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

Chapter Sixty Two: Freedom

Negotiations with the Hound for Sansa's ransom began the next afternoon. Eddmina arrived late by a mere few minutes but didn't let the stress of it show, not as she entered the great hall and found her Uncle sat at the table, his arms folded and a stern sneer on his face as he sat across from Clegane, who's expression seemed to match the Blackfish's.

As she crossed the room, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. It was strange, she had spent the entire war feeling almost fearless, knowing she had so much to prove to the extent she rarely allowed herself to feel nervous, but when it came to discussing her sister's safety, she knew it was so important that she couldn't help but get wrapped up in it all. She had wanted Willas and her mother to attend the meeting too, but Willas hadn't wanted to undermine her, and Lady Stark hadn't emerged from Sansa's chambers. Eddmina had made the decision to not invite Sansa, just in case they discussed things that might bring up old wounds, and so she walked in alone. She wasn't alone in the world as a Stark anymore, but as she took her seat across from the Hound, she felt like a true lone wolf.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives," she heard her father's voice echo in her mind, making her shudder.

'I am not alone,' she reminded herself. 'Sansa is home, Uncle Bryden is right here with me, and and I have mother and Willas too, and Uther. They are my pack. We will survive.'

"Good morning," she greeted with a smile, hoping it didn't look forced. She looked at the Hound then, looking him up and down as if sizing up an enemy. "I trust you found your accommodations comfortable enough?"

"Aye, honoured guest my arse, did you think I wouldn't notice the armed guards at every door watching my every move?" he growled. "What's the matter, girl, are you scared of me?"

"You call the Princess 'girl' once more and I'll make you scared of me," Brynden defended, and Eddmina tried not to look annoyed at how determined the men were to butt heads.

"It's quite alright, Uncle, there are far worse insults to be called than 'girl'," she placed her hand on Brynden's arm for a second, and when he looked over at her, she narrowed her eyes slightly, silently begging for him to not jump to defend her so quickly. When he nodded, she withdrew her hand and looked at the Hound once more. "The King in the North put me in charge of the running of this keep, one of those duties include organising the shifts of the guards. As you can imagine, there is much here that we need to protect."

"What, like that boy of yours?" the hound theorised, raising the eyebrow that wasn't entirely singed off. Eddmina felt the heat grow in her face as she clenched her jaw, her hands that were neatly folded in her lap forming fists. Insults to herself she could take, but threats to Uther... "The day that girl got the letter saying she had become an aunt she skipped around the castle and beamed from ear to ear. Joffrey quickly put a stop to that joy. You should have heard the things the king used to tell your sister that he would do to your son. The mildest of threats was that he was going to display his head next to your father's on the city walls until they both rot, while yours and the King in the North's would be skewered on top of the iron throne. The most colourful threat... I doubt you've got a strong enough stomach to hear it."

Eddmina felt her blood boil, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would break through her ribs. It did not help that the Hound was staring at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to crack. Her Uncle was watching her too, clearly expecting her to crumble as she had done in her study all those week ago, while also waiting for her to signal that she wanted him to return the Hound's insult.

Perhaps his words wouldn't have bothered her if she had not spent the night before dreaming of the possibilities that Uther faced in life, all of them resembling the fates that had fallen onto the other children of history. She had told Willas that she had been thinking about Elia Martell and Helaena Targaryen, and she had heard their screams all night. She had seen how their children died, yet it was not truly them, not as each of them had her own son's face. It was one of the reasons why she had been late to the meeting, since when she woke in a cold sweat unable to breathe, she had no other choice than to lie in bed until the panic had subsided. No amount of promises from Willas as he was enveloped her in his arms was enough to calm her down, and as soon as the Hound spoke of threats to her son, she felt as though she was back in her chambers, battling her nerves once more, yet again surrounded in the screams of historical grieving mothers.