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

Chapter Seventy One: Reunion of the Roses

It was an incredibly selfish opinion, Eddmina was aware, but she couldn't help think that her grandfather's death was very poor timing.

Lord Hoster Tully had always seemed like an old man, even in her blurry childhood memories from their few pre-war visits to Riverrun, and for as long as they had been living in the keep he was on his  deathbed. It had been a long time coming, and death was an inevitability for everyone, but with so much to do in her last few weeks of being with Robb's force, she felt like his timing was so very poor. A week earlier, and things might not have felt so chaotic, or a week later, and it wouldn't have been her job to make funeral arrangements.

There had been no one else, with her mother grieving, and Robb focusing on the war. Edmure channelled his own grief into helping Robb, and Brynden assisted where he could, drifting between the two and offering advice, but for the most part he seemed distant. He'd lost his brother, that was something she could relate to, and so she just got on with it, reading about all past Tully funerals that maesters had written up on, and trying to make similar plans. She wrote out plans and met with the staff, offering them condolences since they had all known her grandfather far better than she ever did while also instructing them on exactly what she thought should happen on the day. She had Vyman give her a list of all the necessary bannermen who had to attend, and if they were not already in Riverrun for the war, she wrote to them and extended an invitation to mourn their liege as well as pay respects to their new lord.

The latter part had meant writing to Lord Walder. She sent the same letter out to everyone, signed her name off as 'Lady Eddmina, granddaughter to the late Lord Tully, Princess of the North, of House Stark and Tyrell, Hand of the King in the North', but for his letter, she signed simply as 'Eddmina Stark'. He would think her flaunting titles otherwise, trying to make herself seem better than him, and alongside his invitation to the funeral, she included a letter of truce, at Robb's request. His request had been a surprise, but she did it anyway, silently glad that he was regretful of the damage his marriage had done. Perhaps that remorse would be key to reestablishing alliances, and so Eddmina got to work. It took her a whole day to draft, and it took Robb and Willas reading it over at least ten times each to get it perfect.

'Lord Walder Frey.

I write to you with the grave news of my grandfather's death, a man who trusted you as his bannerman for many, many years. You may believe that Lord Hoster and his house looked down upon you and your house, but that was not the case, as my grandfather regarded you highly. I know that recent events between our families may also prove otherwise, for which I can only apologise wholeheartedly. I intend to make it right, as does my brother. If you come to our grandfather's funeral, we would ask for the honour of a meeting between us and yourself so that we may come to a new agreement to show you how keen we are to re-establish a friendship between our houses.

I understand that this may be a difficult thing to agree to, out of principle and out of pride. A great injustice was served to you and your house, and no apology will ever come close to making things right. Yet, we wish to try.

I hope to see you in Riverrun.

With Regards, Eddmina Stark.'

Eddmina had been about to screw up the parchment and toss it into the fireplace across the room until Robb leant across her desk and plucked it out of her hands. The ink hadn't quite dried, and his thumb smudged her signature slightly. She shot up out of her seat, dropping her quill onto the desk to chase after him as he backed away, reading it quickly. He held it up in the air, preventing her from taking it back from him.

"It'll do, Edd," he told her reassuringly, though that didn't stop her nervous scowl. "There's half a forest in that fireplace."

There had been several drafts, he was right, all of which ended up balled up and thrown into the flames. She couldn't help it, wanting absolute perfection, wanting each word to be right, wanting it to read with remorse but without grovelling. She wasn't sure if the version Robb held was right, but Vyman was waiting in the doorway, and Robb handed the parchment to him before Eddmina could say otherwise, and the Maester had carried it off to his own office to be sealed and sent off. Before the end of the hour the letter would be attached to a raven and halfway to the Twins, and Eddmina wasn't sure if it was good enough. She fidled with the sleeves of her dress, clenched and unclenched her fists, desperate for anything that might instantly take her mind off the fact she had barely read over the letter for mistakes.