"I never thought I'd enjoy coming down here," Eddmina commented jokingly as she held onto Willas' arm tightly, helping him down the steep stairs into the Crypts. Her other hand was fixed onto the lantern she was holding out, the fire casting just enough light for the pair of them to see the steps ahead and the small shadow of Honour, the wolf who had gone trotting off on her own. "But it's certainly an escape from the other southerners,"

It was the morning after the welcome feast, and Willas had woken up with the wish to visit the crypts of Winterfell. It was an odd, morbid request, but it was rather thoughtful considering he thought that if the King who had no legal connections to the Starks went to pay his respects, it was only right for him to go down too. Of course, Eddmina had woken up feeling sick from all the wine once again so the last place she wanted to visit was the tomb of her ancestors, but to say no made her feel guilty, not just to him, but to the Starks. She hadn't been to the crypts for a long time, since before she was married, and to not visit felt disrespectful, so she pulled herself together and got ready.

"I feel honoured that you class me as an acceptable southerner," he joked, mostly to distract himself from how badly his leg was aching from the stairs, trying to take his mind away from the thought that he must be clenching onto his wife's arm rather painfully, not to mention the thought that he would have to climb back up at some point.

"Did I ever tell you about when Robb, Jon and I played a prank on the younger ones down here?" she said, smiling at the memory. "I think we were about nine since Bran was still quite little, Jon covered himself in flour from the kitchens, while I threw an old white bedsheet over myself. We hid behind one of the statues, I think it was behind King Harlon Stark's, and then when Robb led the girls and Bran down, giving them this big long story about how the crypts are haunted and you can sometimes hear the voices of the old Kings, we both jumped out screaming. Bran started crying, Arya was angry at us for upsetting him, but Sansa ran all the way back up to our mother in floods of tears. We paid for that prank for months,"

"Reminds me of how we all used to play hide and seek in the woodlands, and then one day Garlan found the most remarkable hiding place, so remarkable he missed supper and an entire search party had to be sent out for him, only to find him hiding inside an old hollow tree, he'd brought out an old brown cloak to put over himself so no one would find him," Willas chuckled, hoping his quiet laughter and anecdote would hide the hushed sigh of relief he expelled as they completed the stairs. "Of course I was the one who got in trouble for it, as the oldest. I thought my grandmother was going to have me disowned,"

"I think that was the first time I fully realised my mother prefers all her other children over me," Eddmina joked, not paying any mind over how sad her words were. "Did your parents make out that it was you leading the others astray?"

"How else would they make me realise the importance of my role as eldest?" Willas raised his eyebrow mockingly, and the two of them made eye contact before breaking down into laughter. "I say, humour like this in a Crypt, I'm sure your ancestors are horrified,"

"Probably more horrified by the fact that their ancestral keep is filled with Lannisters who think the north is a desolate waste land," she pointed out with a small sigh.

"Or perhaps, horrified that their own descendant has departed the north for the warmth of Highgarden?" He teased, making her roll her eyes. "Where's Honour?"

Eddmina whistled, and in a few seconds the wolf came bounding back over, taking her place at the side of her mistress as they began their walk through the crypt. It was an eerie place, yet strangely comforting at the same time. All those great, historic people, buried beneath her home and what was once their home too. All those magnificent names of iconic stories, and they all shared the same blood, her family history all together in one place. It was tradition for every Stark to be buried down there, and it felt oddly humbling, knowing that despite being so great, all of her ancestors ended up in the same place, a place where she might end up too. She wasn't so sure on the latter, she didn't know what the Tyrell traditions were, and it seemed a little premature to be thinking about her resting place. Even if she did end up in the crypt, she wasn't a King, or a future Lord, so she wouldn't get a statue, not like the Kings of Winter of former Wardens of the North.

Each statue of a King had a direwolf at its feet, and a sword across it's lap, symbols of their strength as well as to keep the spirit enclosed within the tomb - or at least that's what Old Nan had told her as a child. Eddmina had studied enough history to be able to remember each statue by name and reputation, managing to relay a few facts back to Willas. He probably already knew most of it, she thought, remembering just how scholarly her husband was, but he had asked to visit the crypt, and so she would tell him all she knew, giving him her own knowledge.

They stopped every so often in front of a statue that was of particular interest, the ones that Eddmina knew the most about, and occasionally Willas would ask her questions or make a point about any facts he knew.  He was taking a real interest in it all, appearing serious and solemn, and she found it hard not to tear up a little. She didn't know why she was so emotional, she'd been to the tombs so many times before, but perhaps seeing her husband be so respectful and caring about her family history hit a nerve. She'd always thought she'd get stuck in a marriage where she wasn't considered, where her family would just be a power status, but Willas saw her family as people with real lives and history. He always amazed her, but the longer they spent in the crypts, the more he nodded or asked her questions about each statue, the deeper she felt herself falling in love with him.

"This is the last King?" he asked, as they stood before King Torrhen, the last statue carved sitting on a throne; the rest were standing, to signify the change of status.

"The King who Knelt," Eddmina nodded, squeezing Willas' hand. "Every other King of Westeros was too arrogant and power hungry to recognise the danger of the Targaryens, but King Torrhen saw the bloodshed. He saw the fates of the other kingdoms who refused to bend to Aegon's will, the ones who were met with fire and blood, and he knew that if he did the same it would not just be himself who would suffer, but his family, as well as the rest of the north,"

"I've read historians who've called him a coward, yet I think he is the bravest of all the Kings of the past," Willas stated. "There's very little difference between King and warden, really?"

"I suppose the Warden's don't have to suffer neck-ache from wearing a crown," Eddmina suggested dryly. "You're right, though. He still got to rule over the North, except it was on behalf of someone else, but at least Winterfell wasn't burnt to a crisp, at least house Stark survived. Many didn't,"

"The Tyrells were never Kings," Willas told her. "We were stewards to house Gardiner, so when Aegon defeated the Gardiners, that left Harlan Tyrell in charge of Highgarden. He surrendered to Aegon, and so he was rewarded with the castle as well as the position of Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Mander. That's why my father allied our family with the Targaryens during the rebellion, since without them we'd be nothing, still some less-than-significant steward house,"

They continued their walk, Eddmina's knowledge vastly improving the deeper they went as history became more recent, until they reached the last three statues in the crypt. She fixed the lantern to a latch on the wall, and despite not truly wanting to, she looked at them. As if realising the significance, Honour let out a quiet howl before proceeding to curl up at the stone skirts of Lyanna Stark. Next to Lyanna was Brandon, and next to him, Lord Rickard. Eddmina had rarely come this far since once at the age of ten she observed her father knelt by his sister and brother, looking as if he was crying. She'd been haunted by the thought, imagining if it was Robb, knelt by her statue, or even the other way round. She didn't know how her father had the strength to face the tombs of his siblings, since Eddmina didn't know how she would continue in life without her twin. Lyanna and Brandon had died young, Eddmina was barely three years younger than Brandon had been when he died, and the stories her father could manage to tell them made him seem like such a wonderful sibling. Eddmina imagined outliving Robb, she imagined Robb dying young and having to go on without him, the only way to see him being to stand in front of a stone likeness, and the thought was too much. The day Eddmina saw her father stood in front of his siblings' statues was the day she realised her father was the strongest man she knew, and ever since then she hadn't been able to face the statues, reminding her far too much of the inevitable pain of the past.

"Your grandfather?" Willas asked, grimacing a little as if he couldn't help it. Even in the dark, Eddmina noticed, and immediately knew why.

"Father never told us how he or Uncle Brandon died, he never told us about Aunt Lyanna either," she said quietly, staring at the carved features of her Aunt as if trying to imagine her alive. "I suppose it was just too awful to remember the death of his father and siblings,"

"It was an awful way to die," he said, before realising he had slipped up. "Do you truly not know what happened to them?"

"No, do you?" she frowned, wondering how her husband knew more about her family than she did. He hesitated before nodding.

"I don't know about Lady Lyanna, I know she was young and it was at Prince Rhaegar's hand, but... I had an Uncle at court that day, the day your grandfather died," he told her hesitantly, knowing he shouldn't have said anything. "You were right, it was awful, enough to give me nightmares for a week after Uncle Garth told me. I remember feeling disgusted that someone in my family would stand by and watch such a thing only to remain a supporter of the Mad King,"

"Tell me," she said, her voice firm as if she was demanding, but she couldn't look at him, her eyes instead fixed on the statue of her Uncle, wondering what could be so awful for Willas to have nightmares.

"Not here, not where they rest," his voice was just as firm, though still gentle, squeezing his wife's hand. "Let their spirits not relive death through our words,"

Eddmina sighed, her curiosity unchanged, yet she knew he was right. She didn't know what happened after death, but if the legend was true and the crypt was full of the souls of the dead Starks, the correct way to honour them was not making them listen to the story of their death. Perhaps she was better not knowing as well, otherwise her father would have told her. Her father told his children everything that was important, he wasn't a liar. She trusted he had good reason to not tell her, and to demand Willas tell her the tale felt like betraying her father.

"Alright," she said, before reaching out and placing her hand against the outstretched hand of her aunt. There was a small flower resting on her palm, and considering the Starks weren't overly fond on flowers, she assumed it was a gift from the King.

"She was only sixteen," Willas breathed out, as if in understanding that these statues were not just names in a history book, but his own marital family. "She was two years younger than you are now,"

"Almost three, my nameday is in a few months," Eddmina replied, as if trying to put distance between herself and her aunt, knowing that rightfully she should be alive and well, she should be Eddmina's friend, someone to turn to to complain about her mother and gush about Willas. She shouldn't be dead.

"I would've liked to have met them," he said quietly, squeezing her hand again.

"Me too," she barely whispered.

Eddmina felt tears pricking at her eyes again. It wasn't a very noble thing to to, it wasn't like she was the dead one, and there was no one down there that she knew personally, but the last three statues were people she should have known. She should have known her grandfather, and her uncle, and her aunt, but instead there were stone statues in their place. Willas had aunts, uncles, cousins, even grandparents, he had an extended family, while all she really had was statues. There was her siblings of course, her parents, her uncle Benjen and her Aunt Lysa, but there was no extended family, and the impact of their loss seemed to hit her. Remembering her father, Eddmina realised just how difficult it was to not cry at these last three tombs. She felt herself beginning to shake.

"Oh, love," Willas whispered dropping her arm to instead wrap her into a tight embrace. He pushed a kiss to her temple, stroking her hair. Soon, she had started to cry.

"I'm sorry," she told him, feeling ridiculous. "I've never completely stopped to think..."

"You don't need to be sorry, my dearest," he reassured, continuing to stroke her hair. The kindness of him made her just want to cry more. "The past was not fair to your family, and the pain lives on, it is only natural. To cry is to care,"

"I hope the pain is in the past," she mumbled quietly. "I know death is inevitable, but I never want to hurt like my father hurts for his lost family,"

Willas kissed her temple again, as if trying to show her that he'd always protect her, or at least always try his hardest to. He decided then in that moment that he cared for her more than anything or anyone else in his life, she wasn't just his wife but his love. He'd spend the rest of his life looking after her, caring for her. He'd never expected to feel so strongly about anyone before, he'd never thought his inevitable marriage would leave him so utterly lovestruck, but there he was, deep in the crypts of Winterfell, certain that his life now revolved around Eddmina, around her happiness and her safety.

"I don't think anyone can live without pain, my love," he told her quietly, trying to find the right words. "But I swear I'll be right with you, forever,"

***

By the time the two of them had made their way out of the crypts, Eddmina had recovered from her emotions.

She still felt a little different though, but it wasn't something that had developed just from their visit to the tombs, rather a change in her she'd been feeling for some time. Maybe it was just returning to Winterfell as a married woman, or the stresses of the Royal visit, but it felt as though she was seeing everything differently. She felt as though her emotions were not as restrained or as controlled as they had once been, and she felt more compelled to show her feelings than ever before. She'd never felt like that before, and she didn't understand why she felt so different. It wasn't just mentally, as physically she felt different too, still not quite recovered from the dizziness or sickness of travelling by sea, and whereas before she was often able to read a whole book before bed and wake in the early hours, she had found Willas was often waking her up in the mornings even though she was asleep long before him. In short, Eddmina felt changed, and she couldn't figure out why.

Back in the light of day, the couple realised it was rather a chilly day, finding more warmth deep in the crypts than they did out in the open. They decided to part ways, since Willas had promised to meet with Garlan for lunch with Lord Tyrion - who they'd both met the night before at the feast and surprisingly hit it off with. Meanwhile Eddmina headed off in search of Jon.

Honour found Jon before Eddmina did, or rather, she found Ghost. Jon and his direwolf were sat in a window sill of one of the alcoves by the training ground. Jon looked to be sulking, and though he was usually a brooding person, his vibe was understandable as Eddmina got closer and saw through the window that all the other boys were out training with Ser Rodrick, even Bran and little Rickon, as well as the two princes, while Jon was excluded.

Honour let out a howl as she pounced on her brother, Ghost immediately springing up as the two wolves began to play fight. Before their fight, Jon was unaware of their presence, but the howls alerted him, and he turned to see his sister, immediately rolling his eyes.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," he said, suggesting that he felt sorry for himself.

"I don't," Eddmina shrugged with a dry smile. "I think you're the lucky one, look,"

With that, she gestured out to the training ground, where it looked as though Robb was on the verge of fighting the Prince, and not just for training. He was scowling, while Prince Joffrey looked disgusted. Eddmina fought against her instinct to storm out there and join her brother in his battle, and instead hit Jon's leg, getting him to move over so she could sit opposite him, the two of them curled up in the window seat.

"Even Theon's out there," Jon muttered, and Eddmina saw him roll his eyes again before he looked at her seriously. "Did you speak to him last night, after the feast?"

"No," she shook her head, because in truth Eddmina had hardly spoken to him at all. He was hardly around, and even when he was, she was always with someone else.

"Edd... I don't know if he ever got over you calling your thing off," Jon said carefully, as if trying to be serious, before he let out a laugh. Eddmina scowled at him, reaching over and hitting his arm. "No, I swear I'm not joking. He came back from some establishment while I was still out in the yard. He asked me where you were, which room was now yours. He kept going on about how you'd betrayed us all and how he still wanted you regardless. In the end I reminded him that you'd threatened to break his jaw and you weren't one to forget a promise,"

"Fuck sake," she mumbled in irritation, her skin crawling with the thought that Theon still thought of her even long after she had stopped thinking of him. "If he'd have come to my room last night I don't think I would have gotten the chance to break his jaw, I was a little busy..."

"Gods, Edd!" Jon cried in disgust as he understood what she was implying, all while his sister laughed. "D'you think I needed to know that? You're my sister! I like Willas too, don't make me want to fight him!"

"He'd probably win," she shrugged, still smirking slightly as she glanced out of the window, watching Theon and Robb talk. "He can't still like me, that's stupid. He saw me get married,"

"Married in front of Gods that aren't even yours, he was saying that last night," Jon told her, sounding just as annoyed as she felt. "He says that's a convenient enough loophole,"

"What's not a convenient loophole is the fact that I'd never go near him for that reason again," she said, hoping that this issue wouldn't become trouble. "My gods or not, Willas is the only one I want, and he should be smart enough to know that,"

"There's many words to describe Theon, and I don't think 'smart' is particularly high up on the list," Jon remarked, and even though Eddmina tried not to, she couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

They sat in the window sill for at least an hour, watching as their wolves play fought. Ghost and Honour were the closest out of the pack, almost as if hey understood each other better than the rest. Thy were both the quietest, not necesarily in obedience despite Honour's successful training, but in the fact that they often sat and watched as things happened around them. While the other wolves ran together through the woodlands as if racing each other, Honour was often more observant, following her instincts and her senses. She was aware of everything happening around her constantly. Eddmina was sure she'd never heard her growl except for playing or hunting, though she was also sure she would never be in any danger from the world whenever her wolf was by her side.

Another howl from down the corridor, and before either of them knew it Nymeria had come bounding over, jumping onto her brother and sister. She was a smart wolf too, though not as obedient as Honour. She seemed to be the perfect fit for Arya, clever, quiet, yet wild. Arya came running down the corridor shortly after her wolf, looking as though she had just run halfway around the castle, and considering the glint of mischief in her eyes, Eddmina knew exactly what she had done.

"Whatever will Septa say when you can't stitch a cross, Arya Stark?" Eddmina teased. Arya stuck her tongue out in rebellion, shoving into her siblings as she took a seat between them in the window. "I'm not doing your needlework for you again, you know what happened last time. Septa thought it was a real improvement so she made you take extra classes to show her how you'd done it, remember?"

"Of course I do, my fingers still cramp up thinking about it," Arya folded her arms, making Jon chuckle as he ruffled her hair. "You're both so lucky, you don't have to do anything,"

"Would you like me to tell your mother you wish to be married? She'll be so thrilled, and then you'll get to do nothing, just like Edd," Jon joked, though their sister looked stony. "Oh, come on, Arya, I'm kidding, you know I am,"

"All anyone talks about is marriage these days," she scowled. "First it was you, though mother never really said anything nice about it. Now it's Sansa, it's all she goes on about! Has no one got a single thought that doesn't revolve around stupid weddings?"

"I have thoughts," Eddmina poked her sister's arm. "Most of them revolving around how we should go riding, the three of us. You're a fugitive, and neither Jon or myself are particularly wanted anywhere else, after all,"

Perhaps it was just because she hadn't had too much time with her little sister and brother in the last few weeks, or perhaps it was due to her emotions in the crypt making her want to make the most of the time she had with her siblings, but riding around the wolf's wood with Jon and Arya made Eddmina feel truly alive, and almost made her forget how strange and different she felt.

***

Word count: 4055

***