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

Chapter Ninety Three: Three Emeralds

A war camp felt just as familiar as any other home Eddmina had known, though being the one leading and ruling was an odd change she was silently struggling to adjust to.

In the weeks since they departed Riverrun and began their march north they had made good progress, moving faster than they ever had done when they had been lead by Robb. Some bannermen had started their march a few weeks before her own party set off, but by the end of the first week they had caught up and reassembled, and by the end of the second week, they had passed the border of the two kingdoms. Perhaps it was because they had the weather on their side, or perhaps it was sheer impatience fuelling them to move as quickly as possible, because Eddmina wasn't the only one who wanted to go home, all the bannermen sharing her sentiment of returning north as soon as they were able. The only breaks they took were to eat or sleep, though Eddmina knew little of the latter, since Lyarra was practically nocturnal, and she had insisted on an hour of training each morning for everyone, herself included.

"Are you sure?" Garlan had questioned her apprehensively as she pushed a sword into his hands, insisting that out of everyone, he was the one she wanted to train with. "You don't have to do this. The rest of us fair enough, but you're a queen-"

"Aye, and a shit queen I'll be if I won't fight with my people," she pointed out, and didn't give him the chance to protest again as she swung her own sword at him.

Garlan was easier to train with than Arya, but that was only because she had trained with him before. She knew his style, his strengths, his lack of weaknesses. He'd grown up training against four men at a time to replicate actual combat, and it had perfected him into not just a pretty tourney knight but a formidable warrior. Even so, he was familiar, whereas Arya... Her little sister wasn't as good of a teacher as Garlan, but she was perhaps better because she was so unexpected. While Garlan broke everything down for her, took it at a slower pace knowing that months of imprisonment and pregnancy had left her utterly out of practice and easily winded, Arya wasn't as gentle, nor as patient. She remained quiet while she fought, not flaunting her victory over her elder sister until her practice sword was pointed at Eddmina's throat, or stomach, or neck, simply uttering the words:

"Now you're dead."

"I don't know what man father found to teach you to fight, but it certainly wasn't a Westerosi," Eddmina remarked bitterly one morning after her sister had knocked her into the mud, recalling how her twin used to do the same. Arya never offered her a hand up like Robb had done, and she assumed that was something else her tutor had bestowed upon her.

"You shouldn't be as harsh," Garlan had scolded Arya after he helped Eddmina to her feet. "It's not very becoming to hurt your sister, let alone your queen."

"Better I hurt her than someone else hurt her," Arya shrugged, though she turned to Eddmina with badly hidden concern as she asked: "You're not hurt, though, are you?"

"No, but you will be," Eddmina informed her as she swung her sword at her once more.

Once training was done, the banners would gather and discuss the plan for the day. It was usually the same - ride north, not stopping until it became too dark or the weather forced them to halt. They ocassionally discussed what would happen once they found Sansa's camp, how they would deal with reclaiming Winterfell, but Eddmina often encouraged them all to move on to mounting their horses the moment that topic arose, desperate for none of them to notice how she didn't have a single clue as to how to get her home back. It made her feel helpless, stupid, and she knew that if Lyarra didn't keep her awake most nights than the thought of Winterfell would have had the same effect. Often late at night while she paced the tent she shared with Arya and Garlan, desperately attempting to get her daughter to sleep or at least stop crying, she would wrack her mind for ideas, clues, absolutely anything that would help her get home, but she always came up short.