Only A Northern Song ~ Game of Thrones / Willas Tyrell ~

Chapter Forty Five: Mother

Eddmina glared down at the map of Westeros that lay in front of her, staring at the wooden lion figurines as if willing some of them to disappear.

She'd spent all day looking at the map and had been staring at it late into the previous night too, to the point that Eddmina was certain the sight was burned into her brain, even down to the placement of the figurines, the wolves in the north, and the lions in the westerlands, making their move further upwards with each day that passed. Looking at it gave her a thudding headache, and it definitely didn't help that she'd had more sleepless nights than she'd care to admit since they'd set off from Winterfell. It wasn't just down to the uncomfortable camping situation, but her problems seemed to mix between Uther refusing to sleep, and horror-filled nightmares that made her wish she was awake even though she was so tired her body hurt.

She couldn't show it, though. If she appeared tired or frazzled then the men would see her as weak, and she couldn't afford for them to think that. In the early days of their travels, she'd heard a few of the lords whispering about her, saying she had no place there with them all. Not just because she was a woman, but because she was married into a southern family currently starting their own rebellion.

"You're the daughter of Ned Stark, the descendant of the kings of the north," Willas had told her quietly one night when she had complained about it. "You have more right to be here than anyone."

Eddmina was sure that exercising her right was more than frustrating for some of the Lords, but their resistance to her presence felt as though it was fading with each day she spent at Robb's side, analysing the map. Each time one of them made a foolish suggestion, or one of them made a snide remark about the two Tyrells, she responded with wit or outsmarted them on strategy. She'd made a habit of proving herself, gaining new respect from each lord every day. Even so, she knew it was a delicate balance, and she refused to do anything that would cause any damage to her position in the war camp.

It helped that she'd made friends with the Mormonts, too. Eddmina had only met Dacey Mormont once before, years ago, when her father had invited the banner houses to visit Winterfell. They had both been young girls and it had been when Dacey's Uncle Jorah ruled over Bear Island, before Eddmina's father caught wind of his slave trading and he escaped into exile. The girls had been fast friends, but after the Mormonts returned home they never saw each other again, without even a letter exchanged between them. Lady Stark had muttered about the Mormonts treating their women too roughly to the point that they may as well be boys, and that pretty much established how little she approved of any friendship between her eldest daughter and Dacey Mormont. Of course, without Lady Stark and being a grown woman, Eddmina could make her own choices, and she often chose to stand near Dacey or her mother Lady Maege in battle planning meetings. If the men accepted the Mormont women, she didn't see why they couldn't accept her too.

She was glad to see that Willas and Garlan had begun fitting in too, Garlan especially. Eddmina had never really noticed before how skilled in combat her goodbrother actually was, but after only a morning of sparring drills, he had won over pretty much the entire camp. Garlan insisted on training with two men attacking him at once, stating that it felt more realistic, more battle-ready, and his gritty look of training defied the Northerner's expectations. They thought he was merely some flowery knight, unused to combat outside of tourneys, but when he knocked all of Lord Karstark's sons into the mud, they understood he was very much the opposite of their expectations. Willas too, though he didn't impress with his physical strengths, proved himself through strategy, often being the first to suggest any ideas, and though not all of them were appreciated or successful with the northerners, Robb often agreed, and the lords quickly learnt to respect Robb's decisions.

"He thinks like a southerner," lord Glover had cursed one afternoon, after Willas had suggested a battle tactic he'd seen in a book written during the rebellion.