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

Chapter Seventy Six: The Rains of Castamere

The journey was arduous and exhausting, and the constant rain and wind did nothing to make it easier. In fact, everyone was downright miserable the whole way, because what was meant to be a three-and-a-half day trip was slowed to six days due to the poor weather.

Perhaps if Eddmina hadn't been confined to the carriage the whole journey it might have been easier, because even with the rain it would have been fresh air and new surroundings rather than four walls and constant juddering. Yet, she had promised Willas no riding, and wasn't up for it anyway. Her sickness had returned and meant she spent most mornings pale and shivering, fighting to keep her breakfast down. It had worried Robb, who at one point considered turning around and sending her home, but come the evenings she was more than well, if not a little bored to have been cooped up inside all day, even if people took turns keeping her company.

Her mother was a constant, as was her lessons in wreath weaving, but others alternated in spending time with her to prevent her feeling completely isolated. Garlan would come with jokes and card games, and he was the one to manage to make her laugh despite feeling full of despair. Dacey came with weapons to be cleaned or sharpened, and the two of them would discuss anything and everything while working on the weaponry. She brought with her a sense of sisterhood that she had thought she would be leaving behind when she said goodbye to Sansa. Robb couldn't spend too much time with her, not since he was expected to lead the procession, but when he did they would study maps and strategy, and trade stories of home. In the evenings when they had stopped for the day and all tents and shelters had been erected, she would eat supper with Garlan and Lord Tyrell, both of whom had caught onto how nervous she was to return to Highgarden and so spent the evenings trying to educate her on the culture and the people of the Reach. All of them were better company than her uncle Edmure, who was still sullen and bitter about his part of the arrangement.

"We're going to have to stop for the day," Garlan called as he entered the newly-halted carriage, bringing with him what looked like half the rain-storm, his hair a drenched mane that dripped when he pushed it away from his eyes, his boots soaking puddles in the wood floor. The sky was so dark it could have been the evening, but it was really more like midday. "Too muddy, my horse nearly fell, Lord Umber won't stop sneezing, it'll be a wonder if we reach the Twins and we haven't all developed gills it is so wet out there."

At their current pace they were only a day away from the Twins, and stopping early would only irritate the Freys more, surely. In better weather conditions they were hours, if not half-a-day away, but that seemed impossible. Eddmina sighed, drawing her thick cloak around her closer as she shivered, because even the carriage wasn't an escape from the chill. An inconvenience like stopping would give the Freys more to hate them for, as they would find some reason behind the unavoidable inescapable riding conditions to turn it into a personal attack. All the while she'd been in the carriage, no sort of distraction could take her mind off the dread that stirred inside when she considered what awaited them upon arrival.

Lady Stark saw Eddmina's worry, and reached over to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. She was still working on her wreath, while Eddmina had tossed hers aside in a huff when she noted the Maiden looked more like the Warrior, so instead had an embroidery hoop on her lap. They did not have much thread to hand, and so was making use of the dull-coloured cottons she had packed in case she needed to repair any clothes to work out an outline of what she could finish off in Highgarden. It had hurt a little to start on the piece, considering she intended on sewing a family portrait tapestry and doing so meant she had to think about her beloveds she'd left behind, but it was a good way to keep them on her mind without focusing on all she'd done to hurt them. In sewing Honour she didn't have to think about her desperate whines as she was shut away in the coach, but her fierce loyalty, and how her ears and tail twitched when she was happy. In sewing Willas she could think how handsome he was, how much she loved his curls, how he smiled as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and not how empty he looked heading into the carriage alone. In sewing Uther she could daydream about the sort of man he would become, how she hoped he would be clever and kind, and not that he was still on the way to Highgarden without her, and was possibly still screaming for her. In sewing herself, she could merely think of the woman she could try to be once the war was over, and not the monster it had turned her into.