"What if I'd not spelt things right?" she couldn't help but ask, glancing over to Robb. 
"Your spelling is always perfect, your septa made sure of that," Robb reminded her, and Eddmina remembered how Septa Mordane used to rap a stick across her knuckles if she made spelling mistakes as a child. Eddmina rolled her eyes at the memory. "Is that all the letters done?"
"That's the last one," she confirmed. "I thought with the prospect of the Tyrells and the Baratheons that you wouldn't care about making things right with Walder Frey."
"Of course I do," Robb replied, wandering over to the fireplace, leaning on the hearth and glancing down at the burning drafts. "What I did to him was wrong, I know that. Whether we need his men or not, it's only right that I make things right with him. What sort of King lets grievances lie when he could try to do something about it?" 
"A stubborn one," Eddmina suggested, sighing as she sank back into her seat. 
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore how her back had started to ache the past few days, and her head too. She had hardly slept since the night her grandfather died, and since the maester had told her to stop drinking dreamwine while with child, the sleep that she did manage to get was broken and plagued with dreams of bloody Stark banners. She tried to not let it show, tried to keep herself busy and get on with everything that she had to do, but she couldn't help but think with dread that it was all catching up to her. 
"If you are tired, go to bed, Edda," Robb told her, sounding like a brother and not like a king. 
"I'm fine," she replied instantly, though didn't bother to open her eyes, knowing he'd be looking at her with repudation. "We still have so much to do."
"The funeral is in a week, the Tyrells are arriving in the next few days, and you have little over a week before you're leaving for Highgarden," Robb reminded her, crossing the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk, leaning over it so he was closer to her. "I also saw you dashing off to the privy after breakfast, so if anyone is entitled to going for a lie down-"
"Please stop," she sighed boredly, sitting up and looking at him. "Stop nagging at me. Willas hates me leaving his sight and Garlan constantly suggests carrying me everywhere, you're getting as bad as the pair of them. Last time you let me run all of Winterfell and barely said anything!"
"Forgive me for caring," Robb shrugged, but he was smiling at her, enjoying her complaining. "Come on then, what's next?"
Glad to leave behind the conversation of her problems, Eddmina looked across the surface of her desk until she found the next sheet of parchment. She had drafted it first on the last night of her bedrest after Willas had fallen asleep and couldn't stop her from working, and had since redrafted it several times. She slid it across the desk to Robb, who quickly glanced it over. 
"What-" he began to ask, but stopped as he read her writing, a frown deepening. "Edda, what is this?"
"A solution to the issue of succession," she shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Bran and Rickon are gone, Sansa is now Lady Karstark. I told you, people keep looking to me and Uther as your heirs, and that puts him in even more danger than simply being the heir to Highgarden. Until you have a son of your own, this seemed like a decent solution."
"But..." Robb breathed out, and despite initially wanting to protest, as he re-read the parchment his opposition quickly faded. "Is this all right? Everything's in order?"
"I did some research, asked Vyman about the whole process," Eddmina nodded. "To legitimise a bastard you need the consent of a monarch, and a relative. That is us."