Renly led Lady Stark off to show her around camp properly, but he did not suggest Willas follow them, not when he saw how eager his wife was to speak to her brother. At the departure of their king, the crowd began to disperse too, so when Margaery ran to him they were practically alone, save Loras.

"Brother!" she cheered, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. It took him a moment before he realised what to do, realising that he didn't have to be serious or diplomatic, and he hugged her back. "Oh, how glad I am to see you!"

"I've missed you, Margie," he couldn't help but grin, and as they separated he whispered to her, "Or is it' Your Grace' now?"

"I will accept nothing less than 'My Queen'," she whispered back to him with a wink.

That was when Loras stepped forward, looking his eldest brother up and down warily. It was as if he was checking to see if he had changed in any way, as if the war had warped him into an entirely different person. He didn't throw himself at Willas the way Margaery did, nor did he look as thrilled to see him. It was as if he was hanging onto the thought of him being part of an opposing side of the war, rather than simply being happy to see his brother. They had exchanged sharp words only moments before, so he could hardly blame him for looking suspiciously, but he noticed traces of relief in his eyes, relieved that his brother was safe and apparently unhurt.

"What are you doing here?" Loras asked, though as he spoke his lips seemed to threaten a small smile.

"I'd say good to see you too, brother, but how good can it be when I've just seen you rolling in the mud?" Willas raised his eyebrow teasingly. He couldn't help it, it was his job as an older brother to poke fun even if he wasn't as skilled a jokester as Garlan, but Loras glared at him all the same. "I'm joking, Gods! I'm here to accompany Lady Stark and act as an envoy on behalf of the King in the North and his Hand. He'd like us all to form an alliance."

"What makes him think we need an alliance?" Loras said stubbornly, immediately toughening up at the mention of war. Margaery shot him a look, nudging him with her hand against his shoulder. Loras looked the the floor, flexing his jaw before he sighed and looked back at his brother. "I'm Sorry."

"For what?" Willas raised his eyebrow at him.

He couldn't help it, remembering the day he'd arrived in Winterfell with Renly and his family rode off, abandoning his wife's cause. He remembered how he'd asked him to look out for Sansa and Arya, and yet the two girls were left behind in King's Landing in the lion's claws. He thought of how Robb and his men had ridden back from Whispering Wood, bloody yet victorious, and how Lord Karstark had screamed for someone to let him kill Ser Jaime Lannister in vengeance for his two lost sons, and how Garlan told him later on that had it not been for the Karstark lads he'd not have returned. The northerners fought, while those in the Stormlands, his brother included, did nothing but play at fighting. Willas couldn't help but want Loras to acknowledge how different their lives had been for the past few months, but he knew he wouldn't, probably not even realising the hardship that his brothers had been through, but even if he did he'd struggle to say it.

The wilful nature of her brothers made Margaery sigh rather dramatically, giving them both a look that scarily resembled their mother when she was trying to force them to get along. Both Tyrell brothers looked at her before they looked at each other, and Willas realised they had left a lot more unsaid than he knew when they last saw each other. They had barely even said goodbye to each other, too focused on their own separate causes, and upon being together again it was difficult to move past it.

Willas thought of his wife and how she loved all of her siblings so dearly that she put them before herself every day. It helped that some of them were significantly younger, so she took on a guardian role with them, while the gap between Willas and Loras was an awkward one, too small to mean Willas became an authority figure, but too big to prevent them from seeing eye-to-eye and not dissolving into disagreements and rivalry. Eddmina loved her brothers and sisters without condition, absolutely and unreservedly, and she was separated from them all barring her twin. Yet there Willas was, stood with two of his three siblings, and he couldn't help but focus on bitterness.

He sighed, before he reached out and placed his hand on Loras' shoulder, offering a him a small smile. It took him a moment, but soon Loras cracked, and he moved to hug his brother. Both of them pretended they didn't hear Margaery's pleased little hum. As they hugged, Willas thought of the terror he felt every time Garlan rode off into battle, and while he knew he didn't have the same bond with Loras, he loved him all the same. He was his brother, even if they did not agree, and so he couldn't help but love him. He ruffled his hair as he stepped back, and Loras swatted his hand away.

"It is good to see you," Willas said honestly, his eyes flicking between his brother and sister. "Both of you."

"Good to see you haven't frozen up in the north," Loras remarked, though his smile was genuine. "How's Garlan?"

"If the northerners wrote songs then our brother would be the bard's newest star," Willas couldn't help himself, his pride for Garlan inescapable. "He rides in King Robb's vanguard but he's been unharmed, and he's still as irritatingly quick-witted as always. For a southerner, the northerners are actually rather fond of him."

"And Eddmina?" it was Margaery's turn to ask, her words a little more hesitant as she expected his answer to be more sombre.

At that point she had linked her arm through his, and she was leading Willas off through camp while Loras followed. When people saw her they stopped and paid her regards, bowing or offering her calls of 'your grace'. It suited her, and she smiled and greeted them all. It reminded Willas of the way the northerners treated his wife when she walked through camp, and how she would go to each one and help with whatever they were doing. Both his wife and his sister had taken to roles of authority and monarchy very well.

"She's..." Willas tried, though he didn't know where to start. "She's indispensable. I think that camp would be lost without her."

It was true, but far too simple. That was only due to him not being able to even comprehend the words he felt he had to use to describe how she had been over the past few months. They had been some of the darkest times, yet he'd never once seen her show weakness. Even in her agonising grief, when he could tell she just wanted to curl up in the tent for days and not show her face to anyone so that she could just cry for her father, she refused herself that luxury. She'd taken on so much responsibility, and to do it all while looking after their son... He'd adored her before war, but seeing her act with such honour and dignity in a time that could have so easily broken someone, Willas couldn't help but marvel at her, which was a hard thing to try and describe to someone, particularly someone who hadn't observed her and the way she had conducted herself in the last few months.

"We wanted to write after we heard about her father, but we didn't know where you would all be," Loras explained, taking Willas by surprise, though he hid it well. "Is she..."

"It is a horrible thing to learn to live with," Willas told them both. He wished his wife were with him, mostly just so he didn't have to feel like he was speaking for her. "To lose a parent must be an awful thing, but to lose one the way she did... Mina's coping. It helps having distractions, like the war, and Uther, but..."

"But you're worried about her," Margaery finished for him, squeezing his arm a little tighter. Willas swallowed, then nodded, knowing he'd never be able to find the words to agree. "I miss her."

"You do?" Willas frowned, caught slightly unaware. His sister laughed, and so did his brother.

"You can think we're all selfish monsters because we didn't join sides with the Starks, but we do actually like your wife, you know," Loras muttered as he rolled his eyes.

"Me especially," Margaery enthused, grinning at Willas. "I think you forget it was me who told her to not be so nervous and give you a chance? That was just because I wanted to make sure she would end up being my sister."

It felt like a lifetime ago, thinking of the first time they had all visited Winterfell. Willas could scarcely remember the person he had been then, though he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Eddmina had changed his life in so many ways, mostly for the better, but even the man he had been when they left Winterfell with the bannermen was barely recognisable to the man who walked with his siblings through the Stormlands. How funny it was, what a short space of time could do to someone, and how it could completely make or break them.

"Lord Tyrell!" He heard a voice call in astonished excitement, and though it was a voice he vaguely knew, it was not one he instantly recognised, setting off the tense coil that had formed in his gut all over again. "How wonderful it is to see you!"

Willas felt his sister's grip tighten on his arm once more, though it was not out of endearment as it had once been. It was protective, and he noticed even Loras stand a little straighter. It was as if both of them were suddenly on edge, tensing and taking on a stony front, which compared to their previous pleasant moods, was concerning.

"I'm not Lord Tyrell, my father is still alive and well- Oh," he began, turning around to face the newcomer, though immediately understood what had overcome Loras and Margaery when he came face-to-face with Amariah Oakheart, the woman that once-upon-a-time might've ended up as his wife. "Good afternoon, my lady."

She had been the last person he'd expected to see in Renly's camp. Willas had prepared himself for seeing his family, and seeing some of the bannermen - both those he liked and those who didn't like him - but the last person he expected to see was his former betrothed, which was why his throat tightened in nerves, and he felt his fist tighten around the handle of his cane. He wanted to look up to the sky, but he remembered his wife and how she kept eye contact at all times, especially if she was caught off-guard or was facing nerves. He wanted to turn away and keep walking, knowing that Margaery was secretly leading him to his father but he would much rather confront Lord Tyrell than face that woman, but he was a gentleman, and he was not one to forget his manners. He didn't want to, but he looked at her, and smiled politely.

Willas would be a fool to try and pretend that Amariah was not beautiful. Her hair was the colour of the wheat fields that grew in the Reach, her sun-kissed face was decorated with delicate little freckles, and her nose - while crooked, thanks to Leonette - was petite, fitting perfectly in her small, dainty face. She looked tired, with faint dark circles under her eyes, and she certainly didn't look as grand as she had done the last time he'd seen her as her clothes were simple, but even so, she was a woman who would turn heads. She was beautiful, but then Willas thought of Eddmina. Pale, tall, angular, and northern. Eddmina was a Stark, down to the way she held herself and spoke, yet when you looked at her and truly saw her, the Tully in her stood out. Her eyes so blue they reminded Willas of the Mander, her long dark hair that had the faintest traces of auburn in it when it caught the light. The two women were as different as night and day. Amariah was beautiful, but for Willas, the beauty that stood before him was instantly eclipsed at the mere thought of his wife.

Amariah might have a nice face, a pretty smile, and speak with a soft southern accent, but she was not Eddmina. Eddmina didn't smile as often as she used to, but when she did her whole face would light up, like when he kissed her, or when she heard one of Garlan's jokes, or when Uther did something so mundane yet miraculous. Eddmina didn't laugh, nor did she shed her northern accent that some would think was improper, but surround her by those she loved or a group of northerners telling tales, she would light up. Amariah could dance and sing the pretty songs of the south, but Willas had once spotted Eddmina in camp early in the morning helping the younger lads practice archery, and he'd heard her long ago sing the old northern folk songs that moved some of even the crudest of the men to silence. Willas looked at Amariah and saw everything he had once thought to expect in a wife and in life, and he knew that if he had never journeyed North perhaps he would still expect it. He thought of Eddmina and knew she was all he could ever want, desire, need. She was his life, his heart, his soul. She was the night and day, the sun and the stars, the very reason he was alive. He looked at Amariah and saw his past, something he never wanted to return to, while one mere thought of Eddmina had him caught up in adoration.

Perhaps that was why it was easy to drop his hold on his sister's arm and take Amariah's hand, shaking it politely and nodding his head, smiling at her. If he didn't love his wife and the life she gave him so dearly he might've still felt bitter, or jealous, or even lovestruck, but he looked at his former betrothed and felt nothing. If anything, he was only annoyed at her for the way she'd treated Eddmina. He could navigate that easy enough, even if she was looking up and down at him with a smile she clearly hoped was dazzling, batting her eyelids at him. Once, that would've done something to him, but that was a long time ago.

"I did not think to see you here," he told her honestly, earning apprehensive looks from both Loras and Margaery, who clearly had not forgotten the past as easily as Willas.

"My husband marched with the rest of the Tyrell bannermen, and I wished to accompany him so that I might keep him company," Amariah explained, trying to hide the disgust at the mention of her husband, her eyes flicking to the two other Tyrells that stood watching. "And you, my lord, I thought you had stayed north with your wife. Is she well?"

Margaery was a gracious queen, to the extent that only her brothers who knew her better than anyone heard her faint scoff of disbelief.

"She is, as is our son," Willas told her, unable to stop his smile at the thought of Uther. Amariah's smile dropped for barely a second before she caught herself.

"I am surprised to see you looking so well, especially after so long in the north," Amariah joked, though none of the Tyrells laughed, not even out of pity.

"What is wrong with the North?" Margaery questioned coldly, her head tipped to the side ever so slightly, her lips forming a tight, frustrated line. Other than that she was perfectly still, to the point it was almost eerie. 

"Nothing, nothing at all, your grace," Amariah answered a little too quickly, dropping into a curtsey as she addressed her queen, before she turned back to Willas. "I merely meant that it is cold, and poor and..."

"And northerners are savage beasts who would happily tear out all our southern hearts and roast them over fires while they howl like wolves?" Willas raised one of his eyebrows, cracking a small, sarcastic half-smile. He'd actually heard the Greatjon make a similar joke a few nights before he had left camp, and Willas remembered how much the crowd had laughed, while the southern lady before him looked horrified. "Unfortunately for our enemies, that rumour isn't true."

"What about the rumour that your wife and her brother can turn into wolves?" Amariah asked, and she didn't even pretend to keep her voice polite.

Willas stared at her for a second before he burst into laughter. He was certain that he had not laughed so hard for such a long time. The thought of Eddmina and Robb being some sort of shapeshifters, the fact that she had said it with such conviction that meant some people probably had spread that story thinking it to be genuine, while he couldn't think of anything more ridiculous. There was some sort of bond between the Starks and their direwolves, as Eddmina told him of the dreams she had that she was Honour, and he had seen the way Grey Wind looked at Robb, especially after the two of them returned from battle, but to think they could transform and truly become one was incomprehensible.

One look at Amariah though, and he could tell that she was not joking. It was a genuine question that she believed for some reason. Yet, when Willas managed to stop laughing, he saw a flicker of bitterness in her expression, and he realised why she had brought it up. She was trying to imply that his wife was a monster.

"His Grace the King in the North has never honoured me with letting me see him transform," Willas remarked dryly. "As for the Princess, I will have to ask her. I wonder if it is a skill our son will have inherited, I was confused as to why his hair had grown so quickly, perhaps it is his winter coat. Winter is coming, after all."

"You're making fun of me, my lord," Amariah said, her voice tight as if she was frustrated that she was not getting her way.

"Am I? Because to me it just sounds like you're trying to mock my wife and her family," Willas pointed out, and she was instantly take aback, shocked that he would speak so candidly. People in the south often spoke in riddles, hiding behind courtesy and manners, while the northerners got straight to the point; they had clearly rubbed off on him. "It has been lovely to see you again but if you'll excuse me, I was hoping to go an find my father. Queen Margaery, Ser Loras, shall we carry on?"

Willas didn't wait for her to speak again as he turned and carried on in the direction his sister had previously been leading him in. It took a moment but both Margaery and Loras caught up to him, and his sister wrapped her arm around his once more, while Loras was trying to hide his amusement.

"Father said I had to be nice to her," Margaery muttered annoyedly to Willas under her breath. That made Loras' quiet chuckles worsen. "Oherwise I would have-"

"You do have to be nice, you're the queen," Willas reminded her. "Just because that woman kissed another man while I, her betrothed, was possibly dying does not make her an evil person, nor does her making fun of Mina and the North."

"Leonette would be disappointed," Loras said quietly.

Willas wanted to remind them both that Leonette was not with them, nor was she in control of how he conducted himself around others, especially those who'd wronged him in the past. It was up to him how he treated Amariah, and if that meant acting polite yet being unafraid to call her out on her own rudeness, then Willas was fine with that. His family were allowed to carry their own grudges, even if they made no sense to him. He wanted to say it all to both of them, but they'd reached a tent that was large and grand enough that it had to house someone of notable status, and given the golden rose banners that hung either side of the entrance, Willas knew exactly who was in there.

He stopped, looking at the golden rose sigil, realising that he had surrounded himself with snarling wolves, jumping trouts, and all manner of fierce northern signs, that the rose seemed quite tame. He'd missed seeing his own sigil, but compared with the Bolton's flayed man, or the Mormont's black bear, his own rose was almost foolish. If in battle, who was ever going to be afraid of coming up against men wrapped in flowers? He hated himself for thinking it, for looking down upon his own family legacy, but the whole vibe of Renly's camp was so unlike everything he had grown familiar with in the north, and he hadn't even realised how accustomed he'd gotten to it all, or even how much he actually liked it.

If he was thinking all that, how ever could Willas face his father, who clearly thought their house was so strong and noble? House Tyrell was those things, Willas knew that, but compared to the houses he'd spent so long getting to know, his own house, his father's house, felt like it had no place in the war, or even among the other great houses of Westeros. They were rich, they had a large army, but what good was it when they hadn't even marched anywhere, and houses a third of their size were dominating in battle against the Lannisters? How could Willas look his father in the eye knowing how ashamed he was over his own house and their role in the war?

Margaery did not let him hesitate for much longer, tugging on his arm to try and pull him into the tent. Loras hit his back with the palm of his hand, gently shoving him in the direction he needed to go. Even so, Willas stood firm, clenching his jaw.

"Does he hate me?" He asked before he could stop himself, looking to his brother, his father's favourite son.

"I doubt it," Loras shrugged, though he hid him again, harder. "Don't be a coward and just go in."

Being called a coward by Loras was a good enough reason to go in, and so without having to be led or forced, Willas stepped into the tent. If it was grand on the outside then the inside was like a palace, and Willas couldn't help but feel sorry for whichever squire or servant had to pack it all up and transport it to wherever Renly would end up marching. Sat at the desk was his father, and he looked the same as he always did, not at all like the whole country was at war. He was writing a note, but at the sound of people approaching he looked up.

Willas wasn't sure what to expect, but his father glanced up and saw him stood there, looking mildly surprised, though he didn't rise to his feet to greet him. He did, at least, set his quill down and crack a small smile, but Willas had seen his father smile properly. Lord Mace Tyrell could be quite jolly, and the smile he showed his son then wasn't a proper one.

"Ah, Willas," he greeted, and then as if he had only seen him the day before, his gaze left his eldest son and fell to his youngest. "How did the melee go?"

Willas laughed, especially when Loras scowled and folded his arms across his chest with a noise crossed between a groan and a sigh. Margaery looked between the two brothers, as if asking them to behave, but Loras made that significantly easier when he stormed out. Margaery looked as if she wanted to run after him, but she hesitated, still wanting to be there for her eldest brother.

"I take it he lost," Lord Tyrell said after a moment of silence.

"Quite badly, actually," Willas nodded dryly. Lord Tyrell sighed and shook his head.

"It was not bad!" Margaery defended. "Lady Brienne was twice his size! He'd never seen her fight before, he didn't know her style or-"

"Garlan doesn't know the fighting styles of half the men he comes up against but the difference is that if he gets defeated, he dies, because Garlan is fighting a real war not a foolish melee like Loras," Willas managed to keep his voice calm, despite the mention of the fight reminding him of the stark difference between the two situations his family was in. He saw Margaery look down in realisation, but instead of apologising for upsetting her, he turned his focus to his father. "You're happy to see this war camp be turned into a tourney rather than dealing with the real matter at hand?"

Lord Tyrell looked at him seriously for a moment before he sighed again. He rose from his seat and moved to stand at the front of his desk, the spot giving him the perfect place to look his son up and down properly. He was regarding him as if trying to see what was different about him from the last time they had seen each other, but Willas couldn't help but feel like his father was gazing upon him as if he was a stranger. Margaery glanced at the two of them before she squezed Willas' arm gently, knowing that tension was slowly simmering.

"I should go," she told them both quietly. Willas nodded to her, flashing her a small smile. "Will you have supper with me tonight?"

"Of course I will, your grace," he said, trying to smile though his voice was strained.

Margaery left without any further comment, though she did glance to both her brother and father with concern as she left the tent. Neither of them really noticed, as they were both too busy looking at each other. Much like his relationship with Lady Stark, neither of them knew what to say, and Willas couldn't help but find it incredibly sad. He and his father used to be close, but duty and expectation had invaded their relationship, and Willas' loyalty to his wife who didn't immediately conform to southern life hadn't helped. Willas wondered if his father found their tension as disappointing as he did.

"You look... Well," his father said, landing on courtesy when he couldn't think of what else to say. He frowned for a moment, before he added, "Have you lost weight?"

"What?" Willas frowned, taken by surprise. "No. I don't think so. Does it matter?"

"No, of course not," lord Tyrell agreed, but obviously had not said all he wanted to, concern still on his mind but without knowing how to express it. "Just wanted to know that you're looking after yourself. That leg of yours not giving you any trouble, is it?"

"I'm fine," Willas snapped, rolling his eyes. "I'm not a boy, you know."

"Yes, if you were you'd be easier to tell what to do," Lord Tyrell muttered before he could stop himself. Willas knew he wasn't supposed to hear but he had done anyway, though before he could argue his father changed the conversation. "How's your brother?"

"Garlan's a hero," he told him honestly, and was relieved when his father smiled, clearly a little proud even if he was fighting on the opposite side. "He stayed behind with King Robb to-"

Willas cut himself off when he heard his father trying not to chuckle.

"Is there something amusing?" Willas asked sharply, trying to hold back a glare. "My goodbrother did not crown himself King, he was chosen by the North because he led them to victory. The north has been shoved around and disregarded for too long, and the recent actions of the Lannisters and the death of Lord Eddard has been a step too far. The north deserves independence, the north remembers."

Willas' father was still chuckling quietly.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of me," Willas' eyes narrowed. "I'm not saying this to annoy you or rebel from what you think I should be. I'm doing this for my family. The Starks are my family as much as the Tyrells are Eddmina's. I won't sit quiet and play at war like you're all doing here when my wife's family is suffering. I won't let my son grow up thinking that I did nothing when I could've stood by his mother and his uncle and tried my best to help make things right."

At that, his father stopped laughing, and regarded him seriously once more.

"Uther is a Tyrell," his father told him firmly.

"Yes he is, but he is Eddmina's son too and she is Princess of the North and Hand of the King," Willas hit back. "What would you have done in my position, had mother's family been in danger?"

"The Hightowers never liked me, not even now, you know that," Lord Tyrell remarked lightly. "You're telling me that the Starks all like you?"

"I'm growing on them," he shrugged honestly, rolling his eyes.

"Willas, lad, you've always been stubborn, you and your brother, but you're both going too far with this damned war," his father became serious once more, but Willas stood up straight and steeled himself; it was not the first lecture he had received from his father. "Your duty is to your own house, not the north. Your wife's duty is to the Tyrell's, the family she married. Your damned fool brother shouldn't be fighting for the northerners, men who barely know him. Can't you see that things would be better, easier, for you all if you just gave up this farce and went home?"

"My brother isn't a fool, he's a hero, and none of us care about the easy option, we want the just option," Willas said calmly, but the mention of Eddmina was still bugging him. "You told me to marry Eddmina, you said it would benefit our house."

"That was before we knew her," his father laughed, though Willas felt himself run cold, his hands clenching to fists. "When I told you to wed her I did not think she would cause such problems and be so entitled in expecting us to fix them for her when she has done nothing for us. I did not think you were thick-skulled enough to get led astray by some wanton woman and forget all of your own responsibilities. You've been blinded by her. If I could go back I would've had you marry an easier woman."

Willas had to fight to see straight against the anger that threatened to overcome him. He clenched his jaw so tight that he was sure he would damage his teeth, and he could scarcely catch his breath for how hard his heart was pounding. He remembered the Lannister man who'd tried to kill her, and how his temper had overtaken him then. Giving in to his angry desire of belittling the man while he was so close to death had resulted in nothing, and giving in to his rage at his father would surely be worse.

He wanted to hit him, regardless of the fact that he was his father. It didn't matter who he was, anyone who insulted his wife was a villain to him. If anything, the fact that it was his father made it the insults worse, doubling the betrayal. Stood before him was meant to be a man he could trust, someone who he could confide in and joke with. He was his father. He was the man who taught him how to first swing a sword before he let a master-at-arms take over, he was the man who taught him what it meant to be Lord of the Reach, he was the man who used to like telling him stories and japes, and laughed at his own tales in return. Yet, on the other side of the coin, he was the man who'd forced him into tourneys before he was truly ready, he was the man who encouraged rivalries between himself and his brothers, he was the man who was jealous whenever Willas would spend anytime in Oldtown with his Hightower relations. The betrayal of his insults to Eddmina stung, yet when Willas took a moment, they made perfect sense. Somehow, that hurt more.

Thinking of his words as just another act of bitter jealousy, of thoughtless desire to have his son do exactly what he wanted, was the only reason Willas managed to keep his cool.

"I found my equal in Eddmina," Willas said, swallowing down his anger.

"Surely you see that woman has never thought of anyone but herself, Willas," his father continued to push, and Willas forced himself to not laugh at the obliviousness.

"Not a day goes by in Eddmina's life where she puts herself first," Willas spoke, his words cold and controlled, though he saw a faint flicker of concern in his father's eyes, realising that he'd gone too far without even thinking. "You might see my marriage as a bitter disappointment but you gave me the greatest gift when you bid me to marry her. She is capable of so much greatness that I pity you and you inability to see it, just because she will not follow whatever farce you will have the rest of this family embarrass themselves with. My wife would be able to rule over all of Highgarden and the Reach with one hand while using the other to raise our children. If you'd ever made any effort to get to know her then you would see that, you would see how brilliant she is, but instead you see nothing more than a failed attempt to strengthen ties to the crown that resulted in a gooddaughter that challenges you."

"Willas, you-" his father began, but Willas cut him off with a cold glare.

"No, you've said enough," he snapped. "I've had a long journey, I don't wish to tire myself further by trying make you understand. I came here to arrange an alliance, but from what I've seen since arriving I do not think the Starks or the north would ever lower themselves to this."

With that Willas turned and took his leave, his father remaining dumbstruck exactly where he had left him. Willas couldn't bare to turn around and see him, because it was only when the wind hit him outside the tent that he realised exactly what had happened. He had ruined any chance of a treaty between the two parties, he had let his anger consume him and burn the bridge between Stark and Tyrell, he had insulted his father so badly that he was left with no other house than his wife's. Surely he was going to be emancipated from the Tyrell house, let alone from his standing as the heir. Willas wanted to care, but inside he felt empty.

All he could manage to feel was lost, as he realised his father didn't care. He'd not expected broaching an alliance to be easy, but he was his father, he was meant to be proud of him and take his side. He was meant to see Eddmina like his own daughter, the way Lady Tyrell managed, and see her fight as his. Instead he saw her as nothing more than an obstacle to his family greatness, and his own son as a weak-willed lovestruck boy led astray by it all.

Willas wanted to curse and scream, because he didn't understand how his own father could think such things about him. He was never the favourite son, that position had always fallen to Loras, but he was his heir, his firstborn, and he was meant to take his side regardless. The emptiness inside him began to burn, and Willas wanted nothing more than to mount his horse and ride back to his wife and his brother, the only two people who would ever understand, but to do that would be cowardly. He'd promised Robb he would try and build an alliance, he'd promised the King in the North he would try and secure him a bigger army. To abandon that due to one disagreement with his father was cowardly, and Willas refused to give in that easily.

He thought about storming back in the tent and demanding his father see sense. He considered yelling until he could convince his father to agree, but somehow he knew neither of those options would work. He couldn't do anything productive while he was angry, nor could he approach an alliance when he suddenly felt like his relationship with his father was in tatters. Willas knew he needed to cool himself off and figure out a proper course of action, and that wouldn't be possible if he gave into his temper.

That was why he had the Baratheon guards who were waiting for him escort him to his tent where he could begin plotting.

***

It was still dark when the army of the North descended on the Lannister camp at Oxcross. By the time day was breaking, the camp was filled with cries for the King in the North as he won yet another victory.

Eddmina had watched, sitting atop her horse on a hill as the men attacked, her son wrapped to her chest while her belt was decorated with daggers and a quiver of arrows was slung across her shoulder, a bow strapped to the horse's saddle. She had a few guards, and her direwolf, but with a bow to hand she felt untouchable. Though it was dark, she managed to see the fighting, and when she watched men die, she felt nothing. When she watched her brothers kill, she felt nothing.

Only when she saw northerners fall did she feel a faint twinge in her heart, but she shoved it down. The men she had with her were waiting for her to crack, she was sure of it. Ever since her husband had left Eddmina had felt like everyone watched her with caution, waiting for her to give in and break, to have a sudden burst of emotion that they thought women were prone to. Eddmina hadn't cried since her father died, and though she missed Willas she was not going to let him become her weakness, especially not around those who she was meant to regard as allies. She kept herself calm and serious, as she always was, and made sure no one would ever think her weak.

Honour let out a low growl, the fur on her neck rising. Eddmina quietly unlatched her bow and knocked an arrow, drawing it. As if perfectly on time a Lannister squire ran up the hill, terrified of what he'd fled from, but when he saw through the darkness the dozen Stark guards and the Princess of the North pointing an arrow at him, his terror doubled.

"Please, mercy!" He begged, though his words turned to screams when Eddmina's arrow found his shoulder.

"Take him away, question him, see what he knows," she told the guard closest to her, who nodded, dismounting his horse as he pulled the squire away.

She refused to see that the man she'd shot was barely a man. He looked Sansa's age, and he had looked scared. He had been scared of the fight, then scared of her. Eddmina felt a pang in her chest. Anyone she'd hurt before had been someone who'd tried to hurt her, but he had just been fleeing. He'd been caught up in something bigger than himself, and he'd suffered because of it - she'd made him suffer. Eddmina decided not to dwell on it, placing her bow back on her saddle. They were at war, he was on the other side. Had their positions been reversed, he would have done the same to her.

"Your grace, that man was but a squire, I doubt he knows anything," a voice called, and Eddmina clenched her jaw when she knew it was Lord Bolton, her least favourite of all the bannermen. "Questioning him would be useless."

"Everyone knows something, and everything even down to trivial camp gossip can be useful," she replied, not looking at him as he rode his horse to stand next to hers. She adjusted her hold on her reins so she could place a protective hand on Uther's back. "I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would have gone to fight with the others."

"I was not needed, your grace," he answered, and though he didn't intend it, his voice chilled her. "I thought I could offer my services elsewhere, like guarding our Princess."

"You're most kind," she said, forcing a diplomatic smile, fighting against the urge to point out the fact she had enough guards and a direwolf. "The fighting is nearly done."

"This attack was your idea," Lord Bolton stated, and Eddmina nodded, recalling when she had suggested the move in the war tent. "You've got quite the mind for strategy, your grace. War suits you."

"Thank you, my lord, but it doesn't," she said, feeling infuriated at the conversation but knowing her sense of manners and duty had her tied to that spot to engage with him. "I don't believe war suits anyone. It is a necessary evil that has so far done nothing but tear families apart, and no amount of victory will restore that. All we can hope for with war is to get justice, but it will not right the wrongs of it all."

Lord Bolton didn't speak, but he didn't need to as there was nothing else to be said. Eddmina found Roose Bolton's silence more unnerving than his words, as the man carried an eerie chill about him, one that she knew even her father had felt. He was the banner that her father had kept at polite arms-length, mostly because he disliked the Bolton tradition of flaying. It had been outlawed years ago, but Lord Stark had been certain that the Bolton's still practiced it, not that there was really anything he could've done to stop it. Her father had taught her to trust each lord of the north as they had sworn themselves to Winterfell and the Starks, but when it came to the Bolton's... Lord Stark had taught her and Robb to be cautious.

His presence that morning made Eddmina heed her father's words more than ever before. She'd never been alone with him before, but she was a Stark of Winterfell, a Princess of house Stark, and she was not going to be scared by any man, let alone one who was yet to even provide her with real reason to be scared.

"I will be interested to see where you go after this war, your grace," Lord Bolton said after a long silence. "Back to Highgarden, or stay with the King?"

"I am his grace's Hand, I will do what he asks of me," Eddmina said firmly, remembering when she had been younger and spoke in courtesies when she felt nervous. She didn't feel that way, but in cutting off her emotions, there was little left of her to speak up.

"How do you think Ser Willas is faring with securing our alliance with the Tyrell's?" He continued to push, and Eddmina could feel him looking at her so she resisted rolling her eyes.

"I don't know, I couldn't guess, but I would hope he is doing well," she replied simply. "He is not a man to give up easily, I doubt he would come back empty-handed."

She'd not heard from Willas, or from her mother. Garlan hadn't heard from his brother either, which unsettled him more than it did her. Both of them had banded together to cope with the eldest Tyrell's absence, sharing a tent, sharing their concerns over supper, but both of them agreed to not think the worst. It had been a month, and the journey to the stormlands was at least three weeks. They would've surely only just arrived, and Garlan kept reminding her how stubborn Renly and Lord Tyrell were. Negotiation would take time, but that didn't make it easier. She hoped that whatever was happening, Willas had cleared the air with his father, and the two of them were using the time to re-establish their bond.

Lord Bolton looked as though he was going to talk again, but his words were muted by the sound of a horn, and the roar of a hundred successful northerners. Eddmina couldn't help the smile, especially when she heard Grey Wind's distant howl. If the wolf howled, he lived, and so did her brother. Honour began to howl in reply, looking up to Eddmina expectantly.

"Go on, girl," Eddmina nodded, before looking to the men who surrounded her. "Let us go."

She didn't wait for a reply, nudging her heels into her horse Flint and jeering her into a trot. Honour had bounded down the hill, but waited for Eddmina before she went into camp, and though Eddmina had prepared herself nothing could have stopped the shock of the smell of blood. She managed not to retch, even when she rode into camp, looking around at the horrors left behind. Lannister men lay dead or dying, the few who were alive crying for death. There were northern men dead too, but nowhere near the amount of men in scarlet armour. The living northerners were stripping them of boots, weapons, and anything else they thought would be of use. It was sickening, seeing them scavenge, but it was necessary. There was so much ugliness about war that Eddmina had discovered was necessary.

She looked from side to side, desperately searching for her brothers, or for a friend, or anyone, and she found just that when she saw Dacey Mormont knelt over a Lannister, pulling her axe out of his neck.

"Your Grace!" Dacey called the moment she heard the horseshoes and saw Honour. She rose to her feet, carrying her axe with her, the weapon dripping with blood.

"Are you well?" Eddmina asked, looking her friend up and down for injury. Dacey nodded quickly, and Eddmina couldn't see a single scratch on her, except for the few splashes of other men's blood. "Your mother?"

"Last I saw her she was battering a lion to pieces," Dacey remarked grimly, though she grinned. "We outnumbered them ten to one. There's nine Lannisters dead to every one of ours."

"Have you seen my brothers?" She asked, the thought of the dead striking a sudden fear in her, but she knew Dacey was utterly dedicated to her King, and she wouldn't be grinning had he been one of the dead. "Where's the King? Or Ser Garlan?"

"I haven't seen them, your grace," Dacey said, her smile fading. Eddmina tried not to let it, but she felt dread settle over her. "Last I saw, they were on the far edge of camp, and-"

"Princess Eddmina!" An urgent voice called, and she saw Robb's squire Olyvar running at her, red faced and out of breath. Eddmina heard Honour begin to growl at the approach of the Frey boy. "His Grace the King has asked for you across camp, he said it was urgent! He said Ser Garlan is injured, and-"

Eddmina did not wait for him to finish as she kicked Flint back into a trot and began storming across camp. She was so focused her vision had tunnelled, seeing nothing but the path ahead of her, while her throat was so tight she could barely breathe. So much for cutting off her emotions, she realised, as one thought of her brother injured had her in a quick spiral.

Olyvar hadn't gone into specifics, leaving her to think the worst, and all she could do was curse herself. Of all the people to get hurt, why did it have to be Garlan Tyrell? Why, when she was the only other Tyrell in the camp, when Garlan's own brother was half the country away? If his injuries were severe, if his injuries took him away from them, then she would have to be the one to tell Willas of his brother's fate, she would have to tell Lady Alerie and Leonette and look them in the eye, knowing it was her fault, that she had killed him. It was almost too much to bare.

When Eddmina caught sight of the small group huddled together on the outskirts of camp, she pulled the horse to a sharp halt and leapt off, only remembering that Uther was wrapped to her chest when she heard him laughing. He always did when she took him riding, Willas always joked that Uther had inherited his father's love of riding, but that morning his laughter didn't bring the usual rush of joy. His uncle was potentially dying, and he was laughing. Eddmina felt a stab in her chest when she realised yet again the trauma she was putting her son through just by having him there with her, raising him around the horrors of war. He would grow up knowing he was there when men bled for their rights of independence, knowing he was surrounded by death and sorrow. Eddmina would never be able to comprehend the guilt she felt for him, but she knew that one day he would fight battles himself, he would lead armies and may even be called a Commander. Even so, that didn't really justify his presence there.

Was she going to make her son watch his Uncle die? Garlan had always adored Uther, and the littlest Tyrell had certainly taken a shine to him. It was cruel to even consider, but she had no choice, not as she ran to where the group of men were huddled, feeling fear and sadness burn together inside of her.

It was Robb she saw first, looking as serious as he did whenever he'd just finished fighting. His armour was bloodstained, but she knew none of it was his, and Greywind stood at his side nudging his head into Robb's hand, urging him to scratch behind his ears. There were other men there too, the usual crowd of senior bannermen who followed Robb devotedly. It was funny to Eddmina that some of them had called him boy only a few months ago, and that disregard Gad shifted to almost blind loyalty. They were stood in a circle, and Eddmina knew who they were hiding in the centre, her stomach turning in dread.

'Steel yourself off,' she reminded herself. 'No one needs or wants your emotions.'

When Robb heard her coming he turned to face her, and the other men did too, nodding their heads respectfully. It was only when they shifted slightly that she got a glimpse of the middle of their gathering, and she saw Garlan, though her view was obstructed again by a healer she recognised to be Talisa leaning over him.

"Edd," Robb called to her, though she didn't look at him, staring through the crowd trying to figure out what was happening.

"Do you all need to be here?" She snapped, looking up at the bannermen who'd formed the crowd. "Have none of you got anywhere else to be, anything better to be doing?"

"Apologies, Princess," the Greatjon spoke. He'd always been quite kind to her, especially after Robb was crowned, and he moved aside to let her through. When she took her place at his side, he called to the crowd, "You heard her, get shifted! Come on, Ser Gallant doesn't need us all watching him get stitched up!"

When the crowd uttered their own apologies for her and began to move, the Greatjon nudged her with his elbow.

"For a Southern fart he's a good man, that one," he told her seriously, no sign of his usual joking nature. "Saved your brother's life, yet again."

Eddmina felt her heart sink as her bottom lip involunarily twitched into an expression of awe. She quickly fixed her face, clenching her jaw to make sure no emotion showed, specifically when she turned to nod at Lord Umber, but by that point most of the crowd had dispursed, and she got her first proper look at Garlan. He certainly looked worse for ware, and though he was nowhere near as doomed as she had expected to find him, Eddmina found herself thanking whatever gods were out there for her nightmares not being the reality.

He was sat up with his back propped up against an overturned wagon, his head tipped back to the sky as if he was avoiding looking down at himself. Eddmina looked on his behalf, and saw what Talisa was working on, as his armour had been stripped away and his undershirt lifted up to expose the dagger wound just between his abdomen and his hip. She only knew what the weapon was as Garlan still held it in his right hand, having obviously pulled it free from himself, and Talisa was holding a cloth to it, much to his irritation.

"What in seven hells," she breathed out, feeling herself tremble, but she didn't force herself to ignore it, knowing the only people who remained with her had all seen her at varying moments of vulnerability; a few shivers wouldn't hurt her. "What happened?"

"Hello, Edd," Garlan called, lifting his head up to grin at her, but it was then that she saw his bloody nose and blackened eyes. Still though, he offered her a wave, and she darted to his side, kneeling next to him as she looking him over closely. "Despite appearances, I'm not dying."

"He really isn't," Talisa assured her, looking up from her work for a split second to offer Eddmina a faint smile, though her eye contact did not last long, as if she didn't want to draw too much focus onto herself. "It's a shallow wound, your grace, it will heal and he'll recover."

Since Talisa had been the one to help Eddmina when she was giving birth, and then help her in the first few months after having Uther, she had inevitably begun to think of the healer as a friend. Except, when the war started, Talisa had found other duties around camp, and Eddmina had been more than understanding when the two of them did not see each other as regularly as they had done. It made perfect sense, men were injured or dying, and Talisa's skills meant that they needed her far more than Eddmina ever would. It made sense, but it didn't stop her missing her, or finding it strange that Talisa didn't really engage with her beyond the required courtesies.

If it was any other situation, if Talisa happened to be stitching up any other man, Eddmina would've thought it through more. Instead, she was far too caught up in Garlan, because no matter what they said, her goodbrother sat slumped over with a bloody wound.

"He'll be alright, Edd," Robb told her, sending his sister's panic.

"Well then could you tell your squire to be a little more specific when reporting on people's injuries?" she demanded furiously, glaring up at Robb.

"I told Olyvar not to worry you but to get you here," Robb sighed before he shot her a knowing look. "I doubt you gave him time to offer specifics though, did you?"

Eddmina didn't answer, sighing when she recalled what Olyvar had actually said. She had been the one to let her imagination run wild and make her think the worst, not the poor Frey boy. She cursed herself for it, but also knew it was only natural, as she had spent so many nights over the past few weeks lying awake, unable to sleep without Willas, and she had unwantedly filled the time by contemplating war casualties. Her mind made her think of her loved ones and the potential harm that could befall them, so one call of injury in the real world had her reeling. She ran her hand over her forehead, rubbing her eyes tiredly, before she looked back at Garlan and laid her hand on his shoulder.

She was still shaking a little, something that Garlan clearly noticed as she dropped the dagger on the floor, reaching around and taking her hand. He offered her a gentle squeeze, making her feel pathetic. It was him that was bleeding, yet it was him comforting her. Perhaps he knew how on edge she was, how she felt as though she was practically waiting for something to go wrong because things had been going seemingly well for too long. Still, she didn't say anything, merely squeezing his hand back, and allowing him to clutch hers tightly when Talisa pressed the cloth too close to the wound.

"What happened?" she asked again when she trusted her voice not to shake.

"We thought they were all dead but one snuck out and ran at me," Robb explained, his voice distant as he watched the healer work silently, removing the cloths as she prepared to sew the wound.

"Dumb fool thought he could end the whole bloody war with one lucky stroke of his dagger," Garlan laughed, though his amusement died the moment he felt Talisa begin stitching him up and he glanced down to his stomach. As quick as he had looked he looked away, his head tilting backwards as he looked to the sky instead. "Maybe I should have let him. Damn you, Stark."

"Thank you," Robb told him genuinely, and Eddmina looked between the two men before she continued watching Talisa work, finding it fascinating. "He got off worse than you did."

Garlan didn't answer. He looked paler than he had done when Eddmina first arrived to the scene, which made her chest tighten in nerves. She squeezed his hand, and though he squeezed back, she prodded his arm with her other hand, making sure he was still conscious.

"I'm alright, I'm fine, I just..." Garlan explained, pausing as he grimaced, closing his eyes to stop himself from seeing anything he didn't want to. "I simply... Don't like blood, that's all."

Eddmina frowned, speechless. She couldn't help but recall the countless times seeing Garlan returning from battle covered in blood. When she glanced up to Robb, she saw him pushing his hand to his mouth to suffocate the chuckles.

"You don't need to tell me how stupid that sounds, father and Loras used to remind me of that plenty," Garlan sighed, looking at her through narrowed eyes before he hissed in pain as Talisa finished her stitching, wiping his wound with alcohol once more. "Anyone else's, I'm fine. Someone could bleed out their life out onto me and I doubt I'd even flinch, but my own..."

He couldn't even say the word 'blood', his eyes closing again as he took a few deep breaths. Eddmina, despite still being surprised, offered him a reassuring smile that she knew he wouldn't see and patted his shoulder supportively. She glanced up at Robb to see he was a little amused at the situation, but there was a shadow of reality hanging over him, as he knew he could've easily been the one getting stitched up, or have ended up in an even worse position.

"My blood is meant to stay in there," Garlan told her weakly, gesturing up and down at his body with his free hands, though he didn't look anywhere but the sky. "I'm not meant to see it."

"Then don't look," she told him kindly, wiping his hair out of his eyes.

"Too late," Robb remarked. "Once that dagger went in and he started to bleed, didn't matter how shallow it was. The men were all so distracted by how he killed him and the fact he'd saved my life that they all think him a hero."

"How did I kill him?" Garlan asked, and it was only then that Eddmina realised how dazed he really was.

"You tackled him to the floor, head-butted him, then stabbed him through the eye with that knife," Robb reminded him, and Eddmina couldn't help but grimace. Neither man seemed impressed with that either, as Garlan shuddered too.

"You should take him back to camp," Talisa spoke up finally, looking to Eddmina as she finished up bandaging the Tyrell. "He needs rest, and plenty of poppy's milk."

"Gods, no," Garlan shook his head as the Starks and the healer helped him to his feet. "I'm not taking that shit, it made Will loopy when the maesters made him have it."

"You're having it," Eddmina told him firmly, making him sigh dramatically, though she also noticed him wincing as he stood, and so gestured for hin to lean on her. "Come on, there's a cart taking people back to camp. Are you coming?"

Eddmina had directed the last question to Robb and Talisa, but noticed then that while she had been scolding Garlan the two had taken the opportunity to look at each other. If Eddmina didn't feel frustration burn inside her, she would have felt her heart sink, especially when she noticed the look they were exchanging. With her arm around Garlan's waist to support his weight, she cleared her throat, snapping the two of them out of their daze.

"We won't be far behind you," Robb told his sister, trying to hide the look in his eyes that had been there only seconds before.

"I'll call by tonight to check the bandages and stitching," Talisa promised Garlan, though struggled to make eye contact with Eddmina.

Eddmina was rather stubborn when she wanted to be, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to stand there and ensure neither of them could enjoy the privacy of each other's company, something they both clearly wanted. Since Robb's betrothal to one of the Frey girls, Eddmina hadn't heard him mention any interest in Talisa, and the war had kept the healer so busy Eddmina hadn't had the chance to speak to Talisa properly. That had left her assuming that whatever had been going on had fizzled out, their chemistry and obvious draw to each other fading away, yet as she stood there and saw the mere way they looked at each other, Eddmina felt a fool.

Eddmina realised why Talisa had barely looked at her. If there was still something between Robb and Talisa, then of course he would've told her about Eddmina arranging his betrothal. Of course Talisa would avoid her, knowing that whatever relationship they had would be faced with nothing but disapproval. Part of Eddmina wanted to be angry, but she couldn't help but mostly feel hurt, that in wanting to do the right thing by the agreement she had made on behalf of her brother she had potentially lost the trust and friendship of someone she admired.

She wanted to be selfish and demand them both to go their separate ways. She wanted to tell Talisa that she'd seen another man with a dozen arrows in him on the other side of camp and tell Robb his bannermen were demanding to see him, but she could feel Garlan putting his weight into her more the longer they stood, and he seemed to be desperately holding back a few grunts of pain. In wanting to keep Robb and Talisa apart, she was putting her other brother at risk, and so with a glare of caution shot to Robb, she helped Garlan turn and the two of them began to make their way slowly across camp.

"You don't seem happy," Garlan remarked as they got halfway across camp.

"I spent my day so far watching men kill each other, I shot a boy who was no older than my sister, and then watched you bleed," she said bitterly through her teeth, though felt him flinch at the mention of his wound. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

"Eddmina, I've known you for a while now, I can tell when you're annoyed," he told her, his voice quieter than before. "Willas and I used to joke about the two of them. Everyone knows that they sneak around together."

Everyone but her, it seemed. While everyone in camp seemed to be aware of a secret relationship between their king and the lead healer, Eddmina had been clueless. While the camp were all gossiping, she had been far too focused on everything else to notice, focused on the war, on her son. She had such little time to spare for herself that she'd never even noticed her brother and Talisa. She'd taken on such a role of duty when it came to her own betrothal that she thought her brother would treat his with the same.

Eddmina wanted to be angry. She wanted to be furious. She had put herself at risk going to the Twins, and negotiating with Walder Frey had not been an enjoyable experience. She had told Robb about it all, especially how awful Lord Frey had been, and how certain he was that the whole alliance relied on him marrying one of the Lord's daughters. Eddmina had told him, yet he hadn't listened. Eddmina wanted to be angry, but instead she was just tired.

"The Frey's are not particularly noble or respectable, but I would like it if he respected the deal we made with them," Eddmina vented in a whisper, relieved when she saw Garlan nod in understanding. "I would not like to disrespect any part of the agreement we made with them. Walder Frey is not the sort of man I want to upset."

"Please don't worry yourself," Garlan said, placing his hand over hers and squeezing it. "It is nothing serious. Come the end of this war, the two of them will never see each other again, and you will be missing Talisa, especially while you have lunches with your beautiful new Frey goodsister."

It was just like Garlan to try and preserve her peace of mind with a joke. Usually Eddmina wouldn't be reassured so easily, but she was tired and it had already been such a long day.

Robb, Talisa, and the Frey's could wait. For that day, Eddmina wanted nothing more than to look after Garlan's wounds, prepare notes on strategy, and potentially enjoy an early night to bed where she could try and dream of Willas and the good days they had yet to come.

Those dreams were rare.

***
Word count: 11260
***