Willas and Daenerys - much to the frustration of her loyal advisors - spent night and day together.

It had been a month since his arrival in Dorne, and the majority of time was spent in the library of Sunspear. It turned out that despite being of an ancestry of Westerosi rulers, Daenerys' education of the cultures of the Kingdoms was lacking slightly, and Willas saw it as his duty to catch her up to speed on it all. He had started his lessons on instructing her to read the Seven Pointed Star, disclaiming it as a dull read but an essential one.

"Even I as half a Hightower lose my attention span with it, but some Lord Tyrell I would be if I didn't have the prayers memorised," he had told her jestfully as he gave her a copy. "Traditions are essential. You may want to change the system, but the smallfolk will take kindly to you if you allow them their faith and livelihoods. Other Targaryens didn't, and they faced the aftermath of it in the form of rebellions and uprisings, best not to risk repeating such times."

When after a few days she had finished it, he presented her with a list of notes describing the Old Faith. There were no books on the Old Gods in Dorne, but Willas had read enough about it in his preparation to marry a northerner that he could sum the faith up rather nicely. When she had done with that, he lectured to her about each of the Kingdoms, and the houses that made up the ruling classes, supported by whatever books he could find. She took to the lessons eagerly and with an aptitude to learn, even if her advisors thought it a waste and a breach of authority.

"You are Queen, he should not be acting as if he is your tutor," Willas had accidentally overheard her Mormont protector tell her one morning when he arrived to the library later than usual. "It is him trying to control you, take power-"

"It is him teaching me about the Kingdoms I wish to rule," Daenerys had corrected him gently, as kind as ever.

That very same day he decided to show her maps of Westeros, explaining the geography of the country to her. He could point out where certain keeps were, what the weather was like and what plants grew, what animals thrived, and what industries kept the people occupied. It stung talking about the North and the Riverlands, nor did he care to talk about the West, the Crownlands or the Stormlands, but he managed it all, thriving best of all when discussing his home. He explained the advantages of each of them, their politics and histories, and how best she could utilise their strengths and weaknesses. When she asked over the Iron Islands, he forced himself not to be bitter, knowing it was essential curiosity. In fact, the whole activity was a masterclass of burying resentments and settling grievances in himself, because he was forcing himself to think logically and not emotionally. That had been a rare thing, and it was almost nice to take away personal struggles when thinking of the Kingdoms.

"What do you suppose my next move should be?" she asked one morning, entering the library while he was still setting the maps out, catching him staring at the ink drawing of the Twins against his better judgement. "I cannot stay here forever, nor can I take King's Landing immediately."

"Dragonstone or Moat Cailin would be your best bet," he answered quickly, grafetul for the distraction of plotting, though his eyes lingered on the Riverlands for just a second more before he looked up at her. "Dragonstone is the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, currently unoccupied since Stannis Baratheon's defeat. Targaryens ruled there for a hundred years before they even considered uniting the kingdoms, and after that it was the seat of the heir to the iron throne. On the other hand, you hold Moat Cailin and you can easily hold influence of both the North and the Riverlands. Given the Lannister's struggles to control both you would be making a rather impressive declaration of intentions."

"If I took Moat Caitlin do you think the North and the Riverlands would rally to support me?" She asked, and against his better judgement Willas snorted out a laugh. "What was that for?"

"Apologies, your grace, that was for the thought of an outsider managing to control the stubborn north," Willas told her, managing another laugh that was tinged with bittersweet memories of northerners.

"They bent the knee to the Conquerer, that swears them to me," she pointed out, almost as stubborn as a northerner herself as she frowned.

"Yes, they did, then your father and brother did terrible things to house Stark, and the bastard who sits the throne now did equally terrible things, the north does not trust the south or any outsider," Willas reminded her, hating how she tried to hide her cringe at the mention of her mad father. "You are not him, I know this, your followers know it, but what happened to justify the rebellion is still fresh in so many minds. Convincing people that you are different and will not commit similar horrors will take time."

In Essos she had been a conquerer, but she had also been a stranger for the most part too. A girl with exotic children and a righteous duty to save the downtrodden and mistreated. In Westeros her reputation would be vastly different. It didn't matter if Willas had learnt to adore her as much as her oldest supporters, he knew that it would not be as easy for others.

That was why he decided their next job should be to reach out to others. It was a risky move, one that did not meet the approval of everyone else in Sunspear, but for the few days following their discussion of the next move, Willas compiled a list of the best houses to get in contact with to convince them to join the cause. Daenerys' supporters thought it a quick and rash decision, but Oberyn was their host, and it was him who agreed to Willas' idea, and it was him who helped him with the letters.

"Stannis Baratheon did the same when he was rallying support," Willas recalled setting his quill aside as he stretched his hand out from hours worth of writing. "He sent letters out to every house great and small condemning his nephew."

"I remember, I burnt the one that came here," Oberyn shrugged, then caught Willas' frown. "Doesn't matter now, does it? All the Baratheons are dead."

"Not all, Renly had one of Robert's bastards legitimised," Willas told him. "He's still young, still got a lot to learn, but he's his father's son in sense of bravery. He'd be an asset for our Queen's cause, the army of the Stormlands is still mostly in tact, so as long as he's still alive..."

'Still alive, and still with Sansa,' he thought against his will, remembering what his family had told him. 'By the Seven, Edric, keep Sansa Stark alive, keep yourself alive.'

"What is it about her that makes you want to do all of this?" Oberyn asked when Willas didn't speak up again. Willas merely shrugged, looking back to the parchment he was working on. "I can tell you what convinced me: not having a Lannister in power. That was all it took for me to agree to hosting her, and then I met her and I saw who she is, how she acts, and how there were mere few months between her and Elia's son in age. Sometimes I think about what they did to Aegon, and to Rhaenys, how Elia loved them, and how I could save none of them. They tried to do the same to this girl we now call Queen, yet she is still here. Surviving against all odds seems to make one eager to see what else she can do."

"Everything you do is for them," Willas observed, impressed by his friend's strength, wondering when he would get to the point of feeling so comfortable to name his losses without wanting to scream. "It is an odd thing, to start on a course where your only goal is revenge, simply to end up devoted and believing the cause wholeheartedly."

"It is a strange game we all play," Oberyn noted. "Constantly struggling for power and wealth and might, yet when it is gained and blows are settled, this is what happens at the end of it all; the sense that despite revenge none of it will ever go back."

His wife would never come back to him, nor her family. He wouldn't get his brother and father back, or his second son who never even got to live. Oberyn wouldn't get his sister, niece and nephew back. Daenerys was impressive and wonderous, but even she was not capable of such things. No amount of fire and blood or usurpations would bring back their losses. They could, however, settle themselves to avenging, and rebuilding their lives seemed to feel so much easier if those who had hurt them were no longer in power. Rebuilding from ash with a new Queen felt like a fresh start; Willas could settle for that, and so could Oberyn.

That was why Willas took charge of the letters to be sent to the Riverlands and the North. For the other Kingdoms he had perfected a generic note that merely stated Daenerys Targaryen was the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and intended on reclaiming her throne. It had been drafted by himself and the linguistic expert Missandei who seemed to be Daenerys' closest friend, though the Queen herself had final approval over it all. He didn't seek out her approval when writing to his wife's kingdoms. The other letters made no reference to who was writing them, wanting to keep his name out of the cause for a little longer to keep Highgarden and the Reach protected, but he used his name when writing to the Wall, Bear Island, and Riverrun.

'Blackfish.

I loved your niece, and will continue to do so until I join her in death. I will not let her loss be in vain. I intend on sending support to you, but the Lannisters cannot be allowed to continue. That is why I write and ask you to remember the days before the rebellion, and the days before the Mad King. I implore you to consider living in a realm with one leader who is good and kind, just and wise, who holds a power not seen for hundreds of years. I cannot bring my Eddmina back, but I can avenge her, and I intend to do so with the help of our rightful Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. I hope that you will feel the same.

Lord Willas Tyrell.'

He sent that letter off with a messenger rather than a raven like the rest, telling the boy who took the letter to get it into the keep of Riverrun at whatever cost it took. It had been a while since he'd heard news from the Riverlands, and had no idea what state the kingdom was in. He simply hoped that his wife's great-uncle was still living to see that Willas intended on acting sooner rather than later, even if it had taken him four months of stewing on his sorrows. He couldn't prove himself to his wife anymore, but her uncle who'd always been critical of him was still an option to save.

"Dark wings, dark words," Willas muttered as he stood by the window, watching the countless ravens take off and carry their letters out in the dead of night.

If not for the bitter laugh that came from behind him, Willas might have forgotten that he was in a council room filled with other people. He had abandonned the plotting and the maps to watch the birds leave, but the others remained around the war table. Not all were serious, with Oberyn having his feel up on the table, Arianne sat next to him examining her fingernails and surpressing a yawn, while the other end of the table was a completely different vibe, with Missandei looking at the maps with great interest, the rugged eastern sellsword who'd never spoken to Willas yet was called Daario Naharis staring at Daenerys, who's two Westerosi guards were stood either side of her glancing at the Dornish as if wishing them to be more serious.

Even with their stern gazes, as Willas turned from the window he knew it had been the Mormont who had made the laugh. He raised his eyebrow as he headed back to the table, sinking into a seat next to Oberyn, using his cane to prod at Oberyn's shin. They exchanged a look that made the prince roll his eyes, but he swung his feet off the table and settled for merely slumping in his seat. Only when he looked a little more business-like did Willas look back to Ser Jorah Mormont.

"Something funny, Ser?" he asked, unflinching.

"I simply did not expect such a northern phrase to come out of a southerner," he remarked simply, ignoring how his queen glanced at him.

"The north is a beautiful kingdom, it rubbed off on me," Willas shrugged, thinking about all the phrases and mannerisms he'd noticed in his time in the north and how he desperately wanted Uther to know them too; his mother might be a ghost, but her kingdom would still have a part to play in Uther's life. "Perhaps instead of dissecting how I speak we should actually get on with whatever we're all here for. It's late."

"Well said," muttered Oberyn, who despite wanting a hand in the schemes clearly would have rather gone and found his partner in bed.

"I have an army, just outside the city," Daenerys began, and Willas nodded, recalling their previous conversations about the army she had liberated from the east. "I have ships, I have dragons, and hopefully soon I will have allies, but I do not have the throne. I want to know what should be my next move. Lord Willas believes Dragonstone-"

"Right next to King's Landing, where the Lannisters are?" Ser Jorah protested, staring at Willas, who merely shrugged and raised his eyebrow.

"I'm inclined to agree, your grace," Ser Barrisan replied, more diplomatic. "You don't want to expose yourself too early."

"We're just sent out a hundred or so ravens," Arianne chimed up, still looking at her fingernails. "That seems rather exposing, doesn't it?"

"Even before the letters, it is not the most subtle thing to travel with three dragons," Oberyn pointed out, glancing at Willas. "All it takes is one drunkard to stumble through the gardens the wrong way and retell the tale a few times, then everyone knows who you are and what you intend to do."

"I wouldn't say drunkard, rather led astray," Willas hissed under his breath, glaring at Oberyn who merely smirked. Rolling his eyes, Willas regained his composure and looked at Daenerys. "You cannot settle here for too long. Another week, perhaps, but if you stay in Sunspear or anywhere in Dorne, you become a target, one that is easy to take out. We can deliberate the next move for as long as we like, but all it takes is for one of those letters to get into the wrong hands and the Lannisters will be on all of us before you have the chance to even imagine what the throne looks like."

'Take it from me, they do not mess around when it comes to quashing any threats to their rule,' Willas wanted to say, but felt as if it would leave him too exposed to too many that he didn't quite trust.

He didn't need to say his thoughts though, as it turned out Oberyn knew exactly where his mind had gone, and when Willas felt his hand sneak under the table and grasp his for a brief moment, giving it a tight squeeze before he dropped it. That was all it took to feel seen and understood, to know his experience and losses were valid.

"Hesitating will get us nowhere," Daario the sellsword agreed, surprising everyone when he turned and looked at Willas. "Perhaps we should go to your keep next for you to host us, since you are such a keen supporter of our Queen."

"Perhaps, or perhaps we should be smarter than that," Willas replied calmly, disliking the snide slight, as if he was being forced to prove his support. "Three dragons are impressive, just like what the conquerors had, but they did not win the kingdoms with fire alone. They had an army, and loyal supporters. Baratheons, for one-"

"The usurper was a Baratheon," Daenerys pointed out, almost coldly.

"And his legitimised son Edric is all that remains of that house, except for possibly a few more illegitimate children," Willas continued, unfazed. "He cares a great deal for his ancestry, he was often talking about his father, but it was the Targaryen blood that the Baratheons have that made Robert king. Promise him Storm's End and all titles suiting the Lord of the Stormlands, and you will have him on side, I'm sure. Last I heard he was in the north with my wife's sister-"

"So you want us to go and liberate the north from the Lannisters?" Ser Jorah cut in. Willas wasn't sure why he distrusted him so, but the way he spoke dismissively and sceptically over the north made Willas clench his jaw. "If you want nothing more than revenge for that wedding-"

"Your niece was killed at the Red Wedding, you know," Willas pointed out, not caring that his voice raised. Ser Jorah barely flinched, but it was obvious it bothered him. "Your aunt most likely too. They were good women, kind women, I respected them a great deal, Lady Dacey especially. They leave four sisters behind, unprotected. Do you want all your nieces to die? I am not saying we go and liberate the north, I am saying we make approaches on Edric Baratheon to join our cause, who just so happens to be with Princess Sansa."

"Your goodsister is trying to reclaim her home from Lannisters and Boltons, isn't she?" Oberyn asked, clearly trying to help the side. Willas nodded, despite not being able to remember telling Oberyn about Sansa; perhaps it had been when he was severely drunk, as that had happened more than once since arriving in Dorne.

"You said the north was stubborn and distrustful of outsiders, what would happen if one were to help them settle their greivances and set things right?" Daenerys asked, walking around the table so she was closer to the part of the map that displayed the north. "If I were to go north first and help them put down whatever trouble their having, restore the Starks... Would they trust me then?"

Willas swallowed, rising from his seat and pacing over to where Daenerys stood. He noticed the closer he got how her male advisors seemed to stiffen, as if wary of whatever bond had developed between the two of them. To him, she was the future of the kingdoms, his route to settle his traumas and rebuild his life all while restoring Westeros to have a proper ruler, but to the others who'd followed her from the very beginning, she was something different. They had watched her grow into the queen she was, had been there for each step of the way, and he assumed seeing others grow close to her was bittersweet. It meant getting closer to their goal, but he supposed it felt like losing a part of her that had been only theirs. They were first to call her queen, and soon they would have to share her. Willas understood that, knowing that despite feeling infinitely proud of all his wife achieved, there had been no better feeling than when the two of them were alone and could just be themselves.

He thought of his wife then when he looked down at the map, staring at the ink marker to signify Winterfell. He could go back, help his goodsister and find his wife's half-brother, restore them both to their ancestral home. It would feel good, feel right, but it would not be the same. He would have to go back, but he couldn't imagine Winterfell without his wife. Winterfell was her humming as she walked the halls in search of a servant to help, it was the sound of her laughter as she helped her little brothers shoot, it was the smell of her perfume as they snuck off to the private alcoves in the dead of night when no one else was around to see them stealing kisses and whispering declarations of love. Winterfell was her faint smile as she tried to hide how proud she was to be from such a place, it was her knowing the names of everyone who rested in the crypts below. He supposed returning to Winterfell would mean possibly getting to return her to her ancestors, knowing she'd rather be in the crypts following her own traditions than those of the Reach. Going back to Winterfell would be like saying goodbye to her, even if her memory followed him everywhere.

It stung, it made him want to shake his head and refuse to go, but it was what was needed. He'd written to Bryden swearing to avenge her and the others, and he could start by reclaiming her home, with Daenerys' help.

"If you would like to know what I think..." he began, not looking up from the map, expecting someone to cut in and voice their own opinion. "We stay for another week, wait and see if any ravens return, fortify your troops and ships. I will write home, have my brother summon our banners to Highgarden for me to instruct. Then we will sail north. Well... we will. I think it best that you fly, your grace."

***

The last week in Sunspear started fairly uneventfully. It was peaceful, or as close to peaceful as one could find when the country was on the brink of war.

Willas continued to spend his mornings with Daenerys in the library, but she had decided after his comment about flying that her dragons needed her attention more than he did, so as soon as their sessions finished she would head down to the gardens and take it in turns riding each of them. Willas often joined her, just to watch from afar, finding it the most extreme ultimate version of hawking, and he was often left marvelling at the wonder of it. He was not the only one to share that opinion, as each of Oberyn's daughters found a similar fascination with the beasts, and Daenerys was often met with pleas from the younger ones to take them up on the dragons and into the air.

Daenerys would spend her evenings with her eastern advisors, often riding out of the city to visit her army consisting of unsullied and dothraki horsemen. Oberyn and Willas joined her once to meet her commanders and bloodriders, all of them being utterly devoted and dedicated to her. It was a rare thing, to see such passion in people for a leader. Willas couldn't remember ever feeling such love for a king or queen, except-

"The first time they called my wife 'princess' she laughed," Willas recalled to Oberyn when they rode back into town, and the memory had him wanting to veer their horses in the direction of the many local taverns. "She never saw herself as the regal sort, but I think that's why the northerners ended up loving her. She was approachable, she cared about them all, and even though she knew she had an important job I don't think she ever took herself particularly seriously for it. She never once understood why people liked her, or loved her."

"I think your wife would have liked this Queen," Oberyn noted, glancing at him with a smile of solidarity, and then, as if sensing that he may soon struggle with the grief, asked "Would you like to go and get drunk?"

So they did, as was their tradition, and they returned to Sunspear in the early hours numbed into finding their horrible world nothing but amusing. Their hangovers were not greatly recieved by everyone else surrounding Daenerys, even if she did not care, but it was not as if they were needed to be useful, because the day after their drunken adventure was the day they had set aside to rest, where none of them intended to do anything but simply enjoy the weather and their last moments of freedom before war and conquest busied them. Rather than nursing his headache in the library Willas spent his time out by the sea, reclined out on the rocky beach, surrounded by those he considered his closest friends, cloudgazing and watching as everyone else basked in the sunlight.

Ellaria was the only one besides Willas who remained out of the water, Dyana on her lap as she laughed at her girls swimming, climbing onto Oberyn's shoulders for him to dunk them into the sea as they screamed with glee. Ocassionally a dragon swooped over, black, silver, and green, though it was the black one they were all looking and pointing at, because that was Daenerys' favourite mount, and the one that she had chosen to ride that day as she offered all her promised rides to the Sand sisters. They had argued about who would go first, but all were getting their turn, often two or three turns, all except for Elia Sand, who had been banned from a second turn after she climbed from the seat and jumped down into the sea when the dragon had swooped down because she thought it would be a fun rush. Oberyn was rarely a strict parent, but apparently watching his daughter plummet ten feet from the sky from dragonback was where he drew the line. At the sea's shore where there were a few larger rocks, Arianne sunbathed with Tyene, the pair of them whispering and firing glances at the guards who surrounded them at a distance, including the one guard in silver armour, watching the blonde girl that was laughing and holding Loreza Sand's hand as they swam.

"She is not to blame for her family's crimes, you know," Ellaria commented when she noticed Willas glance over at the blonde girl, the one he'd not seen since her family visited Winterfell, the one who's brother and grandfather had taken everything from him. "If you absolve our new queen of the crimes her father committed then you can hardly do the opposite for that little girl."

Myrcella Baratheon - or, Lannister, or Waters, whatever her true name should have been - was not to blame for all that had happened in the war. Willas knew that, yet it still stung to see her. Oberyn had mentioned she was in Dorne, that she had been sent under alliance and betrothal negotiations outlined by her Uncle Tyrion when he served as King's Hand. Willas had known she was there, yet had not seen her until that morning by the sea, and as he watched her laugh and enjoy the company of the Sands, he remembered the little girl she had been in Winterfell only two years before, still little enough to be holding her mother's hand, terrified of the direwolves, shy and courteous, kind and sweet. Remembering who she had been the last time they met only made him think of what his life had looked like then, and it was something he didn't care to dwell on, since it was a time he so desperately wished to go back to; a time where he wasn't lord or half an orphan, where he had all his siblings, where he still had his wife.

"I know," Willas replied, trying not to clench his jaw as he burried his hand in the pebbles that surrounded him, preferring to study them than look at the woman he spoke to. "What was the point in taking the princess in if you then all decided to take a chance in siding with a Targaryen conquest?"

"What was the point in you siding with the Dragon Queen while your own sister is planning her wedding to that princess' brother?" Ellaria pointed out, he raised eyebrow making him see the irony. "We all needed a little deception."

"Hardly honourable, any of us," Willas shrugged, still studying the pebbles; there was a rather beautiful one that seemed almost silver in the sunlight, marked with a white streak down it's middle.

"You, my dear, have spent too much time with northerners," Ellaria teased. "I'm going to join them, will you come?"

Willas shook his head, but smiled as he watched her wade out into the sea, holding Dyana to her hip, going deep enough so that the waves lapped at the little girl's feet. It made her squeal with laugher, and that made Willas miss Uther more than usual. With a sinking feeling of regret, Willas realised his son had never seen the sea, or the beach. He'd seen plenty of rivers, recalling all the time he'd been taken for walks along the riverbank in Riverrun, and all the times they had walked down to the Mander, but realising he was sat experiencing such beauty while his son was miles away made him feel like a worse father than usual. What was the point of it all, if not sharing it with him?

At least the last war had meant his son was with him constantly. He'd not realised how much he'd come to rely on his company until he was no longer with him at every hour. He'd not considered just how much he valued the presence of such a small boy until he was left with memories and the longing to know what he was doing with his days while they were apart. His mother would be looking after him, of course she would, but it wasn't the same, and Willas knew more than anything he longed to be home no matter how important his work with Daenerys was. It was Uther that needed him, Uther that deserved him.

Spiralling over missing his son came to a halt when there was a screech from up above, and he glanced up with a small smile of amazement as Sawnerys brought her black dragon down to land just at the edge of the sea. Those who were swimming stopped, and the argument of who was to be next ensued as Obella Sand jumped down grinning from ear to ear as she waded into the sea to join her sisters, boasting about the wonders she'd seen up in the air. Willas watched from afar, admiring the family, ignoring the yearning he felt in his chest to see his own child experience having siblings when he saw the verbal debate become physical when the younger ones started splashing the elders.

"If none of you care to behave in a manner befitting a dragon queen then perhaps none of you should be next for a ride," Willas heard Oberyn say, though he didn't sound strict, more like he was disciplining because he knew he had to. Then he noticed Oberyn's gaze fall onto him with a wry smirk. "Perhaps our Lord Tyrell should be next?"

"No, thank you," Willas called a little too quickly, but by that point the girls had realised it would be more entertaining watching their honourary uncle take to the sky than do so themselves, so he had no choice but to heave himself to his feet and make his way over to their group. "I don't think I'm made for flying."

"None of us are, until one decides that they are," Daenerys called down to him, and he couldn't help but think that she looked rather precarious just sat on the back of her largest dragon, merely holding onto whatever spikes or horns she could reach. "Would you like to give it a try?"

Willas wanted to scream and refuse, but he also wanted to throw caution to the wind and experience something almost no one in history got to try. Select few people ever got to see dragons, let alone climb aboard and take to the sky. The dragons had all died out hundreds of years ago, dragon riders with them, yet staring him in the face was the rebirth of something everyone had thought to be long gone.

Like most things, Willas wondered what his wife would do. Would she refuse and continue about her day, or would she seize the chance to ride a dragon? He wasn't sure, it had been her youngest sister who had been more interested in dragons out of all the Stark's, but surely his wife would find the creatures fascinating too? They'd never spoken of dragons, they'd never thought to discuss what they would do when faced with the opportunity to ride one, and for that he wanted to refuse, simply because he didn't know if his wife would have wanted him to do such a thing, but then he realised that she had the opportunity for nothing anymore. Murdering her had taken away the chance for so much, and Willas decided that he would not turn down anything that came his way. His wife had had her time stolen from her, he would not waste the time he had left.

"Imagine getting to tell your son you rode a dragon," Oberyn encouraged gently with a teasing smirk, seeing his slight hesitation. "Your grandmother-"

"Would think I'm a reckless fool, but she thought that of my jousting career too," Willas remarked, stepping closer to the dragon. "How do I get on?"

It helped that Drogon - after eying him up warily for a moment that seemed to drag into a lifetime - approved of his latest passenger enough to bow his head and lower himself to the ground, but Willas was not as agile as the fearless Sand Snakes who had previously climbed aboard. It was a struggle, and not a very dignified one at that, but after what felt like an age and after giving all Sand Snakes plenty to laugh at as he swore and cursed, he pulled himself up to sit just behind Daenerys. His aching knee certainly didn't thank him for the exertion, and the moment he felt the breathing and warmth of the dragon beneath him he realised he was not simply sat upon a creature like a horse. Horses he knew well, but dragons he didn't at all, and perhaps he had made a mistake, but it was too late, because he had barely been in position for a moment before Daenerys spoke to the creature in High Valerian and Drogon took off into the air with one flap of his great black wings.

Willas swore again, feeling as if he had been flung backwards. He quickly found something to hold onto for dear life, though contemplated giving up and rolling off into the sea. It would make everyone laugh, and was definitely safer to fling himself off while over the water than if Drogon threw him off higher up over land. Suddenly he remembered being a boy and feeling terrified to go to the top of the High Tower to look out at the view because it was so high it felt as if he could fall from the sky itself, and he realised that compared to dragonriding a tall castle was the safest thing in the world. He thought he'd gotten over a strange aversion to heights, but against his will he felt himself screw his eyes shut as he held on tighter than ever.

'Garlan is the brave one, he would love this,' Willas thought, and though it felt like a blade twisting in his heart, it was that thought which made him open his eyes.

Flying was impossible to describe. It felt as if his body was constantly fighting, like every instinct of humanity went against the very act of travelling through the air, yet there he was, sat upon a great winged beast, travelling at speed through the skies. His heart was pounding, every breath felt short and desperate, and his mind raced over and over with the thought that he was actually, well and truly alive.

He meant to merely sigh as he took in the view of Dorne -the shimmering sea, the great sandy plains, the stunning marble castles - but instead he let out a scream. It wasn't one of pain or horror, a cry to make it stop and be returned to stable ground, but one of sheer joy and adrenaline. He'd never felt such a rush, never felt so alive. From in front of him Daenerys let out a laugh at his exclamation, but he could tell she found it just as thrilling. She had to, otherwise she wouldn't have spent all morning circling round and round catering to the whims of Oberyn's daughters. He wondered if when she was flying she realised she was the first dragonrider for a hundred years, and the art of taking to the air on dragonback connected her to all her long-gone family. Her ancestors had experienced the same thrills, had known the same joys, and had wielded the power and control of dragons for centuries. That sort of bloodline was something to be proud of, to revel in, and Willas hoped Daenerys knew that and how special she was.

The history books all wrote of dragonriders. As a boy he'd longed to even see a dragon, never had he considered riding one. Willas felt as if he understood history better than he ever had done before. His ancestors yielding to Targaryen power made sense, house Tyrell's loyalty to house Targaryen made sense. For some reason, he saw that as his cue to dare to take his hand off Drogon's scale that he'd been holding onto to instead wrap around Daenerys's hand. Mildly startled, she shifted position to turn and look at him, frowning quickly just as Drogon swooped lower, his feet dragging along the surface of the sea.

"You're meant to be holding on, Lord Tyrell," she reminded him, her voice shouting through the wind.

"Thank you for this," he shouted back, flashing her a smile, one that felt genuine for the first time in months. "And I'd like you to call me by my proper name."

"Fine," she laughed. "You should be holding on, Willas."

They circled around a few more times, until eventually Drogon thudded them back to land. Their arrival was greeted by whoops and cheers, though Willas heard none of it, too focused on how the beast beneath him moved, how unstable it was to simply sit on the dragon when each breath felt like a rumble of thunder. If Daenerys cared then she didn't show it, but perhaps she found it different to him. She was born with dragon's blood, born to be a dragonrider, of course she found it a more comfortable experience. Yet, that was simply while she flew for fun, how would she find flying bareback if they were to use the creatures for war?

"I have a suggestion," he spoke, though Daenerys wasn't looking at him, instead leaning onto her dragon's neck in an embrace, smiling as she spoke to him in High Valyrian. "Your grace, you cannot fly him like this forever. It isn't safe, it isn't sustainable."

"I'm his mother," Daenerys called back without much care or worry. "I find him safe enough."

"What if someone were to fire on him with arrows, or scorpions?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. At that, Daenerys turned to him properly. "Dragons are not horses, but what if they spook the same? I don't doubt your children's loyalty, nor your ability, I simply think... There are diagrams, left over from the last dragonriders, those who used saddles and reins to better control their flights. I remember seeing them in the library of the High Tower when I was a boy."

"Do you think you can really saddle a dragon?" Daenerys asked him, almost bluntly.

"The first time we met we spoke of the conquerers, of Rhaenys and Meraxes, I simply don't want to see you meet their fate," Willas explained firmly, and it was then that Daenerys released a little of her stubborn pride and nodded slowly. "If you'd allow me, I'd happily rework the diagrams I remember and have them made for each of your dragons."

If she intended on agreeing, then she didn't get the chance to speak, because that was when they heard the commotion below. Whichever guards had followed them on their trip to the sea were in conversation with other guards, ones who had ridden straight from Sunspear, accompnaied by Tyrell men and Daenerys' trusted advisors. Nothing seemed to be horrifically amiss, but the Dornish men were looking distateful, and the Tyrell men were shooting subtle, wary looks to their lord. Daenerys' men, however, looked intrigued, and it was that which made her give Drogon's neck one last affectionate rub before she slid off his back.

As if knowing descending from him was more of a struggle for Willas, Drogon lowered himself to the ground further, and it was Oberyn who met him on the ground, helping him to find his feet and presenting him with his discarded cane. The world spun, his head dizzy to be back on solid ground, though he had no sooner regained his footing than Drogon let out a screech and took back off into the air to pursue his siblings who were soaring in great circles. Willas wanted to watch them, the way he always watched his birds, but Oberyn had a tight grip on his shoulder, and he remembered what was happening around him.

"Your ravens worked, an ally has made themselves known," Oberyn told him, but he did not look particularly pleased. "Several allies, in fact."

Oberyn was a clever man, but his emotions were volatile, and he wore any frustrations on his sleeve for the world to see. He seemed to be trying to rein himself in for the sake of his daughters who were surrounding him, though they were his daughters, and the elder ones seemed to mirror his mood perfectly. Whoever had arrived in Dorne was against all of their tastes, which seemed ironic. House Tyrell and house Martell had hated each other since the days of the conquest, with many Reachermen losing their lives at the hands of the Dornish, yet the current generation of Martells had welcomed Willas with open arms. The same could not be said for whatever new arrivals had come wanting an audience.

"Well perhaps we should go and-" Willas began, deciding to be the diplomatic voice of reason.

"I don't think you will want to go and meet them," Oberyn cut in sharply, his jaw tense. He fired a look off at Daenerys' party, then his own family, before he met Willas' gaze once more. "One of them is a Lannister, and the others arrived on a ship marked by a kraken."

Oberyn's frustrations were instantly understood, and it was then that Willas' temper gave way.

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