymore, not after I broke his nose. Leonette wasn't happy, she wanted to do it herself."

"I love her," Eddmina sighed with a grin.

"As do I," Garlan nodded proudly, though as he swigged his wine he ran a hand against his forehead tiredly. "I think I may kill someone if they suggest a ceremony at Margie's next wedding."

"I think both your brothers would join you in that," Eddmina said, making him laugh in agreement.

As Roslin was carried past them, Eddmina couldn't help but notice her tears. Was she scared of the men who carried her, or of what was to come? Eddmina didn't envy her, and once again found herself thinking of how glad she was that Willas had her spirited away so they could avoid the whole thing. Eddmina wanted to follow, to tell her poor girl she would be safe, but before she knew it, they were gone, the hollering crowd with them, and the Frey guards were shutting the door behind them.

She went to turn to her mother to ask if she could retire, deciding that if the bride and groom had left then it wouldn't technically be seen as rude. Yet, her mother was wearing a faint nostalgic smile, one that was tinged with the pain of the past, and Eddmina knew that she was not the only one thinking back to her own wedding.

"Ned forbade the ceremony too," she told her quietly, still smiling. "He was never keen on it either."

"I never knew," Eddmina breathed out, shocked, feeling a blunt pain in her chest as she thought of her father and all the things she still did not know about him.

"And you wondered why he was so pleased you fled your own wedding feast?" Lady Stark sighed. "The two of you were more alike than you'd ever know."

She wanted to say how much she missed him, how she wished he was still with them, how the babe inside her would be named for him and raised to be just as honourable. She would have said so much, had the band not started to play once more. A slow melancholic tune rang out, though it took Eddmina a moment to realise why it made the hairs on her arms stand to attention. 

Why in seven hells did they choose that song?

Her mother seemed just as perturbed, though a glance to Robb as he stood talking to both of Jeyne's brothers and two Freys told her that he'd barely noticed. In fact, no one seemed to notice anything out of place, except for herself and her mother, and Garlan, who threw his wine back and rose to his feet. He held his hand out for Eddmina once more, and once more she took it, barely noticing the fact his father was still trying to talk with them as if nothing was amiss.

"It is one thing to make you beg for forgiveness, then to make you eat your mother's own sigil," Garlan hissed to her angrily, gripping her hand tight as she stood. "But to play that song... They're doing it as a slight to you, surely. They're doing it because of that bloody, cursed name."

Eddmina's face was hot, contemplating the fact that her cruelty had earned her the nickname among her enemies, yet now even her own allies mocked her for her supposed similarities to Tywin Lannister. The song was his victory piece, and so they surely played it for her, to humiliate her. One last way for Walder Frey to poke at her. She could think of no other reason why they would play the song of their enemy, and so her face burnt and her skin itched, and she felt desperate to flee.

"You don't have to stay here and take it," Garlan told her, gesturing to the door. His father was talking, trying to convince him to sit back down and stop seeing everything as insult, but Garlan wasn't listening. "We'll retire for the night. Come on."

They went nowhere, because several things seemed to happen all at once and supposedly out of nowhere, though there had been signs everywhere that Eddmina would curse herself forever for missing. First, Eddmina noticed Dacey on the dance floor approach another Frey with her hand outstretched only to be given the cold shoulder as he stormed past her as if she was nothing. Then, she noticed Walder Frey, back on his feet, grinning once more. Then, she heard a faint clicking, and the sound of gears turning, and the sound of the doors being barred.

"Your grace!" Lord Walder called, looking nowhere but at Robb, who looked away from his conversation to the speaking Lord with a trusting smile. "I'm afraid I may have forgotten my manners, and haven't treated you to the hospitality you and your family deserve."

"Robb!" She heard her mother shriek, the sound of her voice mixing with the noise of her hand colliding into Roose Bolton's face.

By the time Eddmina looked to her mother, she saw the shining chinks of chain underneath the sleeve of Roose Bolton's doublet, previously hidden yet currently exposed for them all to see. Eddmina felt dread and betrayal seize up inside of her, her instincts kicking in only too late as she realised all was not well. She gripped Garlan's hand tighter as the world began to fall apart, as Roose Bolton dashed from the table and to the edges of the room. She wondered if he was fleeing, if it had been a poor coincidence that he had mistrusted the Freys so badly he wore armour to dinner, but then the arrows started descending upon them like deadly rainfall, and she knew it was not just poor luck. He was not fleeing, he was merely getting out of the way of a bloodbath, one that he was involved in orchestrating.

If it was Roose Bolton's instinct to betray then run, it was Eddmina's instinct to find her brother. Robb had been in the middle of the room when their mother screamed for him, but by the time she looked back to where he had been standing he was gone. She felt herself scream his name, but by then there were other screams drowning out her own, the screams of men dying, the crashing of tables being overturned to become shields and barricades. None of it mattered, she simply needed to get to Robb. She didn't know what was happening, but if she was with Robb then she knew she was safe. No betrayal mattered as long as Robb was at her side. The pair of them could weather any storm as long as they were together, so she called his name and tried to run to him, yet a tight grip on her hand was stopping her no matter how hard she fought.

"Edda, we need to leave!" Garlan screamed at her. She barely considered that it was the first time she'd seen him look truly scared. "We need to get out!"

"I need Robb!" She screamed back at him, and somehow managed to free herself.

She did not get far in running to find her brother. In her attempt to get further into the room, she felt someone grasp her braided hair and pull her back, then she felt the cool bite of steel against her neck. By the smell of her captor it was a Frey son, and fear had barely seized her before she heard him grunt in pain and be hauled off of her. Without him holding her she stumbled, turning around to see him stagger to the floor, a serving tray having been walloped over his head, still being held in the air by Lord Tyrell.

He was looking at her with concealed dread, still surprised by the deception even if instinct had taken over. From the tales of all his sons she knew he was no great warrior. His greatest triumph in the last war was the siege on Storm's End which had involved very little combat and was broken by one lone smuggling ship. He wasn't a wise strategist like his eldest, nor was he a great swordsman like his middle son, nor was he a famed knight like his youngest, but he was still a man, and it was not in a man's nature to go down without a fight. Neither was it in a father's nature to not protect, and as Garlan ran to the two of them with an arrow already in his shoulder and another soaring through the air that would have ended up in the back of his neck, that nature came true. He moved to grab at his son's collar, forcing him onto the floor where Eddmina had ducked under the overturned table, and the oncoming arrow instead found home in his arm. If he made any sound or show of pain, Eddmina didn't notice as she tried to catch her breath and understand what was happening to them, even as she reached up and snapped the arrow out of Garlan's shoulder as he grunted through gritted teeth.

"The pair of you, get out of here," Lord Tyrell instructed them urgently, though when he could see the panic in Garlan's eyes, he leant closer to them, grabbing the collar of his son's shirt once more. "You listening, lad? Get up, get out, and go home. Get her out of here, quick as you can-"

If he had anything else to say, an arrow in the back and a knife in the belly put a stop to that. The Frey he'd previously knocked away had come back with a vengeance, yet the knife meant for Eddmina was instead used upon her goodfather, who slumped onto the floor and said no more. If Eddmina screamed she didn't hear it over Garlan's, as adrenaline took over and his injured shoulder went forgotten. He seized forward and punched the Frey across the face with enough force to knock him out, and then leant over his father, grasping his shoulders.

"Get up," she heard him urge, the cries of everyone else in the room ringing in her ears as she focused solely on Garlan and his unresonsive father. "Please, get up. Get up, you stubborn, fat fool."

He sounded like his grandmother, but there was no time for that. If adrenaline caused rage in Garlan, it made her suddenly clear-sighted, and she knew he would not leave unless she urged him. Careful not to expose herself to the violence, she moved forward on her knees, leaning over to her goodbrother as she worked his hand off his father's shoulder and into hers, squeezing it tightly until he looked at her. Was he crying, or were his eyes just shining in anger and fear? She didn't have the time to figure out. There was no time for words either. They both knew the man was a lost cause, they both knew he had given his life to protect them, and to waste that was to dishonour him. Sharing a terrified yet determined nod, Garlan tore himself away from his father and instead squeezed her hand tight as the pair of them forced themselves to their feet.

"We're going to get out of here," she heard him whisper to her, but barely heard it over everything else, feeling her heart race in her chest as she looked around the horrors of the hall.

Everywhere Eddmina looked, there was blood. Everywhere she looked was another body of another friend. She barely felt herself moving, barely realised she was still holding onto Garlan's hand as he pulled her along, practically carrying her. She only noticed when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders tighter as if becoming a human shield, protecting her from another oncoming wave of arrows. She barely heard him scream, not over everyone else's cries, and the band that still played as if nothing was amiss, as if the murders were merely sport that they were there to soundtrack like it was just a simple tourney.

She tried to turn in his arms to see if he was alright, even though she knew he wasn't, but there was a part of her mind that refused to accept that. They were going to get out and go home, they had to. Lord Tyrell had died for that, he'd given his life to let them get out, and there was no chance that his sacrifice would be wasted by them not surviving. Garlan must have thought that too, because he forced the pair of them to keep moving.

"Just..." Garlan began, out of breath, shaking as he held her. "Just keep holding my hand. We're alright. We'll be alright."

She wanted to believe him, but as they moved she saw more and more of their fallen friends, and escape started to feel like a dwindling hope. As they staggered around another table-turned-barricade, in front of her Dacey lay, an axe protruding out of her chest, her hands wrapped around it desperately. Eddmina had never seen her Mormont friend look scared, but when their eyes met, there was genuine terror. She was trying to breathe, trying to fight, and her lips seemed to be forming what looked like Eddmina's name. She didn't have the chance to say it, not as she slumped back, her eyes glazing over, her chest stilling, her life's blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Eddmina didn't hear her own agonising scream, but Garlan did, and he pulled her away despite her struggles to throw herself onto the floor and hold  the hands of her best friend. She wanted to hold her, hug her, weep over her and beg her to keep fighting, but Garlan had other plans as he forced the pair of them onwards on their fight to the door.

Someone was laughing. Somewhere in that hall, someone was laughing. Eddmina heard the laughter over everything, even her own sobs. She couldn't hear how she keep repeating Dacey's name over and over, not as her ears zoned in on the laughter. The noise lit a fire in her, as did the cries of men falling among her. Everywhere she looked was another body. By the door was Smalljon Umber, or at least she thought it was, as his head was several feet away from the rest of him. Wendel Manderley was not too far away, with a whole fleet of crossbow bolts in him, resembling a macabre pincushion. The bolts had taken down Robin Flint too, and Lucas Blackwood, and dozens of other northmen who she had no chance to mourn as they had died and fallen onto their fronts, giving her no time to see their faces as Garlan kept his grip on her. Her friends and countrymen were dead and dying while she ran for her life, and someone was laughing at them?

Was she as much of a coward as the laugher for her running? It was a question that would have to wait as they got to the door, and Garlan let go of her briefly to move to unlatch the door. It was then that she saw he had four more arrows protruding out of his back, but that didn't stop him as he tried to force the barricades off the door. She tried to help, wrapping her hands around the block that locked the door, but it was bolted in firmly in place, and she was sure as she barged her side into the door that there had to be something on the other side just in case to seal them in the room. Adrenaline still coursed through her to the point she barely felt the sting of betrayal or the horrifying realisation that escape may actually be impossible. It was only when another arrow pierced Garlan's shoulder and he let out an agonising cry that Eddmina realised she was absolutely and utterly terrified.

"Am I bleeding?" Garlan asked, sounding dazed, and when he looked at her she could tell he wasn't seeing straight.

"No," she answered, far too quickly, seeing him lose balance and stagger onto his knees. She followed, catching him as she gripped onto his hands. "No, you're alright. It's alright, I'll get us out of here."

She wondered if he knew she was lying. She wondered if she herself knew she was lying, because while dread was settling over her that their fates were sealed, deep down she was still in disbelief that after everything, they had been caught and this would be their end. After all the plotting, all the fighting, all the years and months of trying to stay one step ahead, it was all for nothing, because instead they would meet their end at a dinner party. It didn't seem right, it wasn't fair, she had told Willas she would see him in two weeks...

Oh, gods, if she died in that hall, she would never see him again, or Uther, or Honour. She'd never see Sansa again, or Jon. She would die and her second son would perish with her, never even being allowed the chance to live. The last people she would see would be the Freys as they betrayed her, and that was so unfair. She had thought about death many times, but never actually thought she would be caught out in such a way, in a way that meant she would never get to see her wonderful husband or her beautiful son again. She would never even get the chance to hold her second beautiful son.

"Don't cry," she heard Garlan tell her, and only then realised her cheeks were stinging with tears. "Please, Edd, we're going to get out."

"We're not," she shook her head, too scared to pretend as she felt as if she could hardly breathe.

"We are, I promised Willas and Leon-" he began, his hands holding hers fiercely, but his grip loosened and he didn't get the chance to finish.

She so desperately wished he'd had the chance to finish, but she also wished she'd noticed the Frey man come seemingly out of nowhere. She'd been so focused on listening to Garlan to try and still her brewing panic that that she saw the Frey man too late, saw him grab Garlan's shoulder from behind and force him to turn so he was facing him, making it easier to drive his dagger into his eye. Garlan stopped, his breath hitching in his throat as he choked on his wife's name, and as the Frey let go of him he thudded to the ground before Eddmina could catch him. It was only when she screamed his name that she realised his killer had been the very same Frey boy pledged to him as a squire at the start of the war.

Conflicted, she didn't know whether to reach for her brother and hold him, or to fling herself at his killer and hope to inflict any sort of pain before he did the same to her. She wanted to wrap her arms around Garlan and beg him to stay, but she knew no begging would help, and so resorted to revenge. She staggered to her feet and lunged at the man, kneeing him in the crotch and punching him in the face, screaming as she did so. She barely felt herself do it, not over the searing agony of grief. He groaned in pain, but didn't falter for long, and quickly took control once more. It didn't matter how much she burnt for revenge, she was weakened by grief and fear, and before she knew it he had her arms twisted behind her back, holding them with one hand while the other held a knife to her throat.

'Do it,' she thought, feeling her eyes burn and blur with tears. She didn't even struggle in his grip as he led her back into the centre of the room, assuming he was merely moving her so his father would hae a better view of her meeting her end. 'Just do it. It would be easier then living and having to face the Tyrell's again, having to tell Lady Alerie her husband who never even liked me died for me, having to tell Leonette her husband was breaking his promise and not coming home.'

She could hardly breathe from the tears by the time Garlan's old squire had her back in the centre of the hall. She didn't care if it made her look weak, she didn't care if she looked a fool. She felt enough of a fool for being tricked, and a fool for feeling so scared. She didn't want to die, she didn't want all her friends to die. Halfheartedly, she squirmed in her captor's grip as if feigning a fight, but it took too much effort and panic held her tighter than the Frey.

She heard the laughter again, and that was when she realised it had been Lord Walder cackling through the whole massacre. She blinked furiously, determined to force her tears away as she remembered her anger. The moment her blurred vision cleared enough to see the old man reclined in his seat watching the events as if it were a tourney sport was the moment fury bloomed inside of her like a fiery rose, and she struggled for real that time. Fear melted away as she realised the inevitability of it all, and knew she did not want to go to her grave scared and crying. She did not want to meet her father again with tears in her eyes.

"How dare you," she seethed, though no matter how angry she felt he did not stop smirking. "How-"

"Oh, do shut up," he rolled his eyes at you. "You should have been taught that girls should be seen and not heard. Not that anyone will be hearing from you for much longer. Or your brother, for that matter."

Robb. She had been so focused on getting out, and then on Garlan, and then on not letting herself seem weak, she had barely noticed her brother. That sickened her as much as the stench of the man holding her. She had left him behind selfishly to flee, and that was why he was sat on his knees unsteadily, an arrow in his side and another in his shoulder. Those arrows were her fault, if she'd fled to him rather than the door he may not have ended up injured, if she'd gone to find Robb she might not have slowed Garlan's escape down. If she had gone to Robb perhaps both of her brothers would have survived, rather than one lying dead and another bleeding.

He was looking at her, apologetic, disbelieving, scared, sad. She couldn't pinpoint what he was feeling, and she usually knew him so well. She knew everything about him, but in that moment of fear and betrayal she felt as if he was lost to her. That only made her want to run to him, to hug him and swear everything was alright. Such things were her job as his older sister, yet as she struggled in her captor's grip, he was unrelenting, and she had no choice but to squirm and try to fight.

Robb seemed to be trying to say her name. Was he truly in that much pain that words were impossible, was he really that injured that a name that had been his first word was now so difficult? She refused to accept that, shaking her head at him. Her hopelessness went forgotten, because there was no way that they were both going to die in the Twins.

"Robb," she called, fixing her eyes to his, ignoring the blood and the arrows and the fact they were surrounded by corpses. "Get to your feet. You are a King, get to your feet and walk out."

"I don't think either of you will be going anywhere in a rush, do you?" her captor sneered, pushing the blade against her throat tighter, his tongue running against her ear. She grimaced, but kept her gaze focused on her brother.

"Your men are outside, we have an army outside," she told her brother, reminding him of the men who had marched with them, the men who would avenge such killings and not rest until their king was healed.

"Men who are now also dead, did you think we were that stupid to forget about them?" Lord Walder laughed, sipping his wine once more.

"Don't hurt my sister," Robb said then, his voice tired.

It made Eddmina shake her head furiously at him, scared that his tone meant he was pleading for mercy, not wanting him to beg to such people especially for her sake. If he was begging for her, that meant he had given up on himself, surely. Eddmina thought that was pointless. There was surely no eventuality that meant she would walk out of that hall alive and well while all her friends and family lay there forevermore. Surely he didn't think they would let her live while slaughtering the rest. Was that what he wanted to spend his last moments on, attempting a last-ditch effort for mercy for her? No, she refused to accept it, even if he was shaking his head back at her.

There was a clatter, disturbing the enthralled Lord Walder's viewing of the Stark twins' silent conversation, and suddenly all eyes in the hall went to Lady Stark. The last time Eddmina had seen her mother she had been calling the treachery to her brother, and since she had been the first to spot it she had assumed she would have been the first to be cut down. Instead there she stood, an arrow in her back, and her fist full of Lord Walder's wife's hair as she held the girl up, a knife to her throat. Eddmina had known her mother was fierce, she knew she was protective, but she looked more primed and ready to attack than either Honour or Greywind after smelling blood, breathing heavily as she looked furiously around the room. Her gaze didn't even soften when she looked upon both of her children, her eyes betraying heartbreak as she saw the state of her eldest son, and the inevitable fate of her eldest daughter. That heartbreak only fuelled the fury.

"Enough! Let it end!" she roared, then her voice cracked as she glanced to the two of them once more, before looking back at the Lord of the Crossing, the one who held all their lives in his withered aged hands. "Please. They are my children, my last boy, and my eldest child. Let them go, and I swear we will all forget this. I swear it by all the gods, we will forget this!"

'But will I forget how my husband's father and brother both died trying to save me?' Eddmina thought bitterly, wincing as she tried not to break into tears once more. 'Will I forget how Dacey tried to say my name in her last breath? Will Robb forget that his wife's brothers lay dead only a few feet away from him?'

"You've already sworn me one oath, my lady," Lord Walder argued dismissively, though it did nothing to discourage her.

"Let me swear another!" she pleaded. "Let them go, let them live! Take me for your hostage, just, let my daughter go, let her walk out of here with her brother. Robb, get up, get your sister and go. Please!"

Her last plea was to Robb, but he hardly heard it. He wasn't even looking at their mother, nor was he looking at Eddmina anymore, not as he staggered to his feet. The fact he was standing seemed to light a fire of hope in her mother as she nodded, almost victoriously, as if she had just watched him win a battle.

"That's it, get your sister safe," she called to him, glancing at Lord Walder and then the son that held a knife to Eddmina's throat. "Let her go. She's done you no wrong, she's a good girl, don't hurt her, not while she's-"

"Mother, stop!" Eddmina interrupted sharply, knowing exactly what she intended on announcing.

All around them lay their friends and family, did she really think they would show mercy and spare her just because of her condition? Eddmina had allowed adrenaline to block that part of her reality out of her mind, because it was terrifying enough thinking she would meet her end in such a way without also knowing she was condemning her child. If her mother used it as leverage to beg for her safety, it would merely become something else they could use against them, even if her fate seemed sealed either way.

"And what makes you think that I will allow either of them to walk out of this hall?" Lord Walder asked, bored again.

"You will let them go," Lady Stark seethed, tightening her grip on Lady Frey's hair as the girl wept silently, the blade pushed against her throat closer. "For on my honour as a Tully and a Stark, you will let my children go, or I will cut your wife's throat."

Lord Walder barely considered it a second before he shrugged.

"I can find another," he dismissed.

Before the reality had a chance to dawn on any of them, Lord Bolton crept out of the shadows once more. Eddmina watched, unable to do anything but struggle and squirm in the grip of her captor as their bannerman strutted confidently over to her brother, grabbing his shoulder. Eddmina was certain she'd never seen him look so deflated, or so helpless.

"The Lannisters send their regards," Lord Bolton stated coldly, thrusting his blade into her brother's chest.

The Frey holding her dropped his own knife to use that hand to cup her mouth and muffle her scream. Otherwise, it would have been so ear-piercing and shrill that they would have heard it in Winterfell. She didn't hear her mother's scream of anguish over her own muffled cry. Even with his hand, she screamed, howling like the wolf of their house as she felt her heart split open. The moment Lord Bolton let go of him, Robb dropped to the floor, and Eddmina felt as if a light in her had been extinguished.

She felt so cold, so empty. Everything seemed to fuzz around her, unable to feel anything, hear anything. She didn't know when she bit down onto her captor's fingers, didn't hear his groan of pain as she stamped on his feet and he released her so suddenly that she nearly fell. She didn't feel herself fly to Robb's side, throwing herself onto the floor to be with him. She wasn't even sure if she could see his face properly, her vision hazed and blurred, but it didn't matter. She had seen that face nearly every day of her life, and would remember it until the day she died. She assumed that day was soon, because there was no world in which she could exist without him.

"Hold my hand," Eddmina told her brother, her voice quiet so only he could hear. Her mind refused to register that he couldn't hear her, and her command would go unheard and unanswered. She took both of his bloody hands instead, holding them in hers tighter than she'd ever held anything in her life. "Robb, please. Brother, I need you."

She didn't hear herself pleading nonsense to him, she didn't hear herself begging for him to not leave her. It was a waste of time, he was already gone, but she refused to process that, refused to acknowledge anything around her except for the fact she held him in her arms. If she was still alive then he had to be too. He was the younger, after all, he was the one who was meant to outlive her. Yet, at some point she noticed the blood, and was so distracted by that and the wave of horrifying realisations that she didn't hear her mother's howls of agony eventually be drowned out. She could hear her mother distantly screaming her name, yet she paid it no mind, not able to look up and even glance at the woman who had given her life in favour of staring at the twin who had been her whole life.

Something in her broke then, knowing Robb was gone and there was naught she could do to bring him back. Eddmina knew every eye in the room was on her. She could feel their stares burning into her, the stares of her enemies and would-be killers, but that did not stop her weeping, nor her screaming. She buried her face into Robb's chest, knowing she was covering herself in his blood, but she didn't care. She would be dead soon enough too, surely. She had to be, because there was no world in which she could live while he was gone.

All of them were gone. Arya, Bran, Rickon. Jon far away beyond the wall. Sansa fighting a war that she would soon find out was pointless. They were all gone, or soon to be gone. All her little siblings. All her lovely brothers and sisters, all those she was meant to protect, those who were meant to outlive her. Gone, taken from her. A lone wolf, who had never been alone before. The bloody corpse she laid upon was proof enough of her lack of solitude.

'We are twins, two halves of a whole,' she thought as her heart tore in two. 'His blood is my blood.'

"Lady Tyrell," lord Bolton's voice called, not unkindly.

He almost sounded gentle. She'd not paid any attention to him or where he had gone after delivering the fatal blow to her brother. Perhaps he was waiting to do the same to her, and though she wanted him to hurry up and get on with it, she was confused as to why he was trying to sound so nice about it.

It barely registered in her mind that he'd called her Lady Tyrell, and it was the truth. Her goodfather lay on the floor in the middle of the hall surrounded by men of her kingdom, and that made her Lady of the Reach. None of that mattered though, not as she felt a burning rage set fire inside of her, not as she felt hatred course through her body. Suddenly she was blind to reason and truth, and she was ignorant to gentleness.

'I am a Stark,' she thought with searing fury. 'I am a Stark, and may the gods curse anyone who forgets it.'

"Lady Tyrell, please," he said again, still gentle. Perhaps if he hadn't spoken then he would have survived her brewing wrath.

She knew what she was doing without thought, which was good, as thinking was impossible as her mind was filled with nothing but screams. Lord Bolton was still stood behind her, but she didn't care, not as she was clenching her grip around Robb's crown, working it off his head as carefully as she could manage. She remembered thinking when it was freshly forged that the spikes were sharp enough to kill someone. While she was given something delicate and ladylike that still looked northern, he was given something that looked old, and fierce, and sharp enough to kill a man. She hoped that was truly the case.

When Roose Bolton put his hand in her shoulder, encouraging her to stand, she screamed again. This time she heard it, and this time it was a war cry that rivalled a wolf's howl. She was on her feet before any of them knew it, and before Roose Bolton knew what was happening she had swung the crown at him. He had a moment of fear, his usually still face betraying his shock, until the spikes of the crown had lodged in his throat. She had caught him by surprise so badly that he had no time to react, though his gaze flicked to where he had left his only weapon; buried in Eddmina's twin's chest. All who knew her knew she was strong and fierce, but he'd never known to what extent, which was why she managed to tackle him to the floor with ease. She kicked at his crotch and swept his legs out from under him. Her own aches and pains were ignored, fuelled by adrenaline and the desire to make someone hurt, and so when he fell to his knees, she did nothing but laugh. At least, she thought it was laughter, while it was actually another agonising scream.

The wound Robb's crown had given him was enough, even if he was gripping at the crown desperately, trying to pull it free while stunting the bleeding. There was no going back, no healing it or making it better. That made Eddmina want to laugh more, as did the look of absolute fear and agony in Lord Bolton's eyes as he realised it was the end and his life was slipping away, but she was crying instead, and knew the only way to make herself feel better was to do it again. That was why she pulled the crown free, and swung it at his chest. She pulled it free, kicking at him so he fell to the floor, then threw herself onto him, lodged the crown into his neck once more and as she sat upon his stomach, wrapped her hands around his bleeding throat, wanting to strangle the life out of him.

Blind with agony, she didn't see him die, nor did she feel the countless Freys who tried to grab at her and pull her back to her feet. She must have known they were there though, must have felt them touch her, because Robb's crown ended up in the throat of another man, and she ended up tackling another and strangling him too. She hadn't even realised she was strangling someone other than Lord Bolton, not until she heard lord Walder scream 'enough' just as her own mother had, not until she felt someone pull at her hair to yank her away. Then someone had hold of her hands, forcing them off the neck of her victim and behind her back as they pulled her to her feet. Then she felt the ice cold of a blade be pushed to her neck.

"Do it!" she screamed, but didn't even know she had spoken, nor did she hear herself, nor did she see Lord Walder despite staring him down. "Just get on with it!"

She felt the blade dig in a little, just enough to sting. She didn't remember how scared she had been every other time someone had threatened her like that. Instead, all she did was laugh, especially as Lord Walder screamed at what ever one of his sons held her to stop.

"Don't you dare!" the old man bellowed, and the blade loosened from her throat. She instantly missed it, wanting it back. If they did it, then she would be with Robb, and Garlan, and Lord Tyrell, and Dacey, and... "You've already wasted one of them, you know what our orders are!"

'Wasted'? What did that mean? Did they never intend on killing her, were they not meant to kill another too? Robb? No, no, her mother. Had they killed her mother and she'd been too blind with rage for her brother to see or even notice? She looked around the room wildly, desperate to catch a glimpse of her mother, to see her still standing, but when she couldn't see that she looked around the floor. There had not been many women involved in the massacre, it would have been easy to spot a gown and long red hair even in the poor lighting, but Eddmina saw nothing. She saw the body of Lord Frey's wife, her throat cut, but did not see her killer, disappeared from the room. Her heart pounding, her rage boiling, she screamed her mother's name and thrashed in her captor's tight hold. What had they done to her mother, and what would she do to avenge her?

"Aye, father, apologies," the Frey who stood behind her muttered ashamedly.

He loosened the blade from her throat completely, though he struggled to hold her as she thrashed in his grip. She could hear someone shouting curses, announcing all the ways she was going to kill them all, proclaiming how they were all cowards who should have just killed her too. It never registered with her that it was her own voice. Another Frey stepped forward, seeing his brother struggle, and it was him who threw a thick burlap sack over her head, subjecting her to darkness as someone lifted her into the air and carried her away.

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