When winter comes, her flame will light the way.
Growing up in the North was something people did not take for granted; her family ruled the Icelands and the people that came with it. They trained the girls alongside of the boys, knowing the dangers...
"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle." — Jon Snow
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The mood was sober as Nyssa Ember — or Nyssa Stark as she was now called — stood beside the river by her mother-in-law. Robb Stark and Brynden Tully, waist-deep in the river, released the funeral boat of Hoster Tully. It wasn't the first funeral Nyssa had been to but it was the first in the Riverlands.
They returned to the dock to rejoin the two women as Edmure Tully held held up a bow, lit by fire, and shot it at the distant boat. The arrow slashed wide of its mark and Nyssa frowned deeply. When he did the same the second time, Nyssa had to stop herself from asking if he needed help though Robb let out a chuckle under his breath.
Impatiently, Bryden pushed Edmure aside and grabbed his bow. With a lit arrow, he aimed carefully and unleashed the arching shot. As the arrow flew, he tossed the bow back to Edmure and walked off. Catelyn let out a sigh of relief as the arrow set the boat aflame.
Nyssa and Robb hooked arms and headed inside where they were all to gather.
The room was dimly lit, a long table situated at its centre, where maps and battle plans were strewn haphazardly across the surface. Candles flickered, casting restless shadows on the faces of the war council gathered around
Edmure leaned forward, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and regret.
"If I may, nephew, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing—"
But before he could finish, Brynden 'The Blackfish' Tully, his weathered face twisted into a scowl, cut him off with the sharpness of a dagger.
"Why don't you shut your mouth about that damned mill? And don't call him 'nephew.' He is your king as Nyssa is your queen."
Edmure winced at the rebuke, his pride wounded more deeply than any battle scar. He struggled to maintain his composure.
"Robb knows I meant him no disr—"
But Brynden would have none of it. He took a step closer, looming over his younger relative like an old, angry bear.
"You're lucky I'm not your king. I wouldn't let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag."
Edmure's eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and hurt. He straightened, forcing confidence into his voice.
"My blunder sent Tywin's men scurrying back to Casterly Rock with their tails between their legs. I think King Robb understands we're not gonna win this war if he's the only one winning any battles. No, there's glory enough to go around," said Edmure.
