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

Chapter Eighty Eight: Golden Butterflies

It took Arya very little time to find Maester Vyman, but in that time Eddmina's mind had spiralled from each pain she endured.

The pains had become agony, and each one had her mind reeling back to the Twins. By the time the maester arrived her fisted hands had scratched at her arms until they were red raw and she could barely speak her throat was so tight, save the few hummed tunes she used to distract herself. Instinct had kicked in too, because she desperately wanted to pace the room as she had in her tower cell. Unlike in her tower cell however, she had to catch herself against the walls or the furniture whenever she stumbled or lost balance when the aches hit too much. If she had been in a calmer state, she might have noticed the sheer unnerved concern both the Maester and Garlan regarded her with.

"Her grace needs as much rest as she can get," she heard Vyman telling Garlan, who watched her pace nervously, as if knowing he should do something but unsure what. "She is in for a long and possibly perilous night if she does not calm herself now."

If she was more in-tune with what he was saying she would have been furious, but she barely knew he was there, barely knew Garlan was there, because instead all she could focus on were the ghosts of the past. Labour was more agonising than she remembered it to be, though in truth she remembered very little about the first time, save that she had forced herself not to scream so not to scare her little brothers no matter how painful it got. She remembered holding Tyrell hands while her childhood maester tended to her,  her direwolf curled in the corner of the room, and her twin brother sat outside waiting to see her. It was a blur of blood and misery, like most of her recent life had been, but she knew deep down no matter her fears of mortality, she had felt safe.

The wedding had made sure she'd never feel safe again. Another contracting cramp seized her so harshly that she gasped and nearly stumbled, and suddenly she was no longer in Riverrun but back in that hall, Frey hands restraining her, forcing her to look at the bodies as they carried her off. They threw a sack over her head that had robbed her of air, and each time a cramp took her breath away she felt as if she was back in that blind darkness, her fate in someone else's hands as they carried her away. Perhaps while she battled that memory it would have been helpful if someone hadn't tried to catch her from losing her balance, because instead of registering that it was merely Garlan trying to help, she was back at the mercy of the Freys, and they were grabbing her, taunting her, repeating over and over in her ear that they had killed all the traitors except for her.

With as much strength as she could muster she pulled herself away from Garlan, eyes wide in fear and fierce determination to fight, and if not for him grabbing both of her hands to restrain her she would have hit him. Holding her hands as tightly as he was doing was unhelpful too, because then she remembered all the times Lannister guards had bound her hands. It was undignifying, it was humiliating, and like a mad beast she pulled against his grip. Like a steadfast knight, however, Garlan remained holding her, one of his hands wrapped around both of her wrists while the other gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. Lord Tywin had done that to her a great deal too, but that had felt like control, domination, whereas Garlan merely seemed desperate to get her attention.

Perhaps if she was more herself the mere act of looking at him would have calmed her down, but one look at him and she was back at the doors, throwing her weight against them, smelling the blood of their friends, seeing the arrows protruding out of his back. He had promised to get them both home and back to Willas and Leonette, yet there they were, broken and changed. She would have done anything to be the girl who had left Riverrun all those months ago once more, but instead she had become a monster, and Garlan a strange shadow of himself.

"Your grace-" maester Vyman attempted to approach, but jerked back the moment she thrashed in Garlan's grip again.

"Get off me," she screamed, though her voice sounded more like a sob, not noticing her vision becoming blurred with tears. "Let go of me, get off me."