Whatever friendship Willas had once built with the imp of Casterly Rock had rotted the moment their families raged war against each other, only to be sealed away in a coffin the moment Tyrion Lannister's father had his own wife and family brutally murdered. Yet, somehow, the hatred he felt at seeing the littlest Lannister had no match on the fury that coursed through him when he entered Sunspear's hall to meet the new arrivals and came face-to-face with Theon Greyjoy.

Lannisters went forgotten, all others who stood in that hall awaiting the Mother of Dragons went unseen. If anyone tried to speak to him, he didn't hear it, if anyone tried to touch him, he didn't feel it. Not since he barely felt himself move nor did he know what he was doing until he heard a whimpered shriek and a plea for mercy. That was when he realised he had stormed straight over to the traitor that had once been his wife's childhood companion, and had made great use of the marble pillars that lined Sunspear's vast hall, having Theon Greyjoy by the throat and pinned up against the post, shivering and cowering under his grip.

Willas was so furious he barely felt his surprise that he'd succeeded in pinning the traitor up with very little struggle. Once upon a time Theon Greyjoy had been a snide and lustful man, one who always wore a bitter smirk and always managed to make some sort of crude joke to make himself seem better than all the other men around him. He had never been physically big, tall and lean the way Willas' middle brother was broad, but he was strong, and had survived many battles fighting for the man he'd once called king and brother. Theon had been strong, and had never failed in drawing attention to the fact he was much stronger than the man intended to marry his foster family's eldest daughter. It was something Willas had been annoyed with for a time, how the ward of his wife's family constantly looked down on him even when he proved himself as a good advisor to the north, yet any difference between their strengths had somehow disappeared.

Theon had always been skinny, but Willas realised how light he was, like he was simply man-handling a sack of rag and bones. Willas had only ever seen him be overpowered by one person, that being his wife when she caught him off-guard and delivered the greatest punch Willas had ever seen anyone throw, yet there he was, pinning up a man who had once claimed to scare Jaime Lannister on the battlefield; bitterly, Willas remembered his own brother retelling the battle tale a little different to how Theon had boasted. He was shaking too, like a nervous dog, and as Willas' grip on his neck remained tight, Theon clawed at his hand with both of his. His once-strong hands seemed like they better belonged to a bird, not to mention he seemed to be missing several fingers from his right hand, the fingers he would need to shoot an arrow. His once shining mane of dark hair had been reduced to thin, limp straggles, and when Willas found enough clarity to actually look at the man's eyes, there was a haunting beneath them that shone with unspeakable horrors. In the time since they had last seen each other, something horrific had happened to Theon Greyjoy. What ever had happened to him, Willas didn't know, but he knew he didn't envy him.

If it was anyone else, he would have felt pity. No one deserved to look so gaunt, so haunted, so much like a corpse walking, but then Willas remembered everything he'd done to the Starks, to his family, to a family that had claimed him as their own. Willas remembered how Lady Stark had wept and screamed when the letter came delivering the final fate of Winterfell and her youngest two sons. He remembered how Robb turned sour any time anyone mentioned his traitorous foster brother. He remembered how his wife had come to his bedchamber in Highgarden before they were married and nervously confessed everything to him, how she constantly tried to make amends with the Greyjoy boy, how she wanted desperately to be his friend despite everything that had happened, and how after his betrayal she had driven herself mad and tried to scratch her skin off just because that man had once touched her. At the thought of her, Willas tightened his grip, enjoying the way he choked beneath him.

"Please, let me go," he begged, but Willas didn't get the chance to feel surprised at how pathetic he sounded as he instead let out a pained, bitter laugh that came out more like a scoff.

"They are dead and gone, all of them, because of you," Willas seethed, so angry and grief-stricken that the hand that he didn't have around Theon's throat went numb he gripped his cane so tightly. "All of them. All of them are dead. Robb loved you as a brother, my wife trusted you as a friend, and you killed them both."

"Put him down," Willas heard Oberyn ask gently, and he felt his hands on his shoulder, but he shrugged him off, tightening his grip.

Oberyn was the only one brave enough to approach the enraged Lord of Highgarden, though Willas paid none of them any mind. He may as well have been in an entirely empty room, alone with no one but his worst enemy. When he did let himself consider everyone else, he was simply glad that Daenerys' party was there to witness what he was doing, considering they had been wary of his desire for vengeance. At least they could see how badly he wanted it, at least they could see he was not some bitter, angry, bookish, weak lord.

"Let me go," Theon pleaded again, his hands still clawing at Willas'. "Please! I'm sorry!"

"'Sorry'?" Willas spat at him, screaming out a laugh of disgusted surprise, floored by his courage and stupidity. "You're sorry? Did you say sorry to Bran and Rickon? How about Rodrick Cassel, and Maester Luwin, and all the others in Winterfell who loved you? Did you say sorry to those two little boys who thought of you as a brother? Those boys, whose sister thought of you as a friend? She loved you, they all did, and how did you repay them?"

"Ser Willas-" Theon attempted to beg once more, but all that he acheived was that Willas temporarily let him go, only to punch him square in the nose and pin him right back up again.

"I'm not a 'ser', I'm a Lord," he hissed coldly, and Theon shook more than before. "My father's dead, did you know? My brother too. Garlan vouched for you, he told Robb and your mother that he thought it a good idea for you to go. There would have been no need for that wedding had you not turned on them, had you just done what we all trusted you to do."

"What do you intend to do with him, Willas?" Oberyn's voice came in his ear again, calm and quiet, yet Willas heard it over all other calls to him. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

"I want him dead," Willas spun his head to meet the prince's gaze, glad when he saw his pain and fury mirrored. Calmly, Oberyn nodded, a slow smirk growing on his face, and the look on his face distracted him enough to loosen his grip on Theon's neck. "Eddmina's dead because of him."

"I loved her, I loved them all," Theon cried.

Why he had decided to utter such stupid words, none of them knew, but Willas knew it was fuel enough to forget all rational thought as he let out another scream, and suddenly both of his hands were wrapped around Theon's neck. His cane had clattered to the floor, adrenaline alone keeping Willas upright, that and the fact his full body weight was channeled into pushing Theon against the pillar.

Eddmina was his to love, his alone. She had been his wife, the mother of his children, his best friend. She had been his in every way that mattered, his lady of the Reach, his consort, his everything. He remembered the way her hair felt between his fingers when she would curl up against him at night, her head on his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat to sleep. He remembered the way she would look away when thinking only to meet the gaze of whoever she was talking to unflinchingly, how she could command such power and force yet would break into a small smile or a soft laugh the moment their eyes met. He remembered the way she seemed to fit so perfectly against him, how her hand felt in his when he squeezed it three times, how she would sigh and act like singing was such a great inconviencience only to do it with pleasure. He remembered how she always tried to hide if she was hurt or scared until she came close to breaking, how brave she constantly was so no one would think her weak. He remembered thinking how remarkable she was to never show weakness only to shed it when alone with just him or the few others she trusted, and he remembered how lucky he had always felt to be trusted with every side of her. He remembered seeing her smile at Uther and think how lucky he was that his children had such a woman as their mother, how lucky he ws to spend his life with such a woman.

That woman was his only, for another man to look upon her in a way of love would have been enough to anger him, but for Theon to say it... Theon who had done so much to hurt her and the Starks, Theon who had lit the spark that burnt Robb and Eddmina's war down to ash and embers...

It took three men to pull him off the Greyjoy. Oberyn was not included in that, as he had instead joined Willas' quest of vengeful murder and had pressed a knife to Theon's jugular. It had been Ser Jorah Mormont, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Daario Naharis who had managed to wrestle him away, keeping a firm hold on his arms to prevent further attacks, while it had taken both Ellaria and Arianne to convince Oberyn away from violence. A gentle word from his paramour and a tug on his shoulder from his niece, and Oberyn shot one last glare at the Greyjoy before he retrieved Willas' cane, pushing it back into his friend's hand without looking.

"I think you should be glad you were not treated to the same greeting, Lord Lannister," Oberyn remarked dryly, and that was the first time Willas paid attention to who else was in the room, though Oberyn's gaze quickly flicked up to Daenerys. "I am all for allies, your grace, but think carefully about these ones."

With that, he stalked off, quickly followed by Ellaria, the door slamming behind them both. Arianne watched them go, and Willas thought she would follow, until she turned her glare onto the men that held Willas. It took a moment, but the woman's glare was stern and fearsome enough for them to unhand him, and she took hold of his arm, squeezing it gently in support. It took everything in him to tear his eyes away from the gasping crumpled mess on the floor, the shell of the man who'd caused everything to be taken from him, but Arianne squeezed his arm again, and Willas finally looked at her.

Meeting her gaze instantly cooled his temper, and adrenline quickly slipped away. Against his will he felt himself tremble a little, his vision hazing as he forced himself to focus and not be reduced to a quivering mess. He'd seen his brother do the same whenever he returned from battle, dithering a little as he calmed down from the energy that fighting commanded, yet it had never made him seem as weakened as Willas felt. The disappearing fury was quickly replaced by bitter despair, because even if he was such a state, Theon Greyjoy was still living and breathing while his loved ones were gone. There was also faint shame too, because he'd never intended on giving into his violent impulses, especially not in front of Daenerys and her most dedicated supporters.

The men were still watching him warily, as if expecting him to spring back into action and stage another attack, though they also regarded him differently to how they always had done, as if they had seen another side to him, a different side that commanded more regard and respect. Daenerys, however, was looking at him as if he was a complete stranger, as if she was meeting him for the first time and he was not at all to her taste. She looked as if he'd betrayed her, which was something he could not stomach. She knew what had happened to his family, to his wife and the Starks, surely she hadn't expected him to be as level-headed as he usually managed to be when faced with the prospect of the revenge he so desperately desired? He wanted to argue his case to her, to make her see his side simply because he couldn't cope with disgusting her, but there was no chance, because Theon Greyjoy was stumbling to his feet, and her focus had shifted to him.

"My apologies, Lord Greyjoy," Daenerys addressed him diplomatically. Willas bit back a scoff and settled merely for rolling his eyes.

"I'm not Lord Greyjoy," Theon shook his head quickly, shooting a nervous look in Willas' direction before he forced himself to stand up straighter, swallowing his nerves back as he held himself as tall as he could manage; it was the first time Willas had considered that the man stood before them had been raised by Ned Stark. "I'm here on behalf of my sister, the rightful Lady of the Iron Islands. We recieved your letter, and we... We would like to help."

"Help?" Willas couldn't help but curse, feeling his anger boil again. "You'll come to help a stranger but the Starks who loved and raised you you'll betray and leave for dead?"

"I would be glad to discuss an alliance," Daenerys ignored Willas outburst, barely even looking at him except for when her gaze fell to Arianne. "Perhaps the Princess could show you to some guest quarters so you may rest from your travels before we discuss things properly."

It was not a question or an offer, but a command, one that Arianne did not seem keen to follow. While Theon nodded and seemed eager to get out of the hall and as far away from Willas as possible, Arianne stiffened, reluctant to leave Willas' side. She scowled, squeezing his arm tighter, but eventually with a tightened jaw that made her look like her uncle, she sighed, cursed in Rhoynish under her breath, and curtsied. She pulled her arm free from Willas' and turned to leave the hall. It took Theon a moment to realise he was supposed to follow and she would not wait for him, so he quickly ran after her, yet again sparing a glance to Willas, who couldn't bare to look at him.

"I am sorry," he said as he passed, his voice shaking a little. "I really am."

"You sicken me," Willas said through his teeth, still glaring at the floor. "Go, before I kill you and do what my goodbrother should have done years ago."

With that, he really did run, quickly scampering after Arianne, who looked as if she hated the world. Willas glared after him, thinking about how much his hand ached and how he wished he'd gone through with it, and he was so distracted by his own hatred that he hadn't noticed that attention had shifted from the Greyjoy to the Lannister. All eyes were on Tyrion Lannister, the last man Willas had ever expected to see in Dorne, let alone answering a raven of alliance. That seemed to be the case for everyone in the room, and upon the door clicking shut behind the departing company, he noticed how everyone seemed to be on guard, expecting the worst.

Willas had once spent time with Tyrion, enough to consider theirs a growing friendship. He had been the only one of the royal party who'd peaked his interest in Winterfell, the only one who didn't regard him sympathetically or look at his cane before looking at his face. They had found common ground on being misunderstood and overlooked, and they had bonded on a trip to the Wall. They had promised to write, Willas had invited him to visit Highgarden, and then Tyrion's brother pushed Willas' goodbrother out of a window, and Tyrion's father murdered Willas' family. Whatever budding friendship had blossomed in the north had rotted in the war, and if he had struggled to look at innocent little Princess Myrcella then he couldn't look at Tyrion with anything but distrust and hatred, knowing he had served as Joffrey's had for a time, knowing that all his wife had done for Robb, Tyrion had done for the king who'd caused so much pain and suffering.

Even so, even with all his bitterness, Willas could tell something was different. Tyrion had taken great pride in being a Lannister the last time they had met, always clothed in lion emblems and gold, but he took no pride in who his father was, and there was no great love between himself and his sister. Being a Lannister was a thing he loved, even if he hated things that came with it, but no amount of distaste for his father and sister stopped him from house pride. If that was still the case, then it was odd he was not wearing scarlet and gold, odd that he seemed to have gotten rid of all lions even down to his jewelled rings, odd that he was looking at Willas with sympathy and solidarity. It was obvious that since the last time they had been in the same room together both men were vastly different, but Willas couldn't figure out why, nor did he have the patience to care.

Perhaps he had been sent in humble clothes to decieve them. Perhaps the crown had caught wind of a Targaryen rebellion and had heard that Martells and Tyrells were keen to jump on, and he had been sent to try and negotiate them to stand down. Perhaps Joffrey had sent his least favourite Lannister to Dorne to talk about their surrender, seeing him as a worthy sacrifice just in case Daenerys and her dragons were more of a threat than they anticipated. It didn't matter truly why he was there, all that mattered was that Willas knew not to trust a Lannister.

"You're Tyrion Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister," Daenerys began, still diplomatic, but only an idiot couldn't see how cautious she was, and how distrustful. "Your nephew warms my throne for me. What are you doing here?"

"Here to offer my services," he replied, quick witted as ever, and though he seemed reluctant to look away from her, he glanced over to Willas. "I recognised the handwriting on your ravens."

"We didn't send any to the crownlands," Daenerys replied, almost defensive but also a little nervous, forgetting her frustration with Willas as she looked at him. "Did we?"

"Do you think me fool enough to tell our enemies that we intend on usurping them?" Willas snapped before he could stop himself, instantly regretting it when he saw Daenerys flinch then frown at him. To distract himself, he turned to Tyrion. "Come to murder us during dinner, have you?"

"Lord Tyrell, for what happened to your family, I am sorry," he attempted. Willas didn't have it in him to scoff again. "It was-"

"Your father behind it, and it is your father who expects me to ship my son off to the wall and replace him with some Lannister woman's children," Willas cut in, so cold he almost sounded calm, but he could feel his heart racing furiously and knew he was the furthest thing from calm. "Tell me, has your king hurt my little sister the way he hurt Sansa Stark yet?"

"Perhaps you should leave, Lord Tyrell," Daenerys spoke up sharply.

Yet again, it was not a suggestion, but a command. Willas turned his attention to her, feeling the sting of betrayal as he considered the woman he'd spent weeks with, tutoring her, offering her support and advice, sending him away. The woman who had confessed her suffering to him, told him about her struggles and offered him support when encouraged to speak on his own traumas, was now the very same woman sending him from the hall they met in to instead hear from a Lannister. The man was the brother of the man who killed her father, the son of the man who commanded the deaths of her niece and nephew, the uncle of the boy who sat the iron throne that was rightfully hers. There was nothing about him that could be trusted, yet she insisted on sending him away instead.

Willas scowled, wanting to snap and insist on staying, but then he thought of Oberyn's dramatic exit, and considered that the pair of them would probably enjoy visiting some tavern until they had drank away their frustrations. Oberyn would be in the mood for distractions, whether that was alcohol or brothels, and though Willas had no appetite for flesh he certainly wanted to get out of the castle. Like never before Willas felt the burning desire to drown himself in liqour, forgetting how he so often ended up bringing it back up out on the streets, because while ever it was in his system he didn't hurt nor want to hurt others. Oberyn would be more than happy to join him in that, Oberyn was always happy to drown away his own resentments. It was the thought of Oberyn that made him nod to the Queen, not sparing another glance to anyone else as he turned to leave.

The door had barely closed when he realised footsteps had followed him, and when he was out in the corridor he realised that rather than remaining with the others, Daenerys had pursued him. Willas' face was cold of any emotion save the frown that so often rested in place, while she seemed to be as angry as he'd ever seen her. It was the first time he'd looked upon her and realised she was as much of a dragon as the creatures she called her children. The door was closed, secluding them away from her guards and advisors, shutting them away from being overheard by anyone other than the few servants that milled around, but upon seeing her face they all made their hurried escape from their presence.

"Problem, your grace?" Willas asked, his jaw tight.

"Yes, my lord," she shot back, meeting his ice with fire. "You are my problem. Everyone warned me that you desire revenge, and while you taught me to see that such feelings were natural given everything you have been through, I cannot stand by and watch you threaten and shout at those who come to our cause."

"Come to our cause?" Willas repeated, baffled. "Theon Greyjoy betrayed the Starks, he killed two little boys who knew him as their brother, he is the reason why the Starks are nearly all gone. As for Tyrion Lannister, do you really think he is here to offer his services and support?"

"I think you should have listened to them both before you attacked one and berated the other," she continued. "I am no fool, Lord Tyrell, I will not blindly trust anyone. I know what sort of men those are, I know what families they come from, what they would benefit from trying to gain my trust only to betray me. You are a clever man, and have offered me wise advice. If not for this I would have offered you a permanent place on my council, but how can I trust a man so volatile that thinks his queen an idiot?"

"I do not think you're an idiot," he retorted, hurt by not just her words but his actions that had led to them. "I do not want you to meet the fate that met my family. The Kingdoms deserve a queen like you, and I will not allow the good nature which would make you an excellent ruler be taken advantage of."

"What happened to your wife and her family will not happen to me," she said, ignoring how he grimaced. "I have been running all my life. I know how to spot a plot to kill me better than most."

"I do not wish to undermine you, your grace, I simply know these men and their doings better than you," Willas said, trying not to sigh in the hopes that it wouldn't betray how exhausted he felt. "I will apologise to you for making you feel as if I think you a naive fool, since you are the furthest thing from that. I will not apologise, however, for what I did in there. For being a Lannister Tyrion deserves harsher words, and for what he did Theon deserves worse than what I gave him."

"Which is why I will meet with both of them without you," she concluded, and though it stung to be set aside, Willas knew he couldn't trust his temper to be in the same room as Greyjoys and Lannisters. "Go. Do whatever it is you do to cope with your pains, and I will call for you when I know what these men want and what my verdict will be."

Being dismissed was embarrassing. He felt like he was a child being scolded and sent to bed without supper. His face burnt red in shame, his grip on his cane tightened, and he wanted to argue all the reasons why she should allow him to remain. Instead, he forced himself to nod. Before he had the chance to leave, however, she had reached out for his hand, and held it tightly. It floored him, realising it was the first time she had done such a thing, and it revealed a sense of fondness he hadn't picked up on.

"Lord Tyrell," she said, her voice gentle and kind once more. "I am sorry, for all those men have done. They have done awful things to my family too."

Suddenly they weren't queen and advisor. Stood there in the corridor of Sunspear, hand in hand, they were just two young people, wronged by the evil of their world, desperate to set it right. That was what told Willas to set aside his anger and trust in his queen.

***

"I would have preferred to go out into town," Oberyn called, leaning back against one of the older trees of the orchard. "Surely that would have been a better way to spend the day?"

"I do not think my liver could take the session I would need to cope with what happened in there," Willas retorted as he lowered the sapling into the hole in the ground, taking a step back to ensure it was perfectly in line with the ones he had planted moments before. When he was sure, he looked up and nodded to the gardeners, who stepped forward with their shovels to finish the job. "This is more productive."

"Changing the complete environmental surroundings of my kingdom, yet again Reach colonisers impose their will onto Dorne," Oberyn muttered sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, though he hid not smirk at Willas for long as his focus shifted to the girls a few feet away who were sparring with swords. "Sarella! Keep your guard up!"

"I keep telling her, father!" Oberyn's eldest daughter Obara shouted back, clearly frustrated with her younger sister's lack of concentration as she hit her on the shoulder with the blade; the girl barely noticed in favour of watching the gardeners work. "Why did you have to come and take over our practice space for all of this?"

"This is where the ground is most fertile, the trees will be more likely to take root and thrive here," Willas explained, though neither girl actually cared about the answer as they went back to their fighting.

It would have been a better choice to wait for a shadier day to take up the activity of planting, but Willas felt as if his days in Dorne were numbered, and the whole motivation for the trees was purely from being sent away by Daenerys. He needed something to take his mind off everything happening, needed a way to ground himself back into the world and away from the horrors and tragedies of his life, and like so often before he found a comfort in the natural world.

He'd paid his guards and the gardeners of Sunspear well enough to go out into the nearest market and buy as many tree saplings as they could, enough hopefully to begin a new orchard just next to the one that was already out of the castle walls. If Oberyn cared that Willas was taking over a part of his land he would have said something stronger than the jokes he kept throwing at him, but truthfully he seemed on-board with the idea, since it had been him who dug the first few holes when he realised that Willas was unable to. Neither of them spoke of what had happened in the hall, or who was now within their castle walls, or what it all meant. Instead they focused on the trees, and worked until they were both sweating and grateful for the servant who brought over a flagon of chilled wine.

Willas retrived his own goblet and went to lean against Oberyn's tree with him. It had been tiring, and he could feel his body aching the way only his knee usually did, but he couldn't help but smile. He had forgotten how satisfying it was to work outside on the land, and instantly as he relaxed his mind raced with all the natural improvement projects he could undertake at home. The trees he had planted that afternoon would not survive in the Reach, but there were other plants, not to mention he still had to finish restoring the neglected and overgrown godswood that he had promised to renew for his wife. He wanted it to be a sanctuary for Uther, and for himself, a place where they could go and connect with the woman they had both lost, a way to still be close to her, and as he watched the gardeners finish up sealing the holes of the trees, his mind raced with what plants would work best around a weirwood.

Nature filled his mind so much that he did not even realise they were not alone until Oberyn stood, swigging his wine back as if using it to fuel his already-overflowing courage. He hit Willas' arm to get his attention, and when he did Willas followed his gaze to see Tyrion Lannister, making his way over to them. Either he was the bravest man alive, or the stupidest fool, Willas couldn't decide, but he had to be one or the other to step foot in Dorne and surround himself in potential enemies. It didn't matter which, as Willas didn't bother to stand properly, downing his wine as if to show how little he cared about the newcomer.

"Good day, my lord, my prince, thank you for your hospitality so far," Tyrion called the moment he was close enough, and Willas hated the fact he was smiling. "I expected my head to be on the castle walls by now, so you truly are treating me like royalty."

"What is it that you want, my lord?" Oberyn asked bluntly, deciding to speak before Willas got the chance; a wise move, most likely.

"I want to talk with the both of you, now that I have talked with your dragon queen," he told them, though Willas had lost interest and was looking over Tyrion's head to count his line of saplings. "They say when Targaryens are born the gods flip a coin. I believe it landed on the side of greatness with her."

"I wonder, do you think they ever got the chance to flip coins over my niece and nephew? Or do you think your father had them slaughtered too soon for the gods to even care?" Oberyn remarked cuttingly. Tyrion swallowed, looked at the ground, and then met the man's gaze once more. "That was not your order, I know. It was not your order either for what happened to Lord Tyrell's family."

"Nor was it my order to kill the King," Tyrion said, as blunt as Oberyn had spoken. His seriousness and cutting tone was what caught both of their attention, and it was that which made Willas stand and look at him properly. "Joffrey was a vile boy, I'd go as far as to say evil, even if he was my nephew, but it was not me who had him killed. Still, the blame fell to me."

"I'm going to need you to repeat what you've just said," Willas demanded, feeling his heart pound as he stood straight, stepping out of the shade of their tree to head closer to Tyrion.

"King Joffrey is dead," Tyrion replied calmly. "That is why I am here, to deliver the news, and to flee for my life since I-"

He would have continued to explain, were he not cut off by Willas howls of laughter. He hadn't grinned like that for such a long time, hadn't laughed so much that his chest hurt since his brother was around. The gardeners who were still loitering were giving him odd looks, and both of Oberyn's daughters had stopped sparring to frown at him, while Oberyn merely smirked and called for more wine, and Tyrion looked tiredly amused.

The man Willas had been before the war would have never laughed at such a thing. The death of a King was serious, it changed the kingdoms. Yet, it was no usual king who was dead, but a man who had a hand in ruining Willas' life and the lives of his loved ones. For them, and for the man he had been before grief ruined him, he laughed. He laughed so hard that Oberyn had to catch him from losing balance.

"That's my nephew," Tyrion reminded him, though there was no love, affection, or annoyance in his voice.

"We need something stronger than wine to toast to this," Willas remarked, still grinning, though he sobered quickly, his joy disappearing as fast as it came as a cold shiver washed over him. "My sister. My grandmother. Are they-"

"Safe and well-cared for, the last I saw of them," Tyrion told him, hands held out to reassure him. "They groveled and bent the knee, assured him that any betrayals were moments of weak-willed madness that neither of them had any say in. Your sister is a remarkable woman, my Lord, she had the king wrapped around her little finger the moment she walked into the Red Keep, and she wept when he choked at their wedding feast, as did your grandmother. I didn't see much else afterwards since they were hauling me off to the black cells being accused of regicide and kinslaying."

"Rather you than my grandmother," Willas shrugged, enjoying the brief relief that they were safe, though both Oberyn and Tyrion were looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you really think we would let Margie marry that monster? I only permitted them to go when my grandmother promised that Joffrey wouldn't live long."

"Perhaps if others knew that it would have saved me having to escape the city in the dead of the night to stop my sister mounting my head where Ned Stark's once was," Tyrion commented, and both men noticed Willas' glare at the mention of his goodfather. "Joffrey was a monster. He would have gotten us all killed, but if not for his death pointing blame at me then I would have stayed and fought for my family. Fighting for my family seems less appealing when my brother is still being held in the Riverlands, my father is trying to deal with what's left of the north, and my only other family want me dead. So, I thought it time to make my escape."

"And Dorne was your first point of sanctuary? Right into the company of multiple people who want you and your family dead?" Oberyn asked. When Tyrion nodded, Oberyn smirked. "People said you were clever."

"I am," he replied stubbornly and pridefully. "And I know Lannisters better than anyone."

"You said your father was dealing with the north, and your brother is still in the Riverlands," Willas cut in, wanting to spend his time usefully rather than bickering. "If your father isn't in the capital, then who's protecting it?"

"Currently... Cersei, my uncle Kevan, a few Lannister cousins my father can trust, a few thousand soldiers, and the city watch," Tyrion recounted. "And not to forget our new dear little King."

"And has our new seven-year-old King been officially crowned yet?" Willas asked before Oberyn could make another witty remark. Tyrion shook his head, and Willas smiled as a plan formed in his head. "Lovely."

"Is it?" Oberyn asked, leaning back as he smirked, enjoying watching Willas while his mind worked double-time.

"Yes, it is," Willas nodded, staring up at the sky as his mind worked out the logistics and timelines, but eventually met his friend's gaze once more. "I think I need to speak to the Queen."

"How conveinient for you," Oberyn grinned, gesturing ahead.

All eyes turned to see their Queen approaching. She looked as elegant and etherial as always, yet she was focused, deep in thought, and when she met Willas' gaze she nodded, as if signalling that they needed to talk. He was glad his outburst hadn't ruined her trust completely, relived that his temper hadn't spoilt a months worth of work in building an alliance that seemed to extend more to friendship.

He wanted to know what she had to say, but he wanted to tell her his idea just as much, and knowing that, Oberyn clapped him on the shoulder before he paced forward to stand in front of their Lannister guest. Only a fool wouldn't be nervous with the Red Viper of Dorne stood so close to them with such a grin on his face, but Tyrion held his own rather well, and when he spoke of the two of them going in search of some more wine so Tyrion could tell him what Joffrey had looked like on his death, he didn't protest. Instead the two of them went off in the direction of the castle, discussing poisons. The guards who had accompanied Daenerys, her Mormont and the old Ser Barristan also kept their distance, leaving them as close to alone as they ever would be.

It was then that Willas realised she was staring at him, and he remembered that he had thrown off his doublet and had unlaced his undershirt to fight the heat. The exertion of helping the gardeners hadn't helped either, and though he had caught the sun in his months tenure in Dorne he had never been so undressed in front of her before. He didn't particularly care at his state of dress, but couldn't help but find it amusing that she was staring. Whatever weight he had lost during the months of rot after the wedding he had slowly been gaining back in Dorne, regaining parts of himself he hadn't even realised had been lost, his shirts not hanging off him the way they had done only weeks before. It was a strange relief, but attracting Daenerys' attention to the point of staring was not something he expected.

"Your grace," he called, stifling a smirk when her cheeks tinged pink as she looked up to his face. "May I help?"

"What are you doing?" she frowned, averting her gaze from him to the gardeners who worked around them and the many lines of trees he had helped them plant.

"Lemon trees," he said simply with a shrug, looking over at the trees but catching the way shock dawned on her face, her eyes widening and her mouth parting open ever so slightly. "You said that you grew up in a house with a red door and a lemon tree. I can't give you that house back, but I can help you get the Seven Kingdoms. Lemons don't take too well in the climate of the Crownlands, their trees are better suited to a Dornish climate."

"But..." she began, reaching out to the nearest sapling, stroking a leaf between her fingers. "Why?"

"Because we all deserve a home, and we all deserve somewhere to feel safe," he answered. "When you are officially Queen, when you sit the Iron Throne and have a Red Keep instead of a red door, any time you feel as if you need to remember where it all started you need only get on dragonback and come visit this orchard."

He hadn't expected her to throw her arms around him, but she did, hugging him tight. It was the first time, not counting their flight that morning, that they had been in such close proximity, and though it took him by surprise initially, he took a deep breath and hugged her back. She was a queen, the blood of the dragon, the last in a long bloodline of monarchs, yet there the pair of them were. It had been her ancestors who had risen his up from stewards to lords, all his family had was owed to hers. Three hundred years later there they were, two survivors, owing each other and relying upon each other.

When Daenerys' hands eventually left his back, they instead gripped his hand, and she stepped back so she could see him properly. One look at her face, at the wide grin that made his heart ache, the way her eyes glittered, and Willas was glad for all the work. She was more a queen than any other he had met, more a leader than anyone else who fought for power. The only exception he could think was his wife and how gracious she had taken to leadership, but Eddmina was no longer with them, so he was left with the task to rebuild.

Rebuilding was easy with a queen like Daenerys. Living without Eddmina was an agony that would never cease, but finding it in him to channel his energies into supporting someone like Daenerys, a woman so easy to root for... Willas felt as if he had a direction to his life for the first time in months.

"Thank you, my lord," she smiled, though looked as if she was trying to be serious. "Or, should I say, my Lord Hand?"

"You... Are you sure?" Willas frowned, feeling her squeeze his hand with both of his. He glanced to the two knights who were still stood back, the Mormont man still glaring at him. "What do your more trusted advisors think to that decision? An erratic, hot-head hellsbent on revenge surely isn't the Hand they would have you choose?"

"Well I choose you regardless, you have helped educate me about this country and shown me dedication in this month when you could have easily laughed in my face," she insisted, and as if to stop him from arguing or disagreeing, she changed the topic and continued, "I know you will protest, but I have accepted alliance from the Greyjoys. I'm sending their fleet to take Dragonstone with Daario, and a couple of the Sand Snakes have also volunteered. We will go north before we join them-"

"If I might make a different suggestion, your grace," he smoothly interupted, recalling all the times his wife held council with her brother, and how easy the pair of them seemed to work together. He worried at first that she would take offence to his interuption, but instead she smiled and nodded. "Currently the Kingdoms are without a monarch. Joffrey is dead, his child brother is still uncrowned. I say we rectify that. No one can call you usurper or a rebel if you are crowned before anyone else. It will be a statement that few can argue with, one that many will see as a call for support that they will rally to, but once we make that statement, we cannot go back. We expose ourselves and your cause, we put ourselves in danger, and I know you are reluctant for war, it may be inevitable with this. The Lannisters are scattered or grieiving, preparing to crown a new king. Take them by surprise and act now while you can, and though they will rise against us and we risk their revenge, it is a risk I would advise."

"One bold statement in exchange for chaos?" she narrowed her eyebrows as she thought.

"One bold statement to show who you are, what you intend to do," he continued, knowing the risk he spoke of, knowing what he was putting on the line, but deciding it was worth it. "You are Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. You told me of all you did in the East, liberating slaves, freeing cities from abusive masters. You brought dragons back to life and used them to help those who needed help. They called you mother. Your father was not a loved man, neither were a lot of kings, but you are not them. You are different, you are good, and the sooner we introduce you to the kingdoms and they see that then the sooner we will right the wrongs."

"Lord Tyrell, you have family in the capital, not to mention your family in Highgarden," she reminded him, causing his jaw to tighten slightly. "Would you really risk all their lives?"

"I worry for them, of course, but it is either this or we spend our lives as metaphorical prisoners to the Lannisters," he told her firmly, his mind set in stone. "I am the only one who will decide the fate of my family, I will not be told what happens and be bent to the will of some fool too cowardly to kill his enemies face-on. If I had a sword it would be yours, you know that, and if you will have me as your Hand, then have this be my advice; do not hesitate in fear. Strike now, strike hot, strike bold. Show them who we are."

Daenerys took a moment. She glanced down the line of lemon tree saplings, before she turned and looked at her older advisors, the loyal men who had followed her all across Essos and would clearly die to see her to the throne that was rightfully hers. Willas wondered if she was going to run to them and have them advise her on his suggestion. Instead, she didn't. Instead, she merely squeeed his hand again and nodded.

Only a few hours after did they all set off for Old Town, her remaining advisors and army by ship, she and Willas on dragonback.

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Word Count: 7907

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