Chapter 13 : Thorns and Unspoken Fears

(Two Weeks Later)

[William's POV]

So, all the Riverlords had long since packed up their egos and left, and the Queen of Thorns, who apparently believed that overstaying one's welcome is a form of high art, eventually realized her prickly company was no longer desired and set off back to the Reach. Surprisingly, the funeral had been less of a theatrical disaster than I had braced myself for. Then again, conspiracies tend to brew behind closed doors, not in broad daylight. The absence of visible trouble felt more like a reminder to stay alert than an invitation to relax.

"Consider yourself lucky, little one." I murmured to baby Edmure, peacefully nestled in my arms. "You won't have to deal with this horseshit. That's a headache reserved for your cousin, your uncle, and your father." His tiny body seemed to relax, almost as if he grasped the weight of my words, finding comfort in knowing these burdens weren't his to bear, and likely never would be.

During the last few weeks, Olenna Tyrell had been a real thorn in my side, pun absolutely intended, constantly dropping hints that I should watch whom I trust, as if she herself wasn't the first person I should be wary of. My gut told me she was about to pull a fast one while she was here, yet nothing tangible backed up that suspicion. Aside from the occasional verbal sparring matches she indulged in with just about everyone, because why make friends when you can make frenemies? She had kept herself relatively in check.

On the bright side, plans for constructing new roads in the Riverlands were moving along relatively without a hitch. Amazing how smoothly things go when everyone shares a common goal and agrees on how to achieve it (except Walder Frey). Of course, there were the usual petty squabbles between rival lords, more focused on pride than real issues. But hey, at least they haven't tried to kill each other yet. I think.

Just then, Edmure began to fuss, "Ah, let me guess." I said, contorting my face into a ridiculous expression that never failed to amuse him. His little eyes widened, momentarily distracted, "You are hungry?"

"Ha ha, you are so strange, William!" Came Lysa's voice from behind me. She was hiding, or rather attempting to hide, behind Catelyn, who was herself awkwardly trying to blend into the wall to spy on me. Knowing them, they weren't really trying to stay hidden ; They were waiting for me to notice them. Lysa had simply run out of patience and grabbed my attention directly.

"Shouldn't you be with Septon Osmynd or Maester Corwyn for one of your thrilling lessons instead of bothering us?" I teased, my tone more playful than scolding.

Catelyn avoided my gaze, a guilty flush coloring her cheeks, "Maybe." She mumbled, her fingers twisting nervously in the folds of her dress, a dead giveaway that she was either late or soon would be.

I stood up from my chair, a sly grin spreading across my face, "Tell you what, I will give you a thirty-second head start." I declared, casually placing Edmure back in his cradle with all the ceremony of a cat setting down a mildly interesting toy.

They didn't wait for me to finish my sentence before running off down the corridor, lifting their skirts to avoid tripping. I chuckled at how utterly ridiculous they looked.

Stepping out of Minisa's chamber, I noted the two guards stationed at the door and the pair of servants who usually doted on Edmure when Minisa wasn't around, "Lise, Mary, please attend to Edmure. Also, it might be wise to take him to his mother for feeding ; I suspect he's working up quite the appetite." I said, deliberately ignoring Lysa's antics as she stuck her tongue out at me from the end of the hallway.

The servants exchanged amused glances and nodded before entering the room. As soon as they were out of sight, I sprinted down the hall toward Lysa. Caught off guard by my sudden charge, she let out a squeak and promptly tripped over her own feet, landing unceremoniously on the polished stone floor.

By the time I reached her, she was on the verge of tears over a minor scrape on her knee. Fantastic, 'Time to don the mantle of the caring cousin.' I thought wryly, mustering a warm smile as I crouched down to her level.

"There, there, Lysa." I said, scooping her up into a gentle hug. She sniffled, her tears halting as quickly as they had started.

It's funny, really. In the original story, the adult version of Lysa Tully was a maelstrom of insecurities and poor decision, a woman twisted by unshared love and the machinations of others. But here and now, she's just a child ; Eager for approval, desperate for affection, and innocent of the tragedies that might befall her. Perhaps there's hope yet to change her story.

"Show me this fearsome wound." I continued, examining the barely visible scrape, "We might need to summon the maester for such a grievous injury."

Catelyn chose that moment to emerge from her not-so-hidden vantage point, her eyes wide with concern, "Oh no, Lysa! Are you hurt?" She asked, hurrying over.

"Don't worry, Cat. Our brave Lysa here was just demonstrating her exceptional courage." I said, throwing a knowing wink in Lysa's direction.

Lysa's face lit up, all traces of distress forgotten, "Yes! I'm very brave!" She proclaimed, tugging at Catelyn's sleeve and then at mine, seeking further validation.

Catelyn caught on quickly, her expression softening into a smile, "Indeed you are! But just to be sure, we should take her to Maester Corwyn to tend to that nasty scrape." She said, taking one of Lysa's hands and inviting me to take the other so we could escort her together.

'The sooner this is done, the sooner I can get back to something more productive.' I mused, taking Lysa's outstretched hand. Together, we began the trek to the maester's chambers, Lysa chattering away happily between us.

(Several Hours Later)

I found myself back in Minisa's chamber, watching her as she gazed lovingly at Edmure cradled in her arms. There was a softness in her eyes, a quiet contentment that seemed almost otherworldly. She looked exhausted, paler than usual, with shadows under her eyes, but there was a serenity about her that belied any physical discomfort. It was as if holding her child made all the pain worthwhile.

"Could you place him in his cradle, William? He has fallen asleep." She said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Whether she was trying not to wake baby Edmure or simply too tired to speak louder, I couldn't be sure.

"Of course." I replied, crossing the room to gently lift Edmure from her arms. As I settled him carefully into his cradle, I couldn't help but feel a wave of protectiveness wash over me. This tiny life, so fragile, yet so full of potential.

"You seem troubled." Minisa observed, her eyes studying me with that unnerving ability mothers have to see right through you (at that point she was that to me). She patted the space beside her on the bed, an invitation, or perhaps a summons.

I hesitated for a moment before acquiescing, perching on the edge of the mattress, "Just the usual chaos." I said lightly, attempting to deflect her concern, "Nothing you need to worry about."

She gave me a knowing smile, "William, I wasn't born yesterday. Something is weighing on you."

Ah, the joys of being read like an open book, "It's ironic, you know." I began, unable to keep the edge out of my voice, "You are sitting here, looking like you might fade away at any moment, and yet you are worried about me."

"You are avoiding the topic." She rebuked me gently, "Are you that concerned about me?"

"More than you realize." I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them, "I don't want to lose you."

Her expression softened, a hint of sadness creeping into her eyes, "We all have our time, William."

"That's a rather fatalistic outlook." I retorted, a touch more sharply than I had intended.

She reached out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, her touch cool against my skin, "You are exceptionally bright." She said softly, "But intelligence can sometimes blind us to truths that others see clearly."

I frowned, not entirely sure where she was going with this, "Such as?"

"It's my body. I know better than anyone the risks involved if I choose to have another child." She said, her gaze steady, "But expanding our family is both my duty and my desire."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to stop me, "I don't expect you to understand, but I hope you can accept it. Even if it means..." She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"Even if it means it will kill you." I finished bitterly.

She nodded slowly, "Yes. Just as your father and uncle accept the dangers that come with their responsibilities. We all have roles to play."

"That's a comforting thought." I said sarcastically, "Throwing oneself into peril for the sake of duty."

She sighed, her eyes searching mine, "Life is not without risks, William. Shielding ourselves from pain also means shutting out joy. Edmure brings me immense happiness. Would you deny me the possibility of more?"

I looked away, unable to hold her gaze, "I just don't want you to leave us so soon."

She reached out and gently turned my face back toward her, "And I don't want to see you burdened by fears of what might be. Live in the present. Cherish the moments we have."

The facade of detachment I wore so well most of the time was slipping again, "I understand what you are saying." I conceded reluctantly, "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

She smiled softly, a hint of sadness still lingering in her eyes, "That's all I ask."

We sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the soft breathing of baby Edmure. Finally, she released my hand, "You should get some rest." She advised caringly.

I stood up, feeling a mix of frustration and affection, "Only if you promise to do the same." I replied, attempting a small smile.

"Agreed." She said, settling back against the pillows, "Goodnight, William."

"Goodnight, Aunt Minisa."

As I left the room, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that clung to me. I could understand the logic behind her choices, but could I reallt accept to let her go? That was an entirely different battle, one I wasn't sure I wanted to fight.