Life was perpetually continuing, and what was important to her in that moment may very well be totally unimportant to her later on. And though everything eventually passes, except in that very moment, and in the next second, they were in another moment, and something else happened and everything else is gone, is past. But some of the memories, some of the passions and loves of life, they never really go away. Edlynn, of course, knew these things very well– she had not lived through as much as many men had, through many years and many conflicts, millions of fleeting moments and small intrinsic details that had come and passed, and, if she were to be who she truly was and if she were to be very true to herself, there was a very small part that said there was no good point in reminiscing over the thought of marriage to some man whose mere presence she would abhor so very much. Whomever her father decided to match her with in the name of alliances, there was little plausibility in the idea she would ever grow to love a man, no matter who he was, or even care for him in the slightest. If the man was anything as the Prince was, there was no doubt in her mind that, unlike Sansa, she would not go gooey-eyed at the very sight of a boy who, no matter how handsome she may find him, was hideous on the inside.

Edlynn, from her yonder days of youth, had been told that marriage should be about love, not that it was. Much like battle, marriage was seen by her as a war between thinly-veiled masculine despotism and feminine egoist resistance as to not fall for the male tricks. Of course, this entire war would be one-sided– she had lived with Theon long enough that she believed men to be the most simplistic of creatures, while femininity, a juxtaposition, had every word beholding underlying meaning, underlying need to redress false dualisms as a result of denigration of one oppositional by another. Thus, there is the constant fight between man and woman in marriage– one could call it, perhaps, because of the universal demands made by social norms, becoming an exception seemed to be both a task and constantly in need of justification, something Edlynn Stark was wholly unwilling to delve into. The tortuous dialectic of universal and exception, worked out in terms of the sacrifices of love, significantly outweighed any willingness Edlynn was to put into marriage, and, decidedly, told her father if she were to marry any man, whether it be of any family of power, she would blatantly refuse. And, if her demands for maidenhood were not met, she would be the most unhappy bride in all of Westeros, and if she were not to keep her maidenhood the night of the wedding, she would be forced to remove her husband's own, possibly with her teeth. Eddard had laughed heartily for some time over her words, even forcing himself to wipe away the tears of mirth that had formed in his eyes, but Edlynn was very much serious, to the point that, upon hearing her father make arrangements with the Frey's for her hand to be given to Malwyn, a son of Raymund who was working as an alchemist's apprentice in Lys, tracked down her half-brother in efforts to convince him that she was all too willing to leave for the Wall with him.

Not only so, but that she had given him a long, wordy speech Jon almost fell asleep to about the paradigm of love in marriage as a trope for the universal claims of civic duty and that the face-value validity of marriage, an ethical love, could never be joined together with the aesthetic love. Love in marriage does not exclude sensual enjoyment and love of beauty as such, but only the selfishness of lust for the flesh, which, in her outlandishly spoken theory, resulted in the creation of half of the population of bastard children– not intentionally offending Jon, of course– because, within marriage where attraction is not necessary for the bond to be made, extramarital affairs could never be "uncommon" in their society, where marriages are made on the basis of power. The other half, she did not mention to Jon in fear he would grow bothered by her words; but, because she knew very much (or, at least, she believed she did) in the realm of marriage, she thought the other half to be because of women like her, women and men who did not have marriage as an option or in their sights, leading to this aesthetic love, leading to an erotic attachment and, eventually, a child borne out of wedlock– a bastard. And this was how the world worked, and that was why Edlynn did not wish to be a part of it any longer. Jon had already planned to leave for the Wall as soon as possible, and prohibited his younger sister of even contemplating leaving with him. He, forever languishing in the loss of who he could have been if his last name were different, had thought long and hard about his decision in leaving, unlike the rare irrational thoughts of Edlynn. He believed that, under the Night's Watch, the circumstances of his birth would be of little importance; under the suggestion of their Uncle Benjen, Jon decidedly chose that the Night's Watch would be the positive fruits to become of his labour.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that marked the ending of summer. It also felt like the beginnings of wintertime because, when she had awoke, the sun did not filter through the heavy, dusty curtains in her chamber she never drew closed like it always did; rather, a dull sheen of light strained to illuminate her room. She threw off her blanket, a large white thing made of wool, a tiny bit itchy but warm, and wrapped it informally around her shoulders as a cloak would, tip-toeing off into other room to find clothes for the day. Robb had told her in confidence the night before that they were to take off early at dawn to take Bran out for his first experience as a man, to witness a beheading and ride home; however, Catelyn had objected strongly to Arya and Edlynn's requests on attending such a repulsive event, and forced them to attend to their everyday routines– of course, this differed from sister to sister, as Sansa would be attached at Septa Mordane's hip for the remainder of the day, as per usual, while the eldest and youngest would be playing out in the woods, or taking a trip out to the stables. However, Catelyn admonished, she would allow this commonplace event to happen, if Edlynn would admonish in return her… Activities, during the afternoon, and attend a lesson with the Septa. The rest of the day, her mother said, her daughters could go out and roll in the pig pens for all she cared; given, she did love her two rambunctious daughters for all they were worth, this so-called negative influence Catelyn believed Edlynn had on Arya was one she would allow, if not reluctantly, and she always tended to make an effort towards getting Edlynn to do more girlish things in some hope Arya would follow suit.

Thus, as she had already promised one thing to her mother, she grabbed rather some tunics and a skirt and headed for the bath, awaiting her handmaiden for a long, long bath– the day was going to be far too long for her liking.

While sat in the bath, she thought of the dream she had been awoken from: it had been an unusual experience, that was why she forced herself to remember it very well, as though her bodily autonomy had been stolen by an unseen force that she could never comprehend and used for their own gain. She stood, though it felt like she was floating, in the middle of a field. It did not look at all like that of Winterfell, nor did it feel like it, for even as she stood in the field with only a twisted weirwood tree, wearing only a thin cotton slip, did she feel none of the biting winds that made the North so frigid. Instead, there was orange sunlight flooding over her, drawing strange shadows from the tree's contorted branches, warmth spreading into her skin. The breeze rustled the scarlet leaves overhead, and that was the only noise around, but, when she looked down at herself, there was a small babe in her arms, softly cooing in wonderment. Their eyes twinkled and Edlynn subconsciously ran her thumb over the babe's cheek, watching at they reached for her thumb to wrap their tiny fist around it.

And for the longest time, that was all the dream really was, of her simply standing underneath the twisting weirwood tree, holding a babe to her bosom and letting the time slink by, until the sun had finally begun to set and Edlynn had picked up her sleeping babe to her breast and began walking towards a large castle sat upon a rock, which, under the shadow which dusk lit upon it, gave the appearance of a lion in repose. She did not see much as she began walking to the rock, but rather, a series of images flashed before her eyes: a very small boy grinning toothily as figs blurred in his hands, eyes as green as sage laughing into hers. Catch, he says, outlined against the sky, hanging from a branch over the rock. The thick warmth of sleepy breath against her ear. If you have to go, I will go with you. Her fears forgotten in the golden harbour of an oddly familiar grasp.

And at that point was when she awoke. Edlynn stayed in the bath until her fingers pruned, threw on the clothes, and read while her handmaiden brushed her hair and anointed her with various perfumes, and spoke of what duties she had to attend to in her day, the only ones being to check the greenhouse, attend her lessons with the Septa and perhaps Maester Luwin if she so wished, and to ensure that she and Arya, if they were to venture into the godswood or beyond, to return by dusk.

After a while, when her hair had been brushed out to the point it seemed to be somewhat tameable, she was informed by the handmaiden earnestly that Eddard and the boys had returned from their venture to the beheading, with an undoubtedly traumatised Bran, and that Edlynn was to meet them inside the Great Hall. Of course, she did so.

There, where their father and all her siblings stood, were a collection of pups, one for each sibling, and while each of them cradled their own dog, Edlynn spotted a very small, but very loud pup, yipping delightfully as it smelled a new presence, for it, like the rest of them, was blind; nearly all white, with patches of grey fur on its head and stomach, the bitch nuzzled into her bosom as soon as Edlynn had picked it up, scratching the scruff of her neck delightfully. Jon, seeing her enter, gave a small, rare grin, holding an albino pup of his own.

"We found them on our return from the beheading– direwolves haven't been seen south of the Wall in some hundred years, can you imagine? And I see the one has taken a liking to you."

"How will we feed them?" She asked quietly, cradling the pup as one would a babe.

"Well, Robb has decided the best way would be to soak a cloth in milk and let it suckle at it, like a teat." Edlynn nodded, but did not say anything further for a brief moment.

"… How is Bran doing?"

"Fine, I would assume. At least, he seemed to be. He did not say very much on the ride back."

"As fine as a Stark can be, I suppose."

Jon didn't smile at that, though.

She had only gotten word that, halfway through a mirthful sparring session with Arya, wooden swords and all, the royal family was to be making an appearance later in the day, and that they would be staying for an uncertain number of days, as word from her father reached her and her sister. The family, promptly, had left to meet the Baratheon-Lannister clan at the front gate, and, according to Eddard, there would more than likely be a large feast in their honour, though he confided he was very unsure as to how exactly he would be feeding all of the people they would be bringing. As your mother told me, girls– do try to hold your tongue. At least, until you're alone. He had ruffled their hair, and brought them with the rest of the family to meet the royals.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gilded shades, from gold to silver, bronze and gilded steel, vast amounts of bannermen, knights, sworn soldiers, and freeriders. Edlynn did not know who most of the riders were, but she could recognise a few of them by tall tales alone. Ser Jaime Lannister, his hair spun from gold, and Sandor Clegane, the Hound, with his half-burnt face; the Queen, Cersei Lannister, with her three children, as fair as the last, whom Eddard had kneeled in the snow for to kiss her ring. She felt some eyes linger on her, but Edlynn didn't acknowledge anything, much too preoccupied in the wonderment of staring off at all of the newcomers.

Standing far off in the slightly gleam of the sunlight, stood the eldest Stark girl, hardly any more than five-and-ten, who seemed to be much too lanky for her age, looking almost like a wight when the thinness combined with her height, clutching earnestly onto a hand-whittled applecore doll in one hand and a wooden play-sword in the other. The smaller girl, Arya, gripped tightly at the elder's legs, staring up at the strange foreigners with some brand of fascination; Edlynn, as she was introduced as, wore many layers of neutral-coloured tunics atop one another and a threadbare woolen black skirt that seemed to be awfully short, revealing her slim ankles, scuffed leather shoes, and sagging socks. She was a very pretty but rather unchaste girl; wide, sunken grey circles for eyes glimmered with something indecipherable to him, with black-slash eyebrows that only just peeked out from underneath loose baby hairs. Her overgrown, frizzy tendrils illuminated the same shade of brown-black as her father, loose ringlets billowing with every shallow inhale and exhale. He admired her for what felt to be a long moment, from her cream-coloured skin, to her soft-featured, thin face, the delicate angles of her defined cheekbones, the high bridge of her rather long nose, the plush cupid's bow of her lips, and her slender figure, all legs, appearing like a young colt who had only just learned how to walk. As soon as she caught him staring at her, Edlynn flushed a soft pink colour, from the tips of her ears to the column of her throat; Jaime briefly smirked and turned his attention back to the King and Eddard, sparing the girl brief glances every so often.

After the formal introductions of either house, the two men, her father and the King, left to the godswood, despite a futile protest from his Queen sister. By the time they returned, Eddard did not look the same, but Edlynn didn't mention it at all, as it was soon the beginning of the feast. The eldest Stark girl, much to her chagrin, was told to be accompanying both Lannister men, as Sansa had already begun clinging to Prince Joffrey's side and Arya, reluctantly, to Prince Tommen, leaving her with the Kingslayer and the Imp.

They were all very handsome folks. Queen Cersei, escorted by Edlynn's lord father, was very beautiful, with her long golden-spun hair, emerald green eyes that glinted the same colour as the jewels of her crown. Following her, King Robert, the portly, apparently drunkard of a man, who was a great disappointment to Edlynn– Eddard had spoke often enough of him to have her paint an image in her mind of this larger-than-life, fierce warrior, but instead, she was greeted with a red-faced man underneath his beard, sweating profusely through his silks. Afterwards came the children, little Rickon first, teetering on her small legs as three-year-olds did, following Robb, handsome as always in his grey wool, with Princess Myrcella on his arm, a very young girl who, by all accounts, seemed to be incredibly insipid, blushing under her flaxen curls at the very sight of Robb, who also seemed to be rather daft in the attention of girls, grinning like a fool. And, of course, followed her sisters escorting the princes, Arya dragging Prince Tommen along, whose hair was longer than hers, and Sansa draped atop Prince Joffrey, twelve and taller than Edlynn, Jon, or Robb. She knew very well that Sansa was already in love with the idea of having a prince fall in love with her, but Edlynn did not like the way he stared condescendingly at Winterfell's Great Hall as they approached it.

Following Sansa and Prince Joffrey was Edlynn, standing daintily in between the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, who she had first seen appraising her unabashedly, and the Imp, Tyrion. Jaime was undoubtedly just as handsome as his sister was beautiful, tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife, wearing crimson silk and a satin cloak and leather boots; Tyrion, however, waddling alongside the two taller individuals, was denied all of the beauty awarded to his eldest siblings, half of Jaime's height, with a head that was much too large for his body and mismatched green and black eyes underneath a lank fall of white-blonde hair.

The last to enter Winterfell of the high lords had been their Uncle Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch, and their father's ward, the young Theon Greyjoy, who Edlynn had grown up with most her life. After everyone had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and the feast began.

There were very few times when, to Edlynn, she wished she herself to be a bastard like Jon, who sat with the younger squires, drinking to his heart's content. In any case, the most occurring periods where she wished only to be an outcast of the family was at feasts such as this.

After a while of listening to the rotten prince speak boredly to her younger sister, her mother had finally saved her; though the King had been drinking heavily, making many a toast, laughing loudly at every jest, attacking each dish like a starving man, conversation between the four was seldom at most. Her father's attention was focused on the courtesies and said little, looking over the hall with hooded eyes and yet seeing nothing, while, like Eddard, Queen Cersei did not say a word, her face as cold and expressionless as an ice sculpture. To break the steady tension, her mother requested Edlynn to let the poor harpist rest and take over a song or two, to impress their guests. Of course, Edlynn was much too grateful for an opportunity to break free from the rather repulsively "romantic" words exchanged around her (as she was sure romantic was the way Sansa would portray it when relaying the information to her friends), and played "A Cask of Ale" to the best of her abilities. Judging by how much of the drink King Robert had downed in the short time of the feast, it was a safe estimation to play such as a song for his amusement.

Though the Great Hall was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh baked bread, Edlynn and the singer put emphasis to be heard even in the end of the hall where Jon sat, where the roar of the fire and the clangor of pewter plates and cups make everything nearly intangible and incomprehensible. After she was finished with the song, her mother and father clapped while Robert laughed heartily at the raised platform where they hosted, raising his large cup up in a humorous cheer while she curtsied and was told to play another, after another, after another.

For the fourth hour of the welcoming feast, much to Edlynn's embarrassment, was filled with small rounds of cheering after each song was played, and after the hour was quite nearly over, the original harpist took his position back. Edlynn scurried with her tail between her legs back to her seat, where the King continued to laugh and Sansa provided her only with a slight glare. Edlynn drank down the summerwine nervously, the sweet fruity taste doing little to calm her sudden nerves, and dearly wished to be with Jon at the other end of the hall, drinking as much as he so chose to and having the more interesting company of the squires and lesser people of the house. With gusto, not much caring for her father's watchful eye, took the flagon as it had been passed about, and filled up her cup to the brim.

She had only then began drinking, and had no reason to stop afterwards.

Edlynn glanced apprehensively at her half-brother across the hall, drinking heavily with the snowy fur of his direwolf pup at his feet, speaking with their Uncle Benjen, and she hated Jon for leaving her with these pretentious people. Prince Joffrey, especially, was hardly even tolerable, with all his words directed at Sansa with only the slightest connotation of interest in their conversation, while Arya and Tommen stayed virtually silent and Myrcella only giggled at any attempts at conversation Robb made. Decisively, after downing three glasses of wine and feeling her face flush as red as the Lannister banners, Edlynn decided it was best to get some air and leave the stuffy room that made her eyes water.

"I must be excused," Edlynn murmured, and just before she could have left, Jon, with great indignity, spat venomous words at their uncle:

"I will never father a bastard. Never!" The entire table fell silent, all eyes focused on Jon and Jon alone. He repeated her same words, spinning around and attempting to bolt out of the Hall, but stumbling as a drunk does. Lurching sideways, Jon knocked the flagon of spiced wine a serving girl carried onto the floor. Laughter ensued and Jon's cheeks became stained with hot tears; Edlynn tried to move forward quickly and help him up, but he wrenched himself from her grip and fled out the door. Edlynn and his direwolf pup followed in a chase out into the night.

The yard was free of the hustling noise in the Great Hall, quiet and empty, the only inhabitant being a lone sentry with his cloak pulled up and around him to protect against the unforgiving cold. There was the faint noise of the music coming from the Hall, but other than the harpist, all she could hear was her own teeth chattering and Jon's heaving breaths. Edlynn watched him wipe away his tears helplessly. After a moment, Jon's direwolf slinked to wrap itself up into his feet and Edlynn tried to hold him once again. This time, he did not bother to resist, even as he furiously rubbed his eyes.

"Boy," a voice called out to them. Jon's head turned.

Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking in every sense just like a gargoyle. The Imp grinned down at the pair of them. "Is that animal a wolf?"

"A direwolf," Edlynn spoke quietly, smoothing Jon's hair down.

"His name is Ghost." Jon supplied. He stared up at the little man, his episode seemingly forgotten. "What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," Tyrion told them. "I learned long ago that it is considerably rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon seemed to hesitate, but Edlynn nodded for him, "Of course, sir. May I fetch you a ladder, or can you come down by yourself?"

"Oh, bleed that," the little man said. With one good push, he flung himself off the ledge, spun around in a tight ball, and landed on his hands, then vaulted backwards onto his legs. Ghost seemed to be just as hesitant as his owner. Tyrion dusted himself off and laughed.

"I believe I've frightened your wolf. My apologies."

"He's not scared," Jon said. "Ghost, come here. Come on. That's it."

The wolf pup padded closer and closer, until it was nuzzled into Jon's hand. He still kept a wary eye at Tyrion, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, Ghost bared his fangs in a silent snarl.

"Shy, isn't he?"

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still. You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training with him."

"I see," Tyrion said. He ran his fingers through the snowy fur between Ghost's ears, "Nice wolf."

"If I wasn't here, he'd tear out your throat."

"In that case, you had best stay close," the Imp said. He cocked his head, and met Edlynn's tentative gaze, "I am Tyrion Lannister."
"I know," she said. She rose to her feet. Standing straight up, she wasn't surprised that she felt odd being much taller than the man. She was almost Jon's height, too, and she was afraid she would keep growing and growing until she was as tall as Hodor. She wondered if Tyrion had ever felt disappointed as a young child that he had never grown tall like his brother and sister. Maybe that was too personal of a question. She didn't think he would appreciate it.

"You're Ned Stark's girl, aren't you? And his bastard?"

Jon fell silent. Edlynn watched his lips purse, and she only replied a timid, "Yes."

Tyrion spared a glance at the boy, "Did I offend you, boy? Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head. You are the bastard, though." He grinned widely.

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon said stiffly. Edlynn only nodded, slightly dazed by the whole ordeal.

"Yes," Tyrion said, "I can see it. You two have more of the North in you than your siblings."

"Half siblings," Jon corrected. Edlynn, by that point, did not know what was being said, for she was keenly interested rather in thinking of the imp's words, mulling them over earnestly in her thoughts.

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Tyrion said, "Never forget who you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

"What do you know about being a bastard?"
"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

"You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister."

"Am I? Do tell my lord father that. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure."

"I don't even know who my mother was."

"Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are. Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with a rueful grin, he nodded towards Edlynn, "And you, girl, my brother… Well, for some very peculiar reason, would like to have a word with you. As I said, I have learned it is considerably rude to vomit on one's own brother, so I believe it to be wise of you to appear soon enough." And with that, he turned on his heel and returned back to the feast. Edlynn followed him as he sauntered off, whistling a tune she did not recognise. She felt Jon's gaze on her, and she returned with her own of confused and indignance.

"What?"
"I… I don't want to be rude, Edie, but, what business do you have with the Kingslayer?"

"How would I know? Were you not listening to the Imp, he didn't even know what he wanted with me."

"Well, regardless of what it may be, remember that your maidenhood should come first and foremost as a priority–"

"Jon!"

After Jon had gotten his laughter in, Edlynn had fled back to the feast, trailing after Tyrion in efforts to find the elusive Lannister brother. It was a very strange thought to her, that there was anything inherently special about her that she did not see about herself which he did enough to warrant to wish to speak with her. Unless, of course, she had been reading very well into it, as was of most unimportant statements and actions she interpreted on her own.

A search, which lead from the fourth hour into the fifth, turned up little, and she had fled into the yard once more, deciding that it was a rather futile effort, to search for a single man within a sea of guests. By some sheer stroke of luck, there Jaime Lannister stood, the Kingslayer, shining bright gold under the shadow of moonlight, holding a pair of books in one hand and his cup of wine he desperately clung onto in the other.

"H– Hello, Ser…" She spoke very softly, as to not surprise him. The effort did not seem to matter much, though, and he jumped up very slightly, sloshing the wine in his cup.

"I'm sorry, Ser, I did not mean to scare you so."

"Oh, girl, no," He raised his brows slightly, motioning for her to move closer to him, "I… Well, if I'm to be truthful, I hardly expected my dwarf brother to bother passing the message along. Of course, I'm sure I seem very strange to you as of right now."

"Rather so, Ser. It's not every day I am beckoned by a knight, nonetheless the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." One corner of his mouth rose in what she assumed was half a smile at her words.

"Of course, it's not every day I call for the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell personally."

"I would think not, I do believe this is the first time we've spoken, Ser," She said rather wittily.

"I suppose you would like to know the reasoning behind this beckoning, Lady Stark?" She nodded in affirmation.

"Your lord father had said few things in passing when you were performing– very beautifully, might I add. Regardless, I thought that you would particularly enjoy these. He said you were very fond of reading poetry and things as such. They were to be a gift for my nephew for his next name-day, however, I don't believe he would appreciate them very much. You see, tragically, Joffrey is an imbecile." She snorted out an unladylike bit of laughter in agreement.

"Thus, I had asked Tyrion, if he stepped outside as he does during feasts, to inform you to come find me to give you the books. I briefly thought, if we had known one another more, to gift you as well with a sword, but it seemed you were doing just fine with a wooden one." As he grinned, her face erupted in pink once again. He rather thought it to be endearing, like when Cersei had blushed coyly when they were very young and just barely curious enough to touch underneath each other's smallclothes. The thought made his grin lessen; Cersei had become significantly more wanton in the past few years, of course, and the young Stark girl's youthful face and her burgeoning mind was a very refreshing sight.

"I– Well, that… That was my sister's sword. Arya. She hasn't a proper sword, but I do, and I don't want to hurt her at all when we play."

"Are you any good?"

"At what? Swordfighting? Yes, I suppose so. I've beaten all my brothers at least once. I'm much better at archery, I believe."

"Perhaps one day, you will be able to beat me, young maiden-knight," Jaime gave another small smirk, before he finally handed over the books. She took them gratefully, a small, timid smile illuminating her face.

"Thank you, Ser," she murmured, looking at the worn titles of the books. They seemed to be rather old, the binding needing repair and some of the letters worn off on their covers, but she was grateful nonetheless.

"Of course, Lady Stark."

"I'd much prefer if you called me Edlynn. Lady Stark is my mother, you know."

"Of course, Edlynn. Goodnight, Edlynn."

And with that, much like his imp brother, Jaime turned at his heel and sauntered back into the Hall, where the music had lulled and the feast seemed to be nearly over.

But Edlynn did not want to go back inside. If she came back just as Jaime had, her mother and sister would be suspicious, and her head hurt too much to even think of waltzing back through, even with the muddled conversations. And so, she began to walk in the direction of the stables, where the sentry had once been. Edlynn found a spot near her favourite horse, a mare named Spot whom she had known as long as she had been able to walk, then ride. She whinnied a bit, but settled down as Edlynn took a seat atop of a bale of hay, wrapping herself in her cloak as the sentry had, shivering but not much caring for the cold.

She laid on the bed that was not actually a bed for some time, looking at the ceiling of the stable and thinking about how it got a tiny bit dark with every fleeting moment and that she had only noticed it after a while. She could hear the horses softly neighing, a few birds singing, and the wind rustling about the weirwood trees, feeling the fur of what had been Robb's shawl tickle her nose, thinking instead about how she deathly wanted to cut her hair very short like Arya, wishing that the sky was grey instead of black and blue like one large, ominous bruise overhead. An array of emotions and meaningless thoughts skittered through her mind in that instance– was that just the effect the Imp had on her with all of his earnest words of counsel? Or perhaps the strangeness of the Kingslayer? She dearly wanted to sleep for a long while, but she did not want to miss anything. With the passing thought of barley porridge in the morning and feeding her youngest brother tentatively and dark red tea and reading the two new poetry books the old knight brought for her, Edlynn fell asleep on the bale of hay soundly, wishing only that she could be free of these mortal chains that bound her to this cruellest of fates.