Willas hadn't realised how good he had gotten at helping people cope with grief until he spent every waking hour with his little brother following the death of King Renly.

Good was perhaps the wrong word, as it suggested it was something he enjoyed doing. No, it was something he had become desensitised to. It was something he'd gotten extensive practice in doing, and it was something Willas saw as his duty. It was his job to sit by his wife's side, wipe away her tears, listen to her thoughts and worries, and hold her when nothing else would suffice, and it became his job to do the same for Loras. Nothing could bring the dead back, the living merely had to learn to cope. That had been the case for Eddmina as she mourned her father, and it was the case for Loras as he mourned Renly.

There was a difference though, as he didn't feel as helpless and despairing with Eddmina as he did with Loras. It was agony, seeing his little brother go through so much, especially as his emotions had to stay hidden for the most part. Eddmina was allowed to grieve her father in public, and even if she did not allow herself to show the world her tears and pain, she at least had the option and the freedom to let those around her see. Loras did not have that luxury. Loras had to hide, and his grief had to remain undercover, just like his love for the man he'd lost. Only the Tyrells could see, and Willas was glad Margaery was there with him, knowing he and Loras both would not survive without their little sister.

The truth of Renly Baratheon's death was up for debate. The only witnesses had been Brienne of Tarth, the female warrior who had beaten Loras in the tourney that Renly named part of his Kingsguard, and Lady Stark. Both women had fled shortly after Renly's death, his body found by guards who swore the women had something to do with it. Willas knew his wife's mother was not capable of murder, nor was she stupid enough to think killing Renly a good idea when their cause relied so heavily upon an alliance, but she had fled the camp with most of the northern guard who had escorted them, and so she was not available to vouch for herself, or the truth.

Willas didn't really care about the truth. He cared that Renly was dead, both for his brother, and for his goodbrother's cause, and he cared that Lady Stark had left. Her sudden departure had left him in the Stormlands with a depleted guard, and a bitter sense of betrayal. Whatever had happened in Renly's tent the night of his murder was awful enough for her to have left so quickly, yet he knew that if it had been him who'd witnessed it, he would not have dreamed of leaving her behind. He didn't even know if she was alive, all he could do was assume that she was making her way back to Robb's camp, and hope that she would not be ambushed on the way. He assumed her leaving him behind was not personal, but it was a difficult thought to ignore. There was not much time for thinking of her, not as Loras took most of Willas' focus, and he knew that thinking of her was a waste of time, since she had clearly not thought of him.

Every so often though, Willas' mind wondered onto what Eddmina's reaction would be to her mother returning to their camp without him. Would she panic? Would she be angry? Would she think he was dead? He couldn't stomach that thought, knowing he'd upset her and make her worry when she already had so much to deal with, when the entire situation was out of his control. If it was up to him he would have never left her side, or he would be at least back with her, holding her as they slept, taking her hand as she worked late into the night, attempting to make her smile when he knew she had been frowning for too long. He missed her, and the thought of her mother getting back to her sooner than he would made him almost jealous.

Even so, he couldn't leave. How could he, knowing the situation he would leave behind him with his own blood family?

"Eat, brother," Willas insisted on the third morning after Renly's death, pushing the plate closer to Loras. It was nothing but bread and cheese, yet Loras glared down at it as if it was the most detestable thing imaginable. "You have to eat. Please, Loras."

It was a rare occasion that he had pulled his brother away from Renly's body, laid out in his tent, though it was only so his bannermen could pay their respects in private. Margaery had to be there, as his queen, and so the two Tyrells had decided that Loras was better off not being there, better off not seeing and hearing people offer Margaery their regards when it was really him who had lost the most. Willas had forced his brother into his own tent, forced him to sit at the table, but he could not force him to eat. Willas couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother eat anything.

"Do you think starving yourself will help anything?" Willas persisted when he realised kindness wasn't going to achieve anything. He cringed when he realised he sounded like their grandmother.

"Oh, piss off, would you," Loras snapped, rolling his eyes, though his voice was tired.

"No, thank you," Willas shrugged, leaning over the table and attempting to catch his brother's eye. "How about you eat something and then I'll consider pissing off?"

"You're insufferable," Loras shot bitterly, glaring at him with reddened eyes from behind his matted hair.

"Only because I care," Willas told him, sighing. "I don't want to watch you destroy yourself."

"If you cared, you would have joined our side before your bloody northerners saw the benefit of it," Loras said, his voice raised in annoyance, yet he still sounded hoarse, like someone who had cried for hours on end. "You would have come with us and sworn yourself to him."

"We both know why we did what we did," Willas reminded him, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing his brother had a point. "I had to support my wife, and her family, and you... We did what we did for the ones we love."

"How lucky for you that you still have someone," Loras muttered lowly, sounding bitter and defeated. "If the Lannisters kill Eddmina, you will know what this is like. Until then, don't pressume to boss me around the way you always do."

He was harsh, but Willas knew that Loras was right. He might know what grief looked like in another person, he might have extensive experience in helping someone through that grief, but he didn't really know what it was like to bare the pain of such a personal loss. He'd mourned Lord Stark, but it wasn't as if he was his father, or they had any sort of close relationship. He'd mourned the man he knew, and he mourned what could have been. For Loras, he'd lost the true love of his life, his other half, and though half of the seven kingdoms wouldn't understand and the other half would condemn him as a sinner, it was a truer love than most would ever know. Willas couldn't understand the pain his brother felt, and he hoped that he would never have to know.

"I'm sorry," Willas sighed again, considering his words carefully as he watched Loras, knowing his little brother was listening despite glaring down at the floor. "I hope that I never understand what you're going through. I merely want to try so that I can help you, not so that I can boss you around, but because you're my brother, Loras. I would do anything for you to protect you, and for Margie, Garlan, and Leo too."

"You're always on a high horse, aren't you?" Loras said so quiet Willas was unsure what he'd even said at first. "You and Garlan, both of you always thinking you're better than me, just because you're older, and Garlan is stronger, and you're cleverer."

Willas' eyes shut, as if his mind was trying to hide from what his brother was saying. He was wrong, because never once in his whole life had he ever thought himself better than Loras. In fact, he usually thought the opposite. Loras was handsome, far better looking than Willas had ever been or could ever hope to be. The way girls looked at Loras was the way any man wanted to be looked at. He was a beloved knight who all the young ladies swooned for, he was skilled in combat and was acclaimed in tourneys. On top of it all, he was their father's favourite son, possibly even his favourite child. He didn't know if his mother had favourites, but if she did surely it would be Loras too, though their grandmother was obvious in favouring Margaery.

He'd never viewed Loras jealously, despite it all, but he'd always known that his and Loras' lives were vastly different, and always would be. He'd admired his younger brother, but always from afar, and always silently, because it seemed like a foolish thing for an eldest brother to admit.

Perhaps his inevitable closeness with Garlan hadn't helped Loras in thinking of his brothers' superiority complexes. Garlan had always teased Loras, merely seeing it as his duty as an older brother, and Willas usually joined in under the same logic. That and their rivalries had led to nothing but their youngest brother thinking the two of them looked down upon him, and caused greater resentments than any of them had realised or intended.

"You're better looking," Willas pointed out, and Loras looked up from the floor, baffled that Willas would joke at such a time; that was usually Garlan's job. "We don't look down upon you, Loras, neither of us. In fact, we do the opposite. Garlan only trains so bloody hard because you're so good and admitting that one's little brother is better with a sword is rather painful on one's ego."

"You still prefer him to me, you always have done," Loras pointed out.

"And you don't prefer Margaery to the two of us?" Willas raised his eyebrow questioningly. "Loras, the pair of us adore you, even if it doesn't always seem like it."

Loras didn't say anything, his gaze settling back onto the floor though he looked less angry. Willas wasn't sure how to read his brother, but he hoped he'd at least taken what he'd said on-board. It was difficult, trying to tell someone who'd always been in his life what they meant to him, especially when their undertanding was so far from the truth and such candid conversations had never taken place before, but he hoped Loras at least knew that he was loved.

He'd told Eddmina repeatedly when she lost her father that he loved her. It seemed like a good thing to say to someone who's entire world had been torn apart, that despite the pain and torment, they were loved. It was different, obviously, telling his wife he loved her compared to telling his little brother he loved him. It was a very different sort of love, but it was one that mattered to him just as much. It was one that was a part of it him the same way his love for Eddmina was. For a long time Willas felt like those two parts of himself were at war, the love he felt for his wife versus the love he felt for his family. Given the real war it was inevitable, but sitting in Loras' tent, watching his little brother and knowing he'd neglected his duties as eldest brother for long enough, he decided he wasn't going to continue dividing himself in half. He couldn't.

"I loved him, Willas," Loras eventually sighed, his head falling into his hands as he curled into himself. Willas rose from his seat and crossed to him, rubbing his hand on his brother's back. "I loved him."

"I know," Willas nodded. "He knew, too."

"But he's still gone, it doesn't change anything," Loras' hands mufled his words, but Willas could still hear him, and his chest burnt at the thought of his brother's pain. "I wasn't there. I should have been there, I could have saved him."

"No, nothing could have been done differently, it is not even worth considering," Willas reassured him. "Do not make yourself suffer over hindsight."

"It is still my fault," Loras told him weakly, sounding on the verge of tears. "I told him he would be a good king. He would have never done any of this if it wasn't for me. I killed him."

"You didn't put a knife through him, Loras, you did not kill him," Willas said, his jaw clenching as he fought to control his emotions, knowing he would have to have a clear mind to comfort him. "You gave him support, confidence, and companionship. You saw the best in him, and encouraged him to be the best. That is not killing someone, that is loving them."

The guards outside the tent called to them to signal a visitor, and Margaery walked in urgently. She never betrayed her ladylike nature, but she seemed unsettled, her hands stroking the skirts of her dress, and she was visibly concerned, glancing between both brothers despite only Willas looking at her as Loras' face remained hidden.

"Margie," Willas greeted, offering her a smile he hoped was reassuring. She smiled back, but she quickly focused on Loras, kneeling at his side as she wrapped her arms around him.

"How is he?" she whispered, so quiet that Loras couldn't hear. Willas shook his head, and Margaery sighed, a sympathetic look on her face mixing with a little impatience. She sighed, stroking Loras' hair, before she looked back at her older brother, and spoke a little louder as she said, "Father wishes to see you."

"What for?" Willas asked, immediately on-guard considering he and his father had not spoken since the night Renly had died. 

"Stannis has this camp under siege, its only a matter of hours before he becomes bolder and attacks," Margaery explained, and both she and Willas felt Loras tense at the mention of Renly's brother. "The Stormlands banners are surely going to flock to him, which leaves us in the middle. Father wants you to help him make a decision about where the Reach stands in all of this."

His father wanted his help, his opinion, his council? Willas wanted to laugh he was so surprised, though neither of his siblings noticed as they instead seemed to focus on Stannis. The threat of Stannis was obviously what was perturbing Margaery. She seemed worried about Loras, but knew if they hesitated and he wallowed in grief, they could all end up dead. She wanted to act, as soon as possible. Loras, however, seemed riled, and it was like a switch had been flipped inside of him, sadness replaced by anger.

"I'll kill him," Loras vowed, rising from his seat as a sudden burst of vengeance surged through him. "I'll put a sword through his righteous face!"

Free from his siblings' embraces, he crossed the tent where his sword was, pulling it free from its scabbard and brandishing it in the air. Suddenly Willas was back in Robb's camp, in his own tent, and his wife was swearing death to the Kingslayer. His gut churned at the memory, partly as he wished he'd let Eddmina carry out her revenge even if he knew it would have been foolish, and the other part simply because he missed her, and couldn't help but wonder what she had been getting up to in his absence. Had she missed him as much as he'd missed her, or had duty overtaken and meant she had thought very little of him? The thought of that, of hardly being missed by the woman who's face he saw every time he shut his eyes, made his skin itch slightly.

He managed to pull himself away from the edge of the oblivion of thinking about Eddmina just in time to grab Loras' arm, gripping him tightly to prevent him from storming away and doing something rash. Loras glared at him, but he didn't struggle in his hold, not as Margaery stepped forward and took hold of his other arm, her hold much gentler as her hands wrapped around him in a kind embrace. Sometimes, Willas looked at his sister and saw their grandmother, her wits and ambition, yet on that ocassion he saw nothing but their mother.

"You won't have the chance, his men are more practiced and better rested, they won't let you get anywhere near him," Willas told his brother firmly, noting how the sudden burst of anger was fading just as quickly as it had appeared. "Turning your despair into revenge is a better way to focus your energy, but not like this. Not today."

"Willas is right, you cannot avenge Renly from the grave," Margaery's voice was softer, though she was still firm, sounding like a queen. "And you cannot let the memory of him rule over you. He was a good man, a kind, sweet man, but he's gone, and we are still here. Your family is still here, and we need you."

"What for? What are we even doing?" Loras asked, bitter and full of despair again. His sword dropped to the ground, and Willas knocked it away with the end of his cane before his brother's vengeful anger could return. "Right now it seems like we're simply waiting for Stannis to come and kill us all."

"No, that's not going to happen," Margaery told him, before her gaze turned to Willas. "You should go to father now. I can take over."

"I'm not a child that the two of you need to care for!" Loras snapped, frustrated.

"No, but we'll be here anyway," Willas told him with a smile, ruffling his hair. "I will see you both soon."

He took his leave of the tent then, bracing himself against the strong wind that awaited him outside. Even if the kingdom was called the 'Stormlands', Willas could never get used to the strong wind current, and he knew after his visit he much preferred the air to be still. He tried not to think of the weather too much, but he knew it was simply his mind providing him with a stupid distraction, anything to save him from thinking about his father and what sort of demands he would make.

Margaery had said he wanted to discuss terms of what their next moves would be, which surely had to suggest he wanted to join forces with the North. If it was any other option than that, he would have asked for Loras. Loras made more sense, Loras was the fighter, he was the favourite. Willas was simply the smart one, the one who just happened to be born first. Loras would surely be able to input more in terms of battle and war strategy, or at least their father would think so. Willas had sat plenty of council meetings with Eddmina and Robb, he could relay northern strategy off in his sleep, and he'd done enough combat drills in his youth to know what made a good solider, even if he was unable to march off to war himself. Despite it all, he doubted his father would see any of that, it would be completely out of character if he did.

Was he just summoning him to lecture him again, or to offer a few more insults towards Eddmina? If that was the case, Willas decided he was going to leave that very night and try to catch up to Lady Stark, wherever she had gotten to. He had missed Eddmina for too long to tolerate anymore trouble from his father, and the thought of it made him instantly on-guard.

"Lord Tyrell!" he heard someone call, and Willas was so into his own thoughts that he cursed at being pulled from them, especially when he saw Amariah approaching him.

She'd taken more care of her appearance than the last time he'd seen her, which made him want to laugh. The first time he'd seen her in Renly's camp had been accidental, but the fact she had styled her hair into a neat braid and was wearing a blue silk dress entirely wrong for a war camp told him that she'd sought him out. He wondered if her husband had noticed she'd cared so thoroughly for her appearance that day, or if he'd disregarded her as usual.

"It is King Renly who is dead, not my father, I'm not Lord Tyrell," he remarked dryly, not stopping.

She stood there for a moment, baffled at his bold language, before she remembered herself and practically ran after him, slowing her pace to meet his once she'd caught up. Willas felt her eyes glance to his cane, and to his bad leg, the way most people looked, thought it did not bother him. What bothered him was how she threaded her arm through his, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow.

"May I help you?" he asked, biting back a sigh. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, my lady."

"When is it that you are going back to your own camp?" she asked, getting straight to the point. For that, he had to admire her, as being around northerners for so long had destroyed his tolerance of small talk.

"Soon, hopefully," he said, unable to help the smile that came at the thought of reuniting with Eddmina and Uther.

"Then I would like to ask to accompany you, Lord Willas," she stated boldly, so blunt that he stopped walking, a frown immediately growing on his face as he turned to look at her properly. "Lord Stannis has this camp surrounded. Everyone here is going to either join his side or die, and as one of the only women here I do not like my chances of what should happen if he invades this camp."

"And so you want to come with me, to the North?" Willas remained frowning. He understood her idea of fleeing, but to go with him, especially while her husband remained in camp? "I thought you thought northerners were a savage bunch? What should happen if my goodbrother catches you in his camp while he's in his wolf-form?"

"I would rather you didn't tease me," she snapped coldly before regaining her composure. "I do not care where you go, as long as it is not here. Highgarden, Winterfall, I don't care. I simply want refuge away from the fighting, and your house has always been good to me."

"Winterfell," he corrected, surprised that was the part that bothered him the most.

"I understand you do not like me, and for what I did so long ago, I understand and I am sorry, but I cannot remain here," she said, her mouth turning sadly and her eyelashes fluttering as she reached to take hold of his hand. He did not pull away, but he was glad he had a sister like Margaery to recognise when someone was trying to manipulate him. "My husband is a cruel man, he doesn't care for me or for our sons. As a father surely you can sympathise for them."

"I would do anything for my son," he told her firmly. He wasn't sure why he felt like he had to tell her, the words coming out purely on instinct. "What is it that you are asking of me, Lady Amariah?"

"I ask that you would help me escape from this camp and my husband," she explained, her fingers still trailing up and down his arm. He watched her as she touched him, though felt nothing inside. "I made a grave mistake once when it came to our marriage, one that I have regretted everyday of my life, especially when I realised just how handsome you have gotten over the years. If you do me the kindness of helping me leave, safe from Lord Stannis and my husband, then I will repay you tenfold, and make up for every slight I have ever done to you."

"And how are you going to do that?" he raised his eyebrow as he played stupid. Sometimes Eddmina asked questions others would think were straightforward simply to get people to state exactly what they wanted. Amariah stared at him, baffled by his question. "How exactly do you plan to repay me?"

"However you want, my lord," she replied softly, a slight laugh to her voice. Willas stared at her for a second, struggling to bite back his laughter. Nothing had ever sounded more absurd, no thought had ever seemed more ridiculous. "I know you are quite devoted to your wife, but I'm sure there are things I can do for you that Edmura cannot."

"You know that is not my wife's name," he pointed out coldly, and she instantly seemed taken aback, especially when he let out a single, short laugh. "Thank you for the offer, but I am going to have to decline."

Amariah withdrew her hands from him then, swallowing nervously as she stepped away from him. It was obvious she had not expected that answer, expecting her charms to work on him. He imagined that they worked on other men, and he knew that they had once worked on him, a long time ago. He remembered her visiting Highgarden, and her convincing him to not go and walk his hounds because she would rather they take tea in the garden, or simply stroking his arm at dinnertime to tell him to stop talking about whatever passion of his he was explaining in conversation. He imagined that it would be easy for her to mould men into how she wanted them, shaping them into giving her what she wanted, and he couldn't hate her for it. Westeros was a difficult place for women, they had to find their way and carve out their own destinies wherever possible, but he did not intend on falling prey to her. Not again, at least.

He'd been blind to her charms once before. He'd ignored the way he knew she was trying to sway him when they were betrothed simply because he knew their marriage would make their families happy, especially his own parents who were at the time desperate to see him wed. He'd chosen to ignore the way she'd rolled her eyes at him whenever he would talk about his interests, he'd let her carry on walking around his home as if it was already hers because it was the easy option.

Then he'd met Eddmina, and on their first ride together when he learnt she'd so often been told to bury her true self to impress a future spouse, he knew he'd met his equal. The two of them, both with their passions and interests. Eddmina loved riding, archery, music, and history, while he liked astrology, horses, birds, and dogs. The two of them had enough interests to keep a conversation going for hours, and neither of them had to hide their true thoughts for the benefit of custom or courtesy. They could be open with each other, free to be themselves, and aside from the occasional tease, neither would ever make the other feel belittled. Eddmina had never tried to charm her way into his life, she was simply there, and his life grew around her. That was exactly as it should be.

The thought of inviting another woman into his bed for nothing but pleasure felt like an insult to his wife. His clever, wonderful wife, the woman he owed so much to. He looked Amariah up and down, knowing she was simply trying to manipulate him for her own gain. He imagined her life was difficult, but she was still trying to exploit his kindness, and that was something he knew his Eddmina would never do.

"My Lord, I don't think you understand-" Amariah began to try and charm him again, but he shot her a knowing look, and she fell quiet.

"You're right, I am devoted to my wife, think me a fool for it but I could not think of a greater insult to her than taking up your offer," he told her bluntly, making her flinch slightly. "I'm sorry, Lady Amariah, but I would suggest returning home to your sons, your father has enough men here to provide you with a suitable enough guard who could escort you. If you are truly unhappy with your lot in life then perhaps you should take your sons and go back to your family, who I'm sure would be happy to take you in."

Her demeanor changed entirely then, her gaze hardening as she blinked rapidly. She stepped further away from him, glaring at him up and down as if to check he was the man she thought he was, and her face fell into a scowl. It looked as though she was trying to understand what he had said, and he couldn't help but think she looked like a spoiled child who had never been told no.

"I kissed one man, Willas!" she snapped. He was surprised she broke so easily, and that was coming from him with his temper. "One man, one time! That is all I did to wrong you, and yet my entire life since then has been one awful punishment for one act against you! All my childhood I knew I was to marry you, and I was happy. I tried to be a friend to you, and tried to understand you and your strange interests. I went along with your odd family, I put up with all of your brother's idiotic jokes and the way your horrid sisters glared at me. I went along with it for so long, and then I kissed one man and-"

"You kissed one man while I was dying, my lady," he reminded her, and her eyes shot to his leg again.

"Clearly you were not dying!" she exclaimed, gesturing her hands at him furiously.

"I didn't die, and I am grateful for that everyday simply because I get to spend the rest of my life knowing what real love is, knowing I am wed to a woman I adore, someone who makes me question everything and who makes me strive to be a better person, someone who gave me a son and who will hopefully one day gift me with more children who will be just as remarkable," he said coldly, and he saw the fury leave her, replaced by betrayal and sadness. He felt guilty for a moment, only to remember that the words needed saying, otherwise he would surely find himself in the same situation again. "If the two of us had ever married, I'm sure we would have enjoyed a happy life, and I'm sure I would have come to love you, but I don't, nor will I ever. I have no responsibility towards you, and any friendship we had perished a long time ago. I wish you well, but it is not my duty, you are not my duty."

"And what happens if your father wants us to march with the north?" she crossed her arms stubbornly, trying to hide her wounded pride. "I will tell my father to refuse the call. I will tell him to go home, he will tell others to refuse too."

Willas had been in the hall at Winterfell when Greatjon Umber had made a similar threat. Lord Umber had unnerved Willas a little at first with his brash nature and his obvious dislike for southerners, but he'd seen the way he respected Eddmina, and eventually the respect was shown towards him too. Even so, even knowing that the man could be trusted and had often saved his brother from death, he was still a force to be reckoned with. Compared to him, Amariah's threat was a jest.

"Then they will be oathbreakers and traitors to their liege," Willas said simply. "I'm not Lord Tyrell yet, but I have no patience for such disrespect."

"You're not the man you used to be," she shot at him, as if it was meant to be an insult. "The north and that woman has ruined you."

"I like being ruined, thank you," he offered her a smirk, one that she did not return. "I wish you well, Lady Amariah. Now, if you forgive me, I must go and speak with my father. If I don't see you again, farewell, and best regards."

He did not allow her to say anything else, as he turned and left her, trying desperately to hide his smirk. He didn't know why he wanted to laugh, but he wondered if he was getting the closure he never knew he needed, if he had said the words he'd unknowingly needed to say for almost ten years. Perhaps he just found the situation amusing, but either way he knew he had to pull himself together for his meeting with his father. His father didn't respect him enough as it was, thinking him a lovestruck fool, if he went into the tent laughing then his father's opinion of him would surely plummet further.

He managed to sober himself just as he got to the tent opening and he was shown in by the Tyrell guards. Willas found his father and Edric Storm looking over a map of Westeros, fiddling with the placement of the sigil statues.

"The Starks are further south than that," he pointed out, noticing the flaw immediately. On the map, the wolf statues were still close to the Twins, when they had been closer to the crossroads when he had last been with them.

"You're right," his father said, not looking at him as he tossed a scroll of paper across the desk to him. "This arrived for you this morning."

Willas caught it, noting that there was no embossing on the seal, no sign of who it was from. He broke the wax, unrolling it as his eyes scanning over the words quickly, his heartbeat quickening as he recognised the handwriting. He imagined Eddmina sat at her desk, thinking of him as she wrote. He imagined the ink smudges that would stain the fingers of her left hand simply because of the letter she had written for him.

The message was simple.

'I hope you are well. I have been thinking of you and cannot wait to see you upon your return to me. Love, always, your wife, Mina T.'

Joy surged through him, and he had to take a deep breath to make sure he did not grin at the thought of her. She had been thinking of him. She had missed him. That was a relief, though not as much as the knowledge that she was safe and well enough to be able to write to him. If she had written, she was alive, she was well, and that put his mind at rest. There was no news, but that was to be expected, and she had kept it simple just to ensure both of their safety. Of course she did, she was too clever to give away secrets in something as foolish as a letter to her husband.

Then, at the bottom, he noticed a small doodle-like drawing. Eddmina was not the best artist, they had laughed about it when he had tried to teach her how to draw the constellations on their trip to Dorne, yet he could clearly make out what she had drawn. In the left corner of the scroll, almost hidden completely by the wax, was a drawing of a jumping trout. He knew immediately what she was telling him, and knew immediately that the letter was more than a simple message of regards.

"The Starks are in Riverrun," he told his father, rolling the letter back up and slipping it into his pocket, knowing he would read it at least another dozen times just to feel closer to her. "That means the North is joining with the Riverlands. If they play it well..."

Lord Tyrell adjusted the placement of a few statues and they all stared down at the map. Willas grinned proudly, while Lord Tyrell let out a surprised laugh. There were more wolves and trouts than lions, and they seemed to be circling around them.

"Robb Stark will have Tywin Lannister surrounded," Edric breathed out, sounding amazed.

'Well played, your grace,' Willas thought. 'Well played, Mina.'

"This war could be over in at least three months," Willas nodded, glancing to his father. "Sooner, should another side join with the King in the North. The moment Tywin Lannister is taken out the rest of them don't stand a chance."

"I think you're forgetting we still have Stannis Baratheon to deal with," Lord Tyrell reminded him. "He plans to invade this camp come nightfall if we have not bent the knee to him."

"The King in the North doesn't care who seats the Iron Throne, as long as it is not Joffrey or a Lannister," Willas shrugged. "I hate Stannis for what he's done, but let him have the throne if he wants it."

"Lord Willas, I don't want to see Stannis on the throne," Edric spoke up, squaring his shoulders confidently as he stood to face Willas properly. He suddenly seemed far older than his years, and Willas remembered how Robb had undergone a similar transformation the moment he took up command of the northern army. "He killed King Renly, and my Uncle had always been kind to me. This other Uncle may not be as generous, he would simply see me as a threat to his claim, especially since..."

Willas frowned, until he looked at what Edric was wearing. The first time they met he had been dressed in a simple grey tunic, but he had changed into something that a lord would wear. As for the colours, he was in the usual black as expected or mourning, but there was a yellow stag embroidered onto his doublet. It was subtle, but Willas understood.

"Congratulations, Lord Baratheon," Willas nodded respectfully, a small smile inevitable.

"It was my Uncle's last act to legitimise me," Edric said, sounding almost sad, but he was controlling his voice well, trying to seem strong. Willas admired him for that. "One of his last acts at least, as I found on his desk a formal treaty drawn up between himself and the North. He wanted to join sides with the King in the North, and had he lived the alliance would have been confirmed."

"So you intend on upholding that alliance, and then what?" Willas frowned, hoping that the conversation was going to go the way he thought yet not allowing himself to get carried away too soon. "Do you intend to take the Iron Throne for yourself?"

"I do not want to, but it was my father's," Edric said, his jaw tightening slightly. "I do not want to be King, but-"

"That would probably make you a damned finer king than most men who squabble over the throne," Willas pointed out, his attention moving to his father. "So I'm assuming it will be another wedding for Margie soon enough then? Make her Queen again?"

"Not yet," Lord Tyrell said, ignoring his son's joke. "So soon would seem improper. I am sending Margaery home, it will be safer for her, as the army of the Reach will remain here until we have Stannis defeated. When he is dealt with..."

"Then you can tell the King in the North to count on us," Edric smiled, and his toothy grin reminded Willas that he was still such a young man. Even so, he held his hand out, and Willas took it, shaking it firmly, nodding. "I would like you to return North and let them know my decision as soon as possible, if it please you. I am eager for the Starks to know. It would be my honour to fight with Robb Stark, the way our fathers once did."

"And you?" Willas turned to his father, stony faced, noticing how Lord Tyrell seemed tense. "You're happy with this arrangement?"

"It was my idea," he confessed, meeting Willas' eye long enough for him to notice the faint guilt in his expression. Lord Tyrell turned to Edric, before adding, "Would you give us a moment alone my Lord?"

Edric said nothing, he merely nodded respectfully to both men before he left the tent, leaving father and son alone. That was not usually a good thing for them, but Willas refused to lose his temper, and he could tell his father was trying. Perhaps some good had come from their meeting a few nights previous, even if it was obvious Lord Tyrell did not know what to say.

"Do you want to sit down?" his father asked him after a moment of silence. "You're to have a long journey back to the Riverlands, perhaps you should rest-"

"I'm fine," Willas said quickly, glancing up to the roof of the tent as he took a deep breath. "I can guarantee that my leg doesn't feel half as terrible as you all imagine it to feel. It aches, and yes, sometimes it strains, but mostly I barely notice it. It's been a long time now."

"Yes, it has," Lord Tyrell nodded, looking at the floor before meeting his son's gaze again. "I'm sorry."

Willas knew he'd never heard his father say those words before. It took him by surprise, practically giving him whiplash as he jerked in shock. His father noticed, and chuckled quietly.

"I don't know what you're apologising for," Willas stated through his surprise, while his father smiled at him sadly.

"You would not have been in the lists that day if not for me," he explained. "I never said it because the one time I did your mother called me an idiot, but I always held myself responsible for what happened."

"Perhaps you were, I might not have ever jousted had you not been so insistent," Willas shrugged, deciding honesty would be the best course. "That doesn't mean you have to feel guilty for it. It was a freak accident, it could have happened to anyone. It could have happened to Garlan, or Loras. I lived, surely that is all that matters. I'd rather not live the rest of my life knowing that my father feels guilty every time he looks at me for something that he did not intentionally do."

Willas hoped that would put his father's mind at rest, and then he wondered if that was the issue with him, if any distance was simply because his father preferred to keep him at arms length to hide away from the shame he felt for putting him through so much. If he kept their relationship distant, he didn't have to face up to the reality of what had happened. If he favoured Loras, he could focus on the son who's life he did not almost end. Somehow, that made Willas feel almost sorry for his father. Of course he wouldn't understand any of his recent life choices as he simply had not allowed himself to be present. If he made himself an active force in his life, then he would have to acknowledge that he had inadvertently caused him a life-altering injury, and so by distancing himself, he'd left himself ignorant to why he was making the choices he did.

Willas had never really seen his joust as something his father was to blame for, simply choosing to think of it as an accident for the peace of mind that thought provided. His father, however, had clearly never thought of it that way, given by the way his shoulders dropped and he let out a long sigh. Willas wondered how long it had been eating up inside of him.

"You don't hate me for it?" he asked with a small frown.

"Of course not, I don't hate you for anything," Willas laughed again. "I am sure there is plenty you hate me for, but-"

"Not hate, hate is a strong word," Lord Tyrell cut in. "Disapprove, perhaps. I will try to understand better. Your sister has shouted at me enough to know I should give you more of a chance than I have been doing, and your grandmother is always telling me that you're the only one in the family with half a brain and we should all listen to you more often."

"Yes, she once told me I had half a brain, and the other half was shared by Garlan, Loras, and Margie, who alternate who is in possession of it on a daily basis," Willas couldn't help but grin, though at the thought of his siblings, and his grandmother, he thought of home, and suddenly wished to be nowhere but Highgarden. "I want us all to be together again soon, at home, where we all belong."

"Me too," his father nodded, looking his son up and down for a moment as he gathered courage for what he had to say next. "And by all, that extends to Eddmina and Uther too. I know I have not been kind to her but... That wife of yours practically has the Lannisters surrounded. I know it is not simply Robb Stark's doing. She is clearly as clever as you boast her to be, and stupidly brave."

"She's a marvel," Willas couldn't help but grin, thinking of the letter in his pocket. "Robb is an excellent commander, and a good king, but Mina's his secret weapon. Sometimes I think that if she wasn't a woman it would have been her the northerners crowned."

"Do you want that, for her to be Queen in the North?" his father frowned, reality dawning upon him, considering his gooddaughter seriously for the first time. "Your son would be King one day."

"Mina would hate it," Willas shook his head, barely considering how he would hate it too. "She doesn't care about things like that. All she wants is a quick end to this war, and as soon as it is done, we will be bringing Uther to Highgarden."

His father looked almost disappointed for a moment, until he considered what Willas had actually said. The rebellious northern girl wanted nothing more than to go back to the Reach, a place she'd been certain would never feel like home. Lord Tyrell had thought her as strong-willed free-spirit who refused to see what was required of her over her own whims, but there his son was, swearing her marital home was more important to her than any blood right she could claim. Perhaps she was not as wayward as he had thought.

"I look forward to it," his father nodded, and when he smiled, it felt genuine. Willas could barely remember the last time things had felt so real with him, and he smiled back. "You are going to set off tonight?"

"I am, if I ride through the night tonight and then take the right paths I will be in Riverrun by the end of the month," he explained, his father nodding along. "I will collect my things and say my goodbyes to Loras and Margaery. You will look after them, won't you? Especially Loras?"

"Gods, lad, you worry too much," Lord Tyrell sighed.

His father said nothing else, but instead moved to pull him into and embrace. Willas wasn't sure what to do at first, unused to parental affection that wasn't from his mother, and given the volatile relationship he usually enjoyed with his lord father, the embrace was unexpected. He couldn't help but wonder how long this new understanding would last for, as they had been quarrelling for a long time, and their big rift over the war had been ongoing for almost a year. It felt strange to think it was over so soon, so quickly, and without much screaming, and Willas wanted to be doubtful.

He wanted to doubt, simply to save himself from any disappointment when his father eventually turned his back on him again.

He wanted to doubt, but he wanted his father's acceptance and friendship more.

Willas hugged him back.

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