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

Chapter Twenty One: Celebrations

The rest of her wedding day seemed to be a blur.

Thinking of herself as a Tyrell was odd, and Eddmina wasn't sure if she would ever get used to it. She remembered the few times her mother ventured into the Godswood at Winterfell with her, telling her just how out-of-place she felt even after eighteen years of being Lady Stark. Eddmina had never felt more comfortable than she did in her own home, and the thought of never quite settling in at High Garden was a worry, though she tried not to focus on it. Maybe that was why Southerners liked such grand wedding parties, to distract the bride from just how terrifying her life had become.

Willas was a good distraction. The two of them were sat together alone while the rest of the guests were scattered about the hall as they had been the night before, and his hand rarely left hers. She wondered if they would be this comfortable had they not kissed the night before, but she daren't bring it up. Every so often guests would approach and congratulate them, and Willas introduced her to his many, many cousins and relations.

"I didn't realise families could be this big," she muttered to him after his excitable yonger cousins had rushed over to introduce themselves, the exact sort of girls Sansa would adore the company of.

"Says the girl with six siblings," Willas joked, making her roll her eyes as she sipped her wine.

"Yes, but I don't have any cousins, only my Aunt Lysa's son who we've never met," she reminded him. "Neither of my Uncles have wives or children. For the Starks it's just the seven of us, but for you Tyrells... You're all across the South,"

"That's just my father's side, my mother's family is just as vast," he told her. "One of my mother's sisters lives over in Essos as some sort of Concubine. The Tyrells might have their roots in the south but the Hightowers spread across the known world,"

As the feast continued, Willas kept subtly pointing out people around the hall to her, occasionally dropping a rumour or a story about them, which was amusing. At first it felt like gossiping, but she soon realised that he saw it as his duty to know about all the lords and ladies of the Reach, to know their backgrounds and characters, because one day he may have to rely on them.

Every so often though, her eyes would glance to the back of the hall where Amariah and her husband were sat with some other southerners. As beautiful as she was she didn't look a particularly happy woman, especially not as her husband seemed to practically ignore her to speak to some other women around them. It was a little surprising for Eddmina to see, considering in her mind she'd built an image of that woman being so carelessly happy, and seeing the truth was jarring, especially as it made her feel sorry for her. In theory she had everything, a castle, a knighted husband, servants to wait on her, two young sons to love, but the reality seemed much more grim. Eddmina felt as though she should hate her, she disrespected the Tyrells, betrayed Willas and her presence acted like a reminder of what could have been, but no one who looked that crestfallen could be hated.

She tried not to dwell on Amariah though, distracting herself by looking over at her own family. They weren't looking at her though, the lot of them caught in their own conversation. It felt like years since the last time she gathered with her parents and siblings and had dinner with them, and watching them eat and joke together felt as though life had gone on without her with them. Good, she thought, knowing she'd rather them all be happy than miss her.

She soon realised that wasn't the case as Robb glanced over to her, and she suddenly felt as though she wanted to run to her twin and the two of them sneak off together to the stables to run away back to Winterfell. Not that it was possible, since she was the bride and all eyes were on her and Willas. Hoping that Robb wouldn't notice her turmoil, she offered him a joking wink before taking a swig of wine, feeling Willas squeeze her hand gently.