Jaime Lannister was quite drunk after less than half the wineskin.

Eddmina wanted to mock his lack of alcohol tolerance, but that was hardly his fault. It was a bad thing to drink on an empty stomach, the effects of the alcohol hitting harder, and given the fact she could see his ribs anytime his shirt lifted away, she knew that was certainly the case.

If she couldn't poke fun at him for that, then she decided to mock him for his lack of hospitality, as he didn't offer any wine to the two cowering boys chained to the left of him, huddled together so the lack of light made them look like one mass dressed in faded crimson. That was fine, as the dark meant Eddmina didn't have to see the fear in their faces, especially whenever she looked over at them.

They had tried to hush their murmurs of fear when she came down to the cells, but Eddmina had heard them anyway, and she had heard Jaime's laughter as he introduced her to them as 'his wolf friend'. The fact she had visited him enough for him to jokingly call her a friend was a little sickening, but had brought that upon herself, even if she had no idea why she was drawn to visiting him. He was a terrible person who had done terrible things, yet something about visiting him stilled her mind. Something about sitting with him in the damp, dreary cells of Riverrun made her feel more normal. She supposed it had something to do with feeling like a bad person herself. Either visiting Jaime reassured her into knowing she wasn't as bad as she could be, or it made her feel less alone in being bad; Eddmina was yet to decide which it was.

"Does your father like when people sing the reins of Castamere?" Eddmina asked out of nowhere.

That was the good thing about Jaime. She could ask whatever she wanted, even if the question barely lingered in her mind for less than a second. He was her prisoner, so he had to answer. She was the only one who visited, the only one who helped him pass the time, and she thought he had perhaps started answering her every question out of gratitude, as if her visits helped him keep a grasp on his sanity.

"My father doesn't particularly like anyone singing anything, let alone his own song," Jaime shrugged, taking another swig of his wine, the sound of it sloshing in the skin echoing throughout the draughty cells. "Do you think you will get a song after all of this?"

"Gods, I hope not," she shuddered, wrinkling her nose. Jaime's laughter rang out, though it turned into coughing.

"Shame, I heard you once in Winterfell," Jaime told her. "Even in King's Landing, it was known that Ned Stark's eldest daughter had a voice to rival the most famous of bards. You could have made a living from it, if you ever tired of freezing to death. You could have ran off and toured all of Westeros, singing and winning the hearts of millions. Not very honourable though, is it? What do you think your father would have thought to it?"

"Doesn't matter, I didn't run off and my father's not here to ask," Eddmina shrugged bitterly, recalling the satchel of supplies she kept under her bed as a teenager.

Fear of dishonour and disobedience had kept her in Winterfell, and before she had the chance to even consider running, Willas and the Tyrell's had wrecked her plans in the best possible way. She hadn't thought of her childhood desire to run for a while, yet upon Jaime's suggestion she felt uncomfortable, wondering if her plan to return to Highgarden was the same. Would her childhood-self be proud, pleased that she was finally running? Eddmina didn't want to think about it, and glared down at the floor.

"Will you sing for me now, Princess?" Jaime asked with a wink.

"Get fucked," she replied curtly, hating that she enjoyed his laughter. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the two boys watching them, though they pretended not to the moment they saw her looking. "I'm not going to hurt you. What are your names? How old are you?"

The boys looked between each other, muttering wary remarks, nudging each other as if daring themselves to be brave enough to speak to her. Eddmina heard Jaime sigh disdainfully at them as he swigged his wine, but she focused on the boys. Eventually, one of them sat up on his knees, straightening his back to make himself taller. He swallowed nervously, forcing himself to look brave.

"I'm Martyn, this is Willem," he told her, his voice barely shaking. "We're three-and-ten, my lady- sorry, your grace."

Three-and-ten was the age Sansa was when they left for King's Landing, when she had been bright-eyed and full of naïve dreams. She wondered if her sister had ever been made to feel as scared as she clearly made Martyn and Willem feel.

Three-and-ten was also the age Arya would be. That thought stung deeper than Eddmina realised, as suddenly she was imagining what her littlest sister would look like, how she would act, who she would be. She hoped Arya would still be wild, still be fearless. It was barely even worth considering, it was not at all constructive to consider who her sister would have grown to be, for the likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim.

Even thinking of Arya had her insides twisting, and Eddmina had to stop herself from snatching the wineskin from Jaime and downing the rest of it in the hopes it numbed the pain. She wondered if Martyn and Willem had brothers or sisters, if they were the younger ones, if they had elder siblings who would do anything to have them returned safely. She wondered if they had an elder sister who felt sick every time she thought of them, if she too cried herself to sleep sometimes over missing them so badly.

Sometimes it was easier to approach the war when she didn't see the people who were getting hurt. If she had never seen Martyn and Willem then they would have remained as nothing more than nameless Lannister prisoners, boys who didn't cause her to lose sleep worrying over. She could have continued on, oblivious to them, oblivious to the effect the war was having on boys who's only crime was having the name Lannister. Eddmina suddenly felt relieved that she had gone to the cells, glad that she'd reminded herself of the world she lived in. Wasn't that why her father always insisted on 'the man who passes the sentence must always swing the sword'? He knew separating oneself from things that were difficult and uncomfortable did nothing but blind one to reality. Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to visiting Jaime, perhaps her visits kept her grounded and made her see her enemy, rather than forgetting about them in favour of an easy life.

"Is it... is it true that-" Willem began, but Martyn elbowed him sharply in the side, silencing him.

"Let him speak," Eddmina nodded encouragingly, though that only made them warier.

"Is it true that you and your brother can turn into wolves?" Willem asked quickly, managing a moment of courage, though he shrank back the moment his famous elder cousin burst into hysterical laughter.

"Only on full moons," Jaime managed to choke out between howls of laughter. Eddmina glared at him with narrowed eyes, resisting the urge to hit him.

"Luckily for you it is not a full moon," Eddmina told him sharply before she turned her attention to the boys again. "If I could turn into a wolf, I would spend my time outdoors running and hunting. I wouldn't waste that power tormenting teenage boys."

"They say you shot our cousin," Martyn stated in another act of bravery. "Daven. He was at Oxcross. Apparently he tried to flee but you... you stopped him with your bow."

Eddmina remembered the man he was talking about, remembered how he had come sprinting over the hill with terror in his eyes, and how he had begged for mercy before he screamed as she loosed her arrow into his shoulder. He'd been questioned for information, upon her request, and she heard he died three days later after his wound had gotten infected. She hadn't cried at the news, nor did she feel any great sense of guilt at Martyn's words. If anything it was a greater comfort to know his name, to understand the man she had killed just a little better. It felt like accepting responsibility, like having closure to the situation, knowing exactly who she had killed rather than him just being a nameless Lannister.

"I am sorry for your loss," she told them honestly, because she was, she was sorry they lived in a world where she had to kill their cousin. "It's not nice, to lose loved ones."

"Even worse to come face-to-face with their murderer," Jaime joked, earning another cold glare.

"Remind me what you did to my little brother?" She snapped, folding her arms across her chest.

Jaime sobered at that, giving her a nod and a shrug, acknowledging his wrongdoings but also his lack of care. The boys watched them both as if they were mad. Perhaps they were. In the distance of the entrance to the cells, Eddmina heard a clattering bang and a shout, but decided to think nothing of it, deciding it must have just been the changing of the guards. Instead she kept her focus on the boys, noting just how scared they actually looked.

"You are both remarkably brave, if you were brothers of mine I would be proud of how you are conducting yourselves," Eddmina told them, because despite being part of the enemy family, they were still just children.

"Perhaps brave boys deserve songs?" Jaime suggested, his eyebrows raised.

Eddmina wanted to scowl and curse, but instead she began to sing. Not for him, but for Martyn and Willem. It was not their fault they were Lannisters. It was not her fault she was a Stark. It was the war's fault that they were enemies, but in the end all they were were pieces of a game board that the gods moved around to their own content. She wanted to win the war and keep her family safe, and holding those boys prisoner was just an aftershock of that. She didn't want to hurt them or scare them, and so she sang.

Jenny of Oldstones was a sombre ballad, but in the cold damp cells she could hardly remember the words to happier tunes. She always preferred the sad songs anyway, she used to enjoy seeing how the sad stories touched people, even years after they were written. It felt cruel to have ever thought such a thing, especially after enduring so much sadness herself. Even so, it didn't stop it being a good song.

Jaime took a final swig of his wine before he leant back against the wall. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. The boys didn't know what to do with themselves at first, looking uncertainly at each other, but they began to relax, Martyn leaning back against the wall while Willem laid down on the cold floor. He didn't look particularly comfortable, plus he was shivering, but by the end of the song he looked to be asleep.

She wanted to sing Brave Danny Flint next, purely out of habit, but the distant clattering had gotten louder. What she had at first thought was just rowdy banter from the guards changing shift had turned into real shouts and cries, and what she thought had been them dropping their arms had become the sound of swords clashing. Willem did not wake, and Martyn didn't look at her, but Jaime opened his eyes and glanced warily at her, as if knowing something was amiss.

Eddmina kept singing, not knowing what else to do, not knowing what was happening. She wished Honour was with her, but she and Greywind had gone for a much-needed hunt. Instead she slowly moved her hand to her belt, clenching her fist around the hilt of her dagger. Somehow that brought a comfort, knowing that she was armed, knowing she could face the unknown with Winterfell-forged steel, even if the unknown was storming at her with thunderous footsteps.

Out of the shadows burst the figures of five northerners, though as always Eddmina could hear them before she saw them, roaring out war cries more suited for battle than the cells. By the way their words slurred, Eddmina could tell they had all been drinking, though no amount of alcohol could dull down the fury in Lord Karstark's eyes as he looked around at the Lannister prisoners. The men behind him looked just as angry, with their swords drawn as it they were facing an enemy, not a bedraggled prisoner and two little boys.

They didn't seem to notice her at first, too blinded by their hatred, but when she got to her feet, making sure she stood directly in front of Jaime, they all looked at her. Some of the other men, the ones who were younger, looked down awkwardly, muttering polite regards to her, looking off to the exit uncertainly, but Lord Karstark remained steadfast in his anger. Except, it wasn't simply dedicated to the Lannisters anymore, not as he looked at her.

"What in seven hells is going on here?" She asked sternly, keeping one hand on her blade while the other was held out in front of her, stopping the men from getting any closer to her.

"I could ask you the same question, your grace," he demanded, saying her title with a mocking sneer. "Keeping this scum company? My boys are cold in the ground at his hands and you sit here singing for him?"

"Which boys are those? There's a lot cold in the ground because of me," Jaime called with a sarcastic laugh. Eddmina spun to him, giving him a glare while Lord Karstark yelled again.

"Keep your mouth shut," she snapped, before turning back to Lord Karstark. "I came down here to get information. These prisoners are worth a great deal more alive than they are dead. You know that, my lord. Your boys wouldn't want you to do something foolish."

"How do you know what my boys would want?" He snarled, edging closer to her. Eddmina held her fist around her dagger tighter, though resisted the urge to withdraw it, especially as he brandished his sword towards Jaime. "I've waited long enough for my vengeance, who are you to stand in my way?"

"I am no one to stand in the way of a grieving father, no one except a grieving daughter and sister who wanted to take out the exact same revenge as you," she confessed, hoping she was speaking reassuringly, though a surprised laugh from behind made her turn around again.

"Did you?" Jaime asked her with a raised eyebrow, he sounded surprised, but not hurt. Instead he sounded almost flattered, almost impressed.

"If not for Willas, I would have killed you the night my father died," Eddmina confessed, though Jaime looked indifferent, shrugging as if she had not just told him she'd plotted his death. She turned back to Lord Karstark, her hand still held out to keep her distance. "Killing him will not bring anyone back. Killing him will not send a message. It will not make any of our losses hurt any less."

"So what, instead of killing him you came down here and became his companion?" lord Karstark sneered, and he brandished his sword at her. "Your brother lays with a Westerland halfwit, and you make yourself Jaime Lannister's whore. You're just as bad as each other!"

"Now that's no way to speak to your Princess, is it?" Jaime questioned mockingly, and by the way his chains scraped and clattered, he had gotten to his feet.

Eddmina shot him another glare, knowing he was just making things worse, but he never listened to her, of course he wouldn't recognise the importance in starting to listen in such a dire moment. She tried desperately to think of what to say, or what to do, hoping that something would pop into her mind that would fix everything, something would make Lord Karstark forget his anger, yet it was quickly dawning on her that in being found in Jaime's cell, his anger was no longer just towards the killer of his sons, but to her too. She understood, she would be angry too, and that knowledge only made it worse, feeling absolute desperation to set things right and make peace, yet battling against the familiar settling of doom.

Even the men who had seemed cautious and nervy around her regarded her differently once he had bestowed his title of 'whore' onto her. She didn't care about the name, it didn't even register, but the way they looked at her, as if they were disappointed, as if they were hurt, that was what stung, and that was what made her scared. She thought she could command some sort of authority, but that had shrivelled up into nothing the moment Lord Karstark's name had reduced her into nothing more than Jaime Lannister's forbidden companion. He had called her a traitor without even saying the word, and that made her just as worthy of anger and dislike as Jaime.

Eddmina had barely realised how good she had gotten at knowing what to do until the moment the ability left her. She stood there, in front of the men, blocking them from Jaime, every decent thought gone from her mind. She stood there, desperate not to feel scared, but as she realised she had no one to protect her but herself, and doing so would include protecting a man meant to be her enemy, she felt at a loss of what to do. It was hard not to feel scared, and the men in front of her could see that. Lord Karstark almost managed a satisfied smile at her, until his face returned to it's scowl of fury.

"You can save your honour by stepping aside, we won't even tell your husband we found you here," he instructed her, though Eddmina remained where she was. "Move, Princess, or expose yourself as a traitor."

"My brother needs him alive," she said, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. "We need him to bargain, to-"

"To pay for what he did!" he snarled at her, and as he stormed closer, Eddmina withdrew the knife at her belt. He noticed, glancing down at the blade before he met her eyes once more. "And what are you going to do with that?"

"Save my honour, my lord," she told him, surprised at how steeled she felt. "Go back to your chambers, all of you. It is late, you are all drunk. I will not tell my brother of this, and we will all live to see the morning."

He said nothing else to her. Instead, his spit hit her in the face, and she took just a moment to recoil before chaos ensued. It was a mad blur, because at some point one of the boys had stood up and called out. She had not heard what they said, but it was some sort of defence for her, as if she was their friend and not their captor. She did not see if it was Martyn or Willem, but it hardly mattered, because the moment Lord Karstark directed his men to the boys, suddenly seeing two easier targets that were still Lannisters, they were no longer themselves. No, the moment Eddmina saw Lord Karstark's men run at the boys with their drawn swords, they became Bran and Rickon. They became her brothers, and she became fearless once more.

She hardly knew what she was doing, all she knew was that the boys were screaming, and she had thrown herself onto the nearest man, thrusting her blade at him. She hadn't intended to hurt them, they were her brothers' men, after all. She merely hoped the sight of her dagger would be enough to deter them way from hurting the two boys.  When it clearly wasn't, she forced her way in between them, and even if she was a traitor, they were reluctant to swing their swords at her. That was until she kicked at one of them in his favoured area and he dropped to the ground on his knees, and her dagger found it's way into another one of their arms. The third suddenly forgot that she was a woman and their princess upon seeing his injured friends, and so ran at her. He managed to get hold of her braid, twisting it around in his fist and pulling at her. She tried not to yelp, stamping on his feet in an attempt to get free, hitting at whatever she could, and when he screamed she knew her blade had found home in him somewhere. The cell was dark enough that she couldn't really make out what was happening or where she had got him, but she could smell the blood straight away, and the way his grip loosened on her hair told her she caught him somewhere serious. She jerked to the side as he dropped his grip on her, then there was the sound of a thud, and his body hit the stone floor.

She flung herself away, making sure she was still in front of the boys, but far enough away so that she could see what she had done. She had seen that man around camp several times but never caught his name. He had rarely smiled at her, always looked down if she looked his way, but he had nodded and bowed the same as the rest of them. He had come to Winterfell with the Karstarks, and he had called her brother 'king' as loud as the rest of them. He was good and northern, and she had killed him. She had killed him for Lannisters, and as the reality shocked her, it dawned on the rest of them too.

"Watch yourself, princess!" she heard Jaime Lannister shout, moments too late, as his voice hit her ears the same time the fist of one of the men hit her face.

***

It was not rare to encounter horrors in the night. Willas had learnt that in his marriage to Eddmina, who suffered repetitive nightmares, and in the war some of their worst moments had happened in the dead of night. Yet, that night beat them all, because no horror could compare to being summoned out of his bed chamber for an emergency meeting and being presented with the bodies of two dead Lannister children.

His mind still foggy with sleep, it took him a moment to realise that they were real, that the two small bodies laid out on the floor covered shamefully in a blanket marked with their blood were really in front of him. Of course it was real, because he could smell the blood, and he could feel how tightly Garlan was gripping his arm. Willas managed to tear his gaze from the bodies long enough to see just how pale his brother was, and it was more than his dislike of blood that had Garlan shivering.

"Edmure said he had new prisoners," Garlan managed to mutter to him, so low no one else could hear. "He never said how young they were. They look little, Will. Too little."

It wasn't the sort of thing a hardened soldier was expected to say, but Willas was glad he said it. He was glad his brother shared his thoughts as they perfectly matched his own, and suddenly he felt less alone in his absolute horror.

He had been thirteen when his uncles took him off to battle and knighted him. He had ridden off proudly, feeling like he knew what he was doing. When his parents went mad and screamed at the Hightower uncles for risking his life like that, he had merely shrugged and told both his mother and father that he had wanted to go off and fight. He had made the choice, no one had forced him to get involved. Twelve years later he made the choice again to follow his wife and her family off into war, and though he had not fought, it had been his choice to involve himself wherever possible. He wondered if the boys in front of him had made the choice to be involved in their family's fight, or if they had been roped in against their will. Suddenly it didn't matter if they had given their consent to be involved. Suddenly he realised why his parents had been angry. He looked down at their bodies and saw children, saw two unnecessary casualties, two small boys who had no place in all the bloodshed.

It made him feel sick, it made his head spin, but he kept looking. He couldn't look away. It felt more shameful to look elsewhere than look the horror straight-on. That was what his wife would want him to do after all, and that was what her mother, brother, and uncles were doing. They were all cold and stoic, but he could tell that what was in front of them disgusted them all. They had all seen such horrors throughout the war to the point they'd been driven to new levels of stoicism, yet the sight of two dead children was enough to remind them how it was to feel.

Robb was stood over them, taking his time to study their faces. Despite all disagreements, Willas respected him for that, and it was that which stopped him from questioning the whereabouts of his wife. Her absence worried him, as it had done all night when she had not returned to their chambers as promised, but he assumed she must have gone to the godswood. It was her way, after all, after any sort of conflict or confrontation to retreat to her gods, and so he assumed she must have been by the weirwood, and none the wiser to such atrocities. Good, as he decided he would like to protect her for as long as possible from what had happened to the Lannister boys.

"You do not need to be here," Willas heard the Blackfish mutter to Lady Stark. She did not respond with words, her look enough to silence him.

She was sat on a chaise, dressed in night clothes and a robe, much like the rest of them, though unlike them all, her gaze wore a different sort of grief. Willas wondered if she was comparing the boys in front of her to her own lost boys. He wondered if every loss was compared to Bran and Rickon. He wondered if it was for their sake that she kept staring at them, knowing she did not get the chance to honour her own sons in death and so she would pay her regards to dead Lannisters instead. They had suffered their differences, but Willas decided how brave she was then, and cursed himself for ever underestimating her.

"Bring them in," Robb called eventually, after what felt like a lifetime. They had all been staring at the boy's faces for so long Willas knew he would remember them for as long as he lived.

The guards nodded, hauling open the doors as more guards poured in, leading with them Lord Karstark, in chains. His face was cold and blank, and he met the king he had once cheered for with a look of empty disregard. They were men who had fought side by side, but he looked at Robb like a stranger. Behind him, there were three others, who wore more fearful expressions, shuffling about in their chains, never meeting the gaze of their king or any of his family. Willas noticed how one of them was bleeding, his arm slashed, and another had a black eye, and another a severe nose bleed.

"It took four of you to kill two unarmed boys?" Robb asked in surprised disgust. "Boys who clearly put up a fight?"

"We went down there for the kingslayer, they just happened to be there," Lord Karstark replied, no emotion or remorse in his voice as he refused to look at the bodies. "And it wasn't the boys who fought. It was the Kingslayer's lover."

At that, Willas noticed how Lord Karstark looked at him with a sympathetic sneer. Willas had fended off enough looks like that since being ten-and-six, enough to know how much he hated it, yet there was something different about it that made his insides crawl with unease.

"Your grace, it was your mother's guard the Lady Brienne who found the situation," one of the guards explained, a fairly young man with a beard that aged him severely, and Willas recognised him from Winterfell. "It was her who alerted us to what was going on, and she took both your sister and the Kingslayer to the maesters chambers."

"My sister?" Robb asked, his frown deepening.

If Willas felt sick looking at the dead boys, he felt far worse at the mention of Eddmina. How was she involved? He had assumed she was safe, unaware, in the company of her gods. The thought of her being somehow involved had his head reeling, and his heart began to pound so loud he could hear it in his ears, hear it over the sneering laugh of Lord Karstark.

"What has happened to my wife?" Willas asked, his cold stare landing on Robb despite the King looking as fearfully clueless as Willas felt.

"Aye, your good, loyal, lady wife," Lord Karstark sneered. Willas felt his back straighten, especially when he spat onto the ground. "Our Princess, more like a whore and a traitor, found singing for the Kingslayer for his own pleasure. Clearly the charms of the Reach are not enough to keep even a Stark loyal. Perhaps forgetting vows runs in this generation, your grace."

Garlan gripped Willas' arm tighter to stop him from storming over there. Fear and worry was coursing through him like river water during a monsoon, though none of it compared to the protective fury he felt surge inside. He struggled against Garlan's hold, seeing red, wanting nothing more to hurt the man in front of him, but the only thing stopping him was the realisation that Eddmina had been there. She had seen the violence, the killings, she had been involved in what he had wanted to protect her from in a role he was yet to understand, and though he wanted to know why she had been down there, a different sort of worry hit him.

The men stood before them were bruised and beaten, and by the sounds of it, it had been Eddmina to inflict those injuries. There was no time for pride, not upon the thought that she had been taken to the Maester. Had she been injured? Had the men stood before them hurt her? They didn't know about her condition, they didn't know about her being pregnant, had they... Willas felt his mind spiralling, and his hands clenched to fists.

"What has happened to my sister?" Robb asked protectively, sounding as angry as Willas felt. "And the Kingslayer?"

"By the sounds of it the Princess stood in the way and stopped them from killing Ser Jaime, though they managed to cut his hand off," the same guard explained, though it did nothing to quell Willas' sickness or the fact he felt like he was losing his balance; it was Garlan keeping him upright. "It was when she moved to protect Ser Jaime that they murdered the boys instead, your grace."

"Murder, more like vengeance," Lord Karstark practically shrugged. "If not for your whore sister true vengeance would have been carried out."

Willas was on the edge, his whole being screaming to storm over to the man and make him hurt, not just for the insulting name but the worry he felt for what they had potentially done to her. Somehow, Garlan kept hold of him, though he could hear his brother grinding his teeth, and he was looking to Robb for support. No one was looking at Brynden, making it a surprise when the Blackfish hit Lord Karstark over the head so hard he spun and thudded to the ground in a heap. He went to hit him again, moved to kick him, and Willas swore he saw him start to draw his sword, until Lady Stark stood.

"Stop!" She called, and at his niece's voice, the Blackfish clenched his jaw and reluctantly moved away. Her gaze fell to Robb, fire in her eyes, though worry was hiding it well. "Deal with them in the morning, for now you need to go to Edda, we all do. You should-"

"Aye, that's it, let yet another woman speak for for you, your grace," Lord Karstark spoke, this time spitting at Robb's feet. To his credit, Robb did not even flinch. "Our King in the North, ruled over by women. Cowards and wh-"

"Call her that once more, I dare you!" Willas roared in a voice so unlike his own it took him a moment to realise he had spoken. He was not the only one shocked, as everyone turned to look at him, silenced. He swallowed, managing to regain some sort of control. "What have you done to her?"

"Not nearly as much as she deserves for befriending and defending Lannister scum," Lord Karstark sneered again. Garlan's grip on Willas tightened once more.

"You evil coward," Willas snarled, unsure if he had ever felt such fury burn through him. If not for Garlan keeping hold of him, he would have tried to mimic the Blackfish's beating.

"To insult my sister if treason, and for that alone I should take your head," Robb's voice was practically a snarl too, and it was a good job both direwolves were missing as they would have understood it as a signal to attack. "But for this... killing two defenceless boys, maiming our most valuable prisoner..."

"It was justice," he remarked, not even glancing at the boys in front of him. "They suffered less than my boys."

"Eddard and Torrhen were brave men, it was an honour to fight with them and to know them," it was Garlan who spoke, his voice hollow and tired. Willas couldn't remember the last time his brother had sounded so empty. "They would be disgusted with this."

"Don't presume to speak for my boys, you arrogant, soft, southern prick," Karstark snapped, though Garlan didn't even flinch; he didn't have the energy for it. "So much for gallantry, you clearly have as much stomach for war as the rest of your family, the vow-dodging, trait-"

"This is not war it is murder, and if you say one more thing against any of my family I will make sure you learn the definition," Willas cut in, unable to hear anymore. As if knowing he was needed, Garlan snapped to attention, waking from his daze and looking up from the bodies as he retightened his hold on his brother. Not that it mattered, as Willas was looking to Robb. "What will you have done, for the killings, for the insults?"

"Lock me up, have your sister sing me a pretty song, that's how you treat your prisoners, our good King in the North," lord Karstark spoke without a single care, resigning himself. "Or should I say, our King who lost the North?"

If his words bothered Robb, he did an excellent job of hiding it. Instead he merely looked to his Uncle Brynden, giving him a nod, and the Blackfish grabbed Lord Karstark by the neck of his shirt, pulling him to his feet before throwing him back into the grip of the awaiting guards. Brynden looked as though he wanted to do something far harsher, but restrained himself. Even so, when he cast a glare to the other killers, they flinched. Willas couldn't help but wish he had that sort of fierceness. Perhaps if he did no one would dare even think of hurting or insulting the ones he loved. No one cowered at the sight of him ever, even before his joust, and suddenly he found himself envious of the ability. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see Lord Karstark hurt, especially as his imagination ran wild with what could have happened to Eddmina, and the thought of merely looking at him and causing fear seemed rather appealing.

"Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon, hang the rest," Robb ordered, and Willas couldn't help but remember the boy he had been the first time they met; there was no trace of him anymore.

"Mercy! Mercy, your grace, I didn't kill anyone!" One of the men began to beg urgently, fighting in the guards hold frantically. "I only watched for the guards!"

"Mercy for me too, I didn't kill anyone either!" Another cried, the one with a bloody nose. "All I did was restrain the Princess!"

"This one only watched, hang him last so that he can watch again," Robb ordered the guards coldly, making the man cry. Not that Robb noticed, as he instead looked to Willas. "And this one restrained your wife. What do you want done with him?"

"That depends on what state I find my wife in," he managed, his throat tightening in dread of what he would find upon seeing her. "If she is unharmed then kill him first, give him the mercy he dishonours himself for. If I even find a hair on her head out of place... well I will let you know my wishes then."

There were more desperate cries for mercy and pardons as the guards dragged them from the hall, though none of them from Lord Karstark, revelling in his vengeance in silence. Willas was more bothered by that than the shouts of the other men, yet it seemed to affect Garlan worse because the moment the door slammed shut he dropped his hold on Willas and bolted to the fireplace, keeling over to throw up. Robb sank into a chair, his head in his hands as he seemed to try and stop himself from shaking too badly. Lady Stark was the only one who dared look at Willas, and they shared a look of mutual despair.

"Gods, I'm sorry," Garlan instantly apologised, looking ashamedly between his brother and the king. "It's... I think it's the blood..."

When his brother looked at him like that, Willas was thrown back into his childhood. Suddenly it was not the brave, gallant hero of five-and-twenty stood before him, but his plump little brother, the one who seemed to spook at scary bedtime tales, the one who was meek and wanted nothing more than everyone's love and approval, the one who somehow decided Willas would be his protector. That little boy hadn't cared that his elder brother was a skinny thing only two years older with no real skills to protect him other than a vast knowledge of carnivorous plants. He hadn't cared that Willas had no friends except for the ones who lived in the stables and kennels, nor had he cared that his chosen protector was constantly being lectured in attempts to grow into something he wasn't. They had both been boys, after all, and with no other siblings at that point, had no one but each other. What had happened to those boys, when had they grown up, when had the fear left their bedtime tales and become their whole lives? Willas felt useless, just as he had done as a boy when Garlan chose him as a hero, except this time it was worse, because something as simple as creating a nickname wouldn't save either of them.

Usually it was only Garlan's own blood that bothered him. The only other time Willas had known his brother become sick or faint at the sight of another person's blood was when Margaery fell out of a tree when they were children and had scraped her knee, and that had mostly been fuelled by the worry their little sister had hurt herself. Willas refused to mention it, refused to point out the obvious breach of boundary of his phobia, not only because of his brother's pride, but because his mind was on other things, more important things.

Eddmina. Where was she? How was she? What had they done to her?

"Word of this cannot leave Riverrun," Eddmure was the first to speak up, and he had crossed the hall to stand directly opposite Robb, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "We cannot let anyone find out about these boys, let alone the Kingslayer's condition. If word gets to Tywin Lannister..."

Robb didn't let him finish, not as he got to his feet, his persona steeled once more. His uncle fell silent, knowing his place, and yet again every eye in the room fell to him.

"We will deal with that in the morning, for now... Edd," he decided, looking at Willas as he spoke his sister's name.

***

The stitches hurt, but Eddmina counted herself lucky.

After all, her worst injuries were a slash on her arm, a bloody nose and a split lip, while Ser Jaime...

Every time she thought of how he'd screamed, how the blood had instantly seeped out of the severed wound, how he had passed out more from the shock than the pain... she wanted to be sick again. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but the thought that replaced it was of Martyn's cry as Lord Karstark stabbed him in the gut, and how Willem's last words were to call out for their mother.

'Was that what Bran and Rickon did?' She couldn't help but think. 'If something ever happened to Uther, would he cry out for me too?'

The thought of her brothers and her own boy was enough to tip her over the edge, and she made use of the chamber pot resting on her lap once more. Maester Vyman barely even noticed, not as he cleaned the blood from her arm and continued his neat, expert stitches. Sansa, sat to her left, was already holding her hair back, her head resting on her elder sister's shoulder with her arms wrapped around Eddmina's uninjured arm in a strange sort of embrace, and Jeyne, sat to her right, merely offered her a goblet of water once more. If her sickness bothered either of them they were hiding it with excellent success, though it didn't stop Eddmina feeling a surge of embarrassment at showing such weakness.

Perhaps she wouldn't feel like that if her mother's own guard, the Lady Brienne was not stood off in the corner of the room, watching the three girls closely. Eddmina had dealt with the woman from Tarth very little since she escorted her mother back from the Stormlands. She had spoken to her once, and that had been to merely ask after Margaery and Loras and their safety in Renly's camp, and since then she had barely even seen her. She had been like a shadow, lingering around her mother as a loyal protector, yet never truly making herself or her presence well known to any of the Starks, Tullys, or Tyrell's.

She had made herself known that night though, and so Eddmina knew she had to be grateful. It had been her who had overheard commotion in the cells, it had been her who'd investigated, and it had been her who'd called for more guards and put a stop to the attack before Jaime could be killed. She hadn't managed to stop them killing the boys though, or intervened before they had severed Jaime's hand off, or before Lord Karstark had struck her across the face and one of his men had cut her arm when she'd tried to shield the little Lannisters. Still though, she managed to protect both Eddmina and Jaime until other guards arrived, and while the guards hauled the men away to the King for judgement, she escorted Eddmina to the Maester, leaving Jaime to be treated by Vyman's army of apprentices.

Eddmina tried to focus on watching Vyman stitch her up, she tried to keep her mind on the stinging of her arm and the throbbing headache she was suffering, because truthfully they were better alternatives than thinking of Jaime. What were they doing to him? Would he live? Would the blood loss and potential infection take him away? Eddmina didn't want to find that idea as upsetting as she did, and chalked it up to merely knowing how valuable he was as a prisoner and exactly what his family would do if they found out he was dead. Eddmina realised thinking about her own pain was easier than thinking about the boys, how scared they had been, how they had tried to hide behind her, how they died with tears in their eyes. Thinking of her own pain was simpler than considering how Lord Karstark was most likely enjoying an audience with her brother, while perhaps some other guard had gone to inform Willas of the incident.

What would Robb think to it all? What would Willas think? Those two little questions had Eddmina's head reeling dizzily.

"Who taught you how to fight?" Eddmina asked out of nowhere, looking up at Brienne, who looked surprised someone was talking to her.

"My father," she answered with a small smile.

"Ours never did that," Eddmina's own smile was a little sadder than Brienne's, especially when she felt Sansa's grip on her arm tighten. "I don't think he minded the idea of it, and he used to like watching me shoot, but he never trained me himself."

'If I have a daughter she will pick up a sword as much as a sewing needle,' Eddmina vowed to herself.

"One of the first things your mother told me was how good you are at shooting," Brienne recalled, and the thought of her mother complimenting her to others made Eddmina's insides feel warm.

"You're one of the best fighters I've ever seen," Eddmina told her honestly. "Ser Garlan would not need two men to practice sparring with you."

Brienne of Tarth blushed to the point her whole face turned scarlet, and she muttered a sheepish notion of thanks, but any other words were drowned out as the door slammed open. Eddmina hated how she flinched, but she knew not to worry when the room was invaded by her family, her mother and her brother first, Robb storming over to her so fast he almost knocked the Maester out of the way as he took hold of her face with both hands, studying her for injury. Her mother was there at her side too in record speed, wrapping her arms around her so tightly that Eddmina was certain she'd never been hugged with such ferocity.

"I cannot breathe," she remarked after a moment, already tired of their fussing. Lady Stark instantly moved back, though her hand remained on her daughter's tattered braid. "I'm fine."

"You do not look it," Robb commented with a burning, protective anger she hadn't seen in so long. Eddmina couldn't help but savour his attention, and how he had barely acknowledged his wife sat at the side of her.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" lady Stark asked Sansa with similar protectiveness. "You were not down in the cells as well, were you?"

"No, mother!" Sansa shook her head, sitting up properly but not removing herself from Eddmina entirely. "I heard the commotion when Lady Brienne brought Edda and Ser Jaime up here, I saw the blood. Surely you don't expect me to carry on sleeping when my sister is bleeding?"

"And you?" Lady Stark asked Jeyne, turning to her with a gaze less protective than she wore to her girls, but still verging on motherly.

"I... I was already here," she replied nervously, looking down at the floor until Robb took hold of her hand with one of his own, wearing a frown. "I had come to ask about the teas my mother had been giving to me, if there was any permanent damage, if there was any way of reversing it."

Robb's eyes betrayed heartbreak and anger for a split second, before he clearly decided he couldn't afford to focus on that, at least for the time being. He squeezed Jeyne's hand, but instead turned back to Eddmina with a different sort of anger in his eyes.

"Why were you down there?" He demanded. Eddmina just shrugged, watching as Vyman continued his stitches as if nothing was amiss. "Edda, by the gods, what were you doing?"

Eddmina didn't know what to say, and if she did she knew words were impossible as her throat tightened. She wouldn't be able to talk without crying, or at least her voice shaking, so she refused to talk at all, merely shaking her head, hoping they could see her struggle and settle for her silence.

"How many times have you visited Jaime Lannister?" Lady Stark asked, trying to mask her frustrated fury.

Were they angry at her? That was not new, nor was it entirely unexpected, but she had preferred their overbearing sympathy and concern to their frustration. She was angry enough with herself, for not protecting the boys better, for not deescalating the situation with words, for not saving Jaime from being severed from his hand, for being down there in the first place. She had enough of her own frustrations, and having theirs bestowed upon her made her head ache in a way it only did when her nerves threatened to take over.

Refusing to give up and crumble, Eddmina cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Only when she was steeled did she look at her brother and mother with cold determination that met their fire.

"Enough times to know that such a valuable prisoner should have been kept under better conditions and been better guarded," she snapped back, hissing at the stitches. She looked at Vyman seriously, and decided to finally ask the question she'd spent all night afraid of voicing. "Will he live?"

"It will be touch and go, Princess," he told her, and Eddmina was grateful for his honesty, knowing many men would lie to save face. "The biggest risk for him is infection. You should have him moved to cleaner accommodations, have him fed properly. He will need all the strength he can get if he is to recover."

"I will see to it that such arrangements are made," Eddmina nodded, her head whirling with a list of all the things she had to do.

"Shouldn't I be the one to make such calls?" Robb asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I saved his life tonight, and he saved mine, I will make the calls regarding him from now on," Eddmina responded coldly, though it only took a second for the facade to crack as the memories hit her once more. "But, the boys... his hand..."

Neither Robb or Lady Stark seemed to know what to do with her then as she broke eye contact, looking up at the ceiling to prevent tears, and even Jeyne withdrew herself from her side to instead wrap her arms around Robb's waist. Sansa, however, gripped her arm tightly, as if the gesture would keep her grounded. It did, to an extent, but it didn't stop the usual symptoms of nerves rolling in.

"Tell us what happened," Robb asked her, a little gentler than before. When Eddmina still struggled to look at him, he reached out and took hold of her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. "Edda, please. Lord Karstark and the guards barely told us anything."

"I was there, your grace," Brienne spoke up, making everyone turn and look at her. She looked surprised herself that she had spoken up. "Perhaps I could tell you?"

"I will need your account too, but, Edd," Robb smiled at the she-warrior, before turning back to his sister, his hand still on her face. "Please, Eddmina."

"She is clearly in no fit state to tell you anything tonight," a southern voice called from the doorway, and Rddmina had barely noticed how tight her chest had gotten until she looked up and saw her husband and Ser Garlan making their entrance.

Any nerves instantly disappeared at the sight of Willas. She felt like she could breathe again upon seeing him, and Garlan too, as her goodbrother barely even grimaced at the sight of her blood and made his way to her side with a smile. It was more strained than his usual look, more tired and practiced than his natural smile, but when he ruffled her hair and placed a protective hand on her shoulder she couldn't help but smile too. She wished she had his natural ability of reassurance, she wished she had his skill of being able to walk into a room and convince people that everything was alright with one simple smile.

Willas was more hesitant, looking at her with a worried gaze that told her he could barely stand to look at her in fear of seeing something he was scared of. Was he angry with her too for going down to the cells? Did he think her ugly for the split lip and bloody nose, not to mention the gash on her arm that would leave a scar? He constantly told her how much he wanted to protect her, yet there she was, bloodied and injured, and he was there, unknowing of the attack and perfectly unharmed. She wondered if it was that which stopped him rushing to her the way everyone else did, but when she forced a smile to show him she was alright, he sighed, and made his way to her at long last.

Everyone except for Sansa and the Maester, who was finishing up his stitches, moved aside, though even Sansa shuffled further away as Willas stood directly in front of his wife. He swallowed nervously as he looked her up and down, inspecting her injuries. She noticed his eyes linger on her stomach, before he met her eyes once more, green meeting blue, both of them speaking a thousand words in a mere look. With a sigh that carried a dozen different pained emotions, he moved closer to her, cupping her jaw with his hand, drawing her close as he lowered his head to hers. She thought he was about to kiss her, but instead he pushed his forehead against hers and merely sighed, closing his eyes as he savoured the closeness. 

"Are you alright?" He whispered, his lips barely apart from hers. When she nodded, he glanced down before meeting her eyes again. She knew what he wanted to ask, she knew what words he wanted to speak but couldn't, just in case the answer was too painful, yet somehow he found the courage to add, "The baby?"

Only a fool wouldn't have heard the shaking fear in his voice then, and so she was quick to nod again. It hurt to hear him so worried, and she wanted him reassured as quick as possible, so she withdrew her hand from Sansa's to take his, removing it from her face to reposition it on her stomach. It was too early for any swelling, far too early for any movement, but she knew in her gut that nothing bad had happened to their child. She had made sure of it, keeping a protective arm wrapped around her stomach and only letting the men hit her face, and when she had been brought before the Maester it had been the first question she had asked. He had told her she seemed unhurt where her condition was concerned, and so she hadn't allowed herself to think much of it. The memories of watching those Lannister boys die didn't allow her to think of much else, but their child was safe, and telling Willas so was one of the only shreds of relief she could find that night.

He closed his eyes once more, pushing his forehead to hers as his thumb stroked her stomach, his fingers gripping to hers tightly. He dared to push a quick kiss to her lips, one that she would have gladly pursued if she wasn't surrounded by her family. When he pulled away, she didn't chase him, and when he finally moved his face from hers she was glad that he stayed so close, and his hand remained on her. After the men in the cells, and the Maester's helpful yet painful treatment, it was nice to have someone touch her gently, with love, with care.

"I want to see them all hang for this," Willas told Robb firmly. Eddmina hadn't seen her husband look at her brother in days, and the sight of it would have been nice, if they were in different circumstances. "I want them all dead, but you will not ask her anymore questions tonight."

"Without hearing what happened how do you think I can put them to death?" Robb asked, looking between Willas and Eddmina.

"You also cannot kill Lord Karstark without risking our standing in the war," Eddmina spoke up, her noice a little hollow, lacking the usual drive she had when it came to planning. Everyone looked at her with surprise, as if they hadn't expected her to weigh in on any punishments. "We cannot afford to lose another ally, least of all a Northern one we share descendants with."

"That shouldn't concern you right now, darling," Willas told her gently, looking at her with kind eyes that tried to hide unspoken heartache. 

Even so, it stung. He knew how much her position meant to her, he knew how hard she had worked for it, yet there he was, telling her it didn't matter. He may as well have told her that her opinion didn't matter. He may as well have told her to be quiet. That was one of the things he had promised her, right in their beginning, that he would always listen to her and her thoughts. Her gaze hardened once more, her jaw clenched, and she withdrew her hand from his.

"Of course it concerns me, I'm hand of the king," she reminded him. 

"Hand you may be, but after tonight you will surely need to rest?" Willas told her, though his question was directed solely to Maester Vyman, and all eyes fell to the man now bandaging Eddmina's arm to protect the stitches.

"Yes, your grace, Ser Willas is right," he told her, making Eddmina roll her eyes. "As difficult as it may be for you, the best thing for you and your condition right now is bed rest, for at least a week, two at a push."

Two weeks? In war things could change so quickly, how much would she miss if she was absent for so long? How much would people's opinions of her change if she disappeared to bed for two weeks? They would think her weak, surely, and the war effort would slip from her understanding. How could she be Hand if-

"I'll see to it that she rests," Willas answered on her behalf, reaching to take her hand again to give it a tight squeeze. "I will see to it that no one bothers her with anything unnecessary."

"Of course," Robb nodded in agreement, much to Eddmina's surprise and dismay. When he caught her looking like he had betrayed her, he offered her a shrug of defeat. "This is important Edd. You need to-"

"Alright, damn the pair of you, don't think of lecturing me about my own health," she cut him off, unable to stop her eyes from rolling again, even if she did decide not to argue anymore.

In the end, both men were right. It was important she rested, for her own health, for the baby, and she knew they insisted upon it because they cared. The baby was what she cared about, that was her main priority, of course it was, but part of her hated feeling like the choice was being taken from her. It was hard to think that after being so involved she would be locked away in her chambers to rest while everyone else cracked on with business. Would she even have a say in the fates of her attackers? Would she even be allowed to see Jaime Lannister again, the man she had nearly died with? They were questions she decided not to bother asking, at least in that moment, as she instead turned to Sansa.

"If I am to be out of action then you are to be my regent," Eddmina instructed, though her words made Sansa's eyes widen in alarm. "I trust no one else with such a job, and I know you'll not let anyone do anything that I would not agree with."

"I don't think I'm experienced enough-" Sansa began, but Eddmina cut her off by taking hold of her shoulder. It meant taking her hand from Willas' again, but she didn't particularly care.

"You survived King's Landing, you have plenty of experience," she told her reassuringly, relieved when Sansa nodded. "I trust you, more than anyone."

"I won't let you down," Sansa promised, cracking a faint smile.

"You never could," Eddmina smiled too, before she looked back at Robb. "I trust that is fine?"

"Of course it is," he nodded, though mostly because he thought if he disagreed then Eddmina would refuse to rest.

As soon as the Maester was finished, he insisted she retire to her chambers, and though she was sure she was fine to walk, Garlan insisted upon carrying her. It was embarrassing and her face flushed scarlet as soon as he lifted her into his arms, but luckily everyone dispersed their own separate ways so she didn't feel as if they were all watching and revelling in her weakness. The only people still with her was Garlan and Willas, and they journeyed back to her chambers in silence, the quiet only broken by the dawn birds that had begun to sing in the treetops outside the keep. There was a time when Willas would have whistled along with them, but the only sound from him was the click of his cane on the flagstone floor.

Upon returning to her chambers, her handmaidens were there and they made quick work of getting her changed out of her dress and into her nightgown. One of them rebraided her hair too, and when they were done dismissed themselves quickly as she got into bed. She had barely noticed while they fussed around her how Willas and Garlan had stayed out in the hall, speaking in quiet mutters, but when the girls had gone, she couldn't help but overhear their hushed voices in the hall.

"If she hadn't been down there our most valuable prisoner would be dead," she heard Garlan hiss, earning a sigh from Willas. "We we're leaving at the end of the month anyway."

"I know, I just..." Willas muttered lowly. "I am sick of breaking my promise of protecting her time and time again, and I am tired of her putting herself at risk."

"I thought it was her bravery that you loved?" Garlan pointed out quietly. "I am as sickened by everything tonight as you are, but we were not there, Edd was. Put aside your questions and frustrations and just be there for her."

Willas muttered something else, something so quiet that she couldn't hear, but Eddmina didn't want to hear anyway, feeling her sickness return a little. Was Willas angry with her? Robb and her mother had been, and she could understand why. Going down to the prisons had been foolish, even without knowing the danger that had appeared, and she had lied to people about where she was going after dinner. She had been hurt too, while carrying his child, and he hadn't been there to help her. It would make sense if he was angry at her, but no amount of understanding the logic helped her nerves. Her mother and brother was one thing, but Willas' anger... she would not be able to cope if she had upset him too.

The voices faded, and eventually Willas entered their room. He offered her a smile, relieved to see her in bed, yet the smile did not reach his eyes. She could instantly tell that something was amiss. When she held her hand out for him, he made his way to her side, taking it and kissing her knuckles as he always did, sitting on the edge of the bed, yet she couldn't help but think he had done the gesture as if on auto-pilot. His fingers stroked over her knuckles for a moment, before she noticed him look down at the wedding ring on her finger, in the exact place he had put it two years before, silver for her despite his own family traditions. He had done so much for her, changed so much for her. Eddmina felt guilt stir deep inside. 

"I should have given you another ring by now," Willas sighed, squeezing her hand. "I was meant to give you an emerald ring, after we had Uther. A Tyrell tradition, after the birth of an heir." 

"You've given me enough," she told him softly. 

He let out a short, single laugh, as if he disagreed with her. When she looked at him and realised he couldn't look at her, she realised whatever he and Garlan had been discussing was still on his mind. She was exhausted, but knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if so much went unsaid between them. 

"Willas, look at me," she ordered, and when he did, she forced her nerves down. "Tell me what is wrong."

"Eddmina, I..." he began, before he sighed again. The hand that didn't hold hers stroked across his forehead as he screwed his eyes shut. "You should get some sleep."

"After what I have seen tonight, you think I will be able to sleep with ease?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. He looked at her with a tired grimace. "Garlan told you to forget your questions and be here for me, well, the best way you can be with me is to tell me the truth. What is on your mind?"

He stared at her for a while, studying her face, but thankfully for her, she was unreadable. Unluckily for her, so was he, as she desperately tried to get ahead and guess what he was going to say, but his thoughts were perfectly hidden, and she couldn't figure out what was going on with him, his face entirely still from emotion.

"Why?" Willas asked eventually. The simplicity of it surprised her, and so she waited for him to elaborate. "I will always defend you, Mina, but for that you must tell me the truth. Why did you go visit Jaime Lannister?"

She had thought he would ask what had happened, how she had gotten her injuries, how she was sure their child was still safe. The question took her back, and she remained quiet for a while, realising she didn't have an answer. She would have remained quiet forever, yet it was Willas sat in front of her, and she owed him an answer, even if it was an inconclusive one. 

"I don't know," she confessed, fighting the urge to cry. It was exhaustion, and the shock of everything that had happened, but it didn't make it any less embarrassing. "I really, truly don't know."

"Your mother says you told her you were going to bed, but instead you ended up visiting him?" Willas continued, finding the courage to speak at long last. "Why, Eddmina? And how many times have you visited him?"

"A few times," she shrugged, unable to meet his eye.

"Eddmina, look at me," he said sternly, so unlike his usual gentleness that she immediately did as he asked. He looked ashamed for that, but only for a brief moment. "Why?"

"Willas, I don't know," she said, her voice raised, though it cracked at the end. "I told myself it was for information, and to satisfy morbid curiosity, but... I don't like myself very much. I never have, but lately I don't like the person I have become and continue to be. When I was down there in his cells, I think I felt less alone. I have made myself into such a terrible person to survive all of this that when I was sat down there with him, the Kingslayer, the man who hurt my little brother, the man who hurt my father and killed my friends, I felt less alone. I felt less like a monster compared to him. Or... maybe it felt nice to sit with such a terrible person, feeling like one myself, feeling like I didn't have to be alone in my terribleness. I don't know which it is, maybe it's a bit of both."

"Eddmina I have never heard such stupidity," Willas sighed exhaustedly, taking his hand from hers, pulling himself up from his seat on the bed. He paced to the window, and took his time looking at the sunrise before he spoke again. "Do you like him?"

"What?" She frowned.

"He's Jaime Lannister, Mina, if he wasn't famed for his king slaying then he would be famed for his good looks," Willas explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was desperately trying to hide how hurt he was. "In a family of perfect golden roses I know I am the shoddy flower of the bunch, while even covered in his own shit Jaime Lannister manages to look perfectly ruggedly fucking handsome. I would not blame you. Gods, even I find him attractive."

"Are you asking me if I'm attracted to Jaime Lannister?" Eddmina asked, so surprised a small laugh escaped her lips as a frown deepened on her face. "Willas, he pushed my little brother out of a tower!"

"We do not choose who we love, who we lust," Willas shrugged, as if the gesture hid his hurt. It did not, however, minimise hers. 

"I neither love nor lust Jaime fucking Lannister, you absolute, bloody fool," she snapped, unable to hide the insult. She wanted to storm off, but knew it was cowardly to hide from confronting him and would only cause more issues, plus she had been told to stay in bed, leaving her trapped there. "To even suggest it-"

"People will suggest it though, Eddmina," Willas pointed out. "When people hear where you were, how you've been visiting him, that is where their minds will go, that is what their opinion will be. They think Robb a fool for marrying a westerner, what will they think of you for this?"

"Perhaps they'll kill me and have done with it," she rolled her eyes, hating how she enjoyed how he flinched. "I'm as much a traitor for befriending a Lannister as Rickard Karstark is for killing them. Let them insist on my my brother beheading me and put an end to all this misery. At least then I won't disappoint you or any other Tyrells anymore."

If she hurt or upset him with her words then maybe he would storm off. Maybe he would leave and she wouldn't have to look at him anymore, she wouldn't have to see the desperately-hidden heartbreak in his eyes anymore. She would be alone, and if she was alone then she wouldn't have to worry about letting him down again. It was self-preservation at it's finest, and she couldn't help but feel disappointed that it hadn't worked when Willas stayed silent, looking at her up and down in a desperate attempt to understand her. Sometimes she was so easy, so open, other times she was damn near impossible to figure out. She had been like that at the start, when they first met, when she hid behind courtesies and manners, yet now she built her walls out of shock.

Perhaps if they were still strangers he would have left. Yet, they were not what they used to be, not who they used to be, and so Willas stayed exactly where he was. 

"Gods, Mina, things would be so much simpler if I loved you less," he groaned exhaustedly, sinking into the windowsill seat, his head in his hands, unable to look at her. "I will always defend you, and always fight for you, but you seem to revel in making that job difficult."

"And you seem to forget that you didn't marry a simple, easy woman," she snapped tiredly, still determined to protect herself by pushing him away. "I have told you so many times. Go home if you tire of this. Go to Highgarden and escape this mess, escape me and all the trouble I cause you."

"And I have told you so many times, I will not leave without you," Willas insisted, as sharp as her. "The day I married you your troubles became mine. No matter how difficult, I intend on honouring that vow."

"How northern of you," Eddmina rolled her eyes, almost cruelly. "Like the rest of us, your honour will be your downfall."

"Our downfall," he corrected her sharply. "Until the Maester says you are safe to travel, we will see this thing through together."

"Then you may as well get it through your stubborn skull, I will never love another man the way I love you," she told him harshly, as if it wasn't a declaration of adoration. "To even suggest such a thing is an insult."

"Then perhaps you would stop being so reckless and act like you are not invincible, purely to make my job of protecting you easier?" Willas suggested, still a little cutting, though the tiredness had appeared in his voice again.

Before either could say another word, they were interrupted by distant cries from the next room. Instinct made Eddmina pull the covers of the bed back and swing her legs over the side, ready to run to her son's room, but her feet barely touched the floor before Willas raised a stern eyebrow at her, holding his hand out in a gesture to tell her to stop.

"Bed rest," he instructed. "I will see to him. If he needs you, I'll bring him in. Lie back down."

Eddmina wanted to roll her eyes again. Uther was her son, she couldn't just lay down and ignore him, but Willas had left into his nursery before she could complain. With nothing else to do, she sighed, and got back under the covers.

She had gotten what she wanted, to be alone, yet with their conversation whirring inside of her, suddenly she wished she hadn't wished for solitude. To be left alone with her thoughts felt dangerous, as if she was a nervous attack waiting to happen. Part of her preferred arguing with Willas to being left in silence listening out for him shushing their son back to sleep, because at least with them snapping at each other she didn't have to think about everything that had happened that night. She didn't have to remember how the light left Willem Lannister's eyes, how Martyn Lannister had gripped her hand as if she was his dearest friend and not his supposed enemy, just so he didn't have to die alone. She didn't have to think about how Jaime Lannister had been mutilated irreversibly and could die from infection, both of which would bring the wrath of his father in a way that would rival the rains of Castamere.

Eddmina barely realised she had dissolved into tears until Willas found her curled up on her side, her arms wrapped around her belly, sobbing into her pillow. All the anger and adrenaline had gone. All the emotion that had fuelled her and kept her going all night had drained out of her, leaving her with the reality. She hadn't allowed herself to comprehend the danger she had been in that night, nor had she really let the horror hit her, but in the silence of her bedchamber there was nothing left to protect her from it all. Perhaps if Willas had returned a moment sooner, if he had not stopped an extra few moments at Uther's bedside to watch him fall deeper asleep clutching the toy wolf Eddmina had made for him a year ago, he would have been able to provide a distraction and prevent such a dramatic decent into her emotions. Yet, instead, he found her inconsolable and anxious, and felt all of his own anger and fear drain from him. It was replaced with guilt, and the achingly familiar need to protect and comfort her. He barely felt himself move, but he was by her side in an instant, sat upon their bed and guiding her to curl up onto him. Before he knew it she was sobbing into his chest, using his shirt to suffocate her sobs. He stroked her hair and hummed sweet words of reassurance, just as he had done only moments before to Uther, yet the difference was their son had merely had a nightmare, while Eddmina felt like she was living one.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, over and over again, hoping that she would listen, hoping that she would know how much he meant it. "I love you."

She didn't speak, but she didn't cry anymore either. Her shivers hadn't stopped though, but he was used to that. Every time she had a nightmare or her nerves took over, it was always the shakes that ceased last.

"I've written home," Willas told her after a long silence, only broken by the sound of her sniffs. "I wrote in code, so it's safe. I told them about the baby, about us coming home at the end of the month. I told them how wonderful you have been, and how much I admire you, and your bravery."

"Please do not hate me," she whispered the moment her voice felt strong enough. He shushed her gently, as if the words did not warrant saying. "Please, Willas, I'm sorry. I did not mean to upset you or make you angry-"

"Darling, I'm not upset at you," he told her softly, kissing her head again. "I'm only angry that those men almost took you both from me."

"I couldn't save them," she said, her voice threatening tears again much to her frustration. "I tried my best, I tried to stop them, but those poor little boys, I couldn't save them."

"It was not your fault, love," he reassured her, though she barely heard him. "They will pay for what they did to them, I promise."

"And Jaime..." she sighed, grimacing as she felt his hold on her tighten protectively. "I don't hate him. I don't love him either. He understands things, he is not a terrible man, even for what he did to Bran. He understands me, but I promise you, I do not love him. I don't want him to die."

"No, neither do I," Willas admitted, stroking her hair. "I am sorry for getting jealous. I should have paid more attention, I should have-"

"No, you have done nothing wrong," she promised, her voice finding firmness once more. "I love you, only you. You are the greatest of men, I am sorry, sorry for everything."

"Eddmina, hush apologising," he let out a sad, soft laugh. "Everything that has happened tonight, it is over. Robb will deal with it, Sansa will ensure that you will not be forgotten. I know it is hard, but you must get some rest. You must try and get some sleep, Mina, please."

"I don't know if I can," she was still shivering as he held her. "Please do not leave me."

"Never," he vowed, kissing her head again. "Close your eyes, I am right here."

It took a while, but her sniffs soon quietened and her breathing evened out as she slipped asleep, though it took a while longer for her to stop shaking. As promised he remained exactly where he was, his arms wrapped around her as she slept against him, and in the silence he was left to stew everything over. The boys, Jaime's severed hand, his wife and her stubborn bravery that entirely contradicted the nervous wreck she could become, his own stupid temper and insecurities. What a mess everything was. 

Willas fell asleep with the image of Highgarden in his mind. Home, where his wife didn't have to be a prisoner to her own grief and guilt. Home, where his children could grow up safe and sound without the shadow of war and the ghosts of other children following them. Home, where his brothers and sisters could live and thrive. 

Home, safe home. The thought was sweet, but as his own dreams were invaded by the images of fallen Lannister boys, Highgarden had never seemed so far away. 

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Word count: 13545

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