"Come to kiss me farewell, Princess?" Theon called with his signature smirk as he saw Eddmina walking across camp to where he was readying his horse for travel, so early in the morning that there was still a slight fog in the air.

"You wish," she rolled her eyes, pulling her cloak closer as she felt the chill of the breeze. "How do you feel?"

"Thrilled," he grinned, though she knew him well enough to know when he was being sarcastic. "Shame for you, though. Me leaving, your husband leaving... I bet you're disappointed the timing didn't work out better."

"Theon, get a grip," she glared at him, already regretting rising early and losing precious time with Willas to say goodbye to Theon.

When he acted like that, Eddmina wondered why she even bothered. When he made comments like that, she wondered what she had ever seen in him in the first place, what had made her invite him into her bedchamber all those years ago. She was unsurprised by his behaviour though, having known him so long she was unfazed. In fact, she was a little concerned, given that he usually made such crude remarks when he was nervous or unsettled, using it as a way to put distance between himself and everyone else. He'd done it for as long as she'd known him, but she'd never managed to build up a complete resistance to it, merely learning to push away the immediate need to hit him long enough to figure out what it was that made him act in such a way.

"The next time I see you, we will have won this war," he promised her, finishing up with his horse. He turned to her, his arms folded cockily. "And I'll be a proper Iron Islander."

"A proper Iron Islander who is full of shit, as usual," she folded her own arms, biting her lip to fight against her smile. "This war is not that straight-forward, I'd hope you know that, and this won't be an easy task. You swore you'd always be there for Robb, I'd hope you'll remember that on your journey."

"Of course I'll remember that, he's my brother," he grew serious, frowning. "Don't you trust me?"

"I do, that's what scares me," she sighed, allowing herself a small smile as she looked him in the eye. "Promise me you'll take care."

"I'm going home, Edd, nothing can hurt me there," he laughed at first, then saw the genuine concern in her eyes, the look she was so desperately trying to conceal. "Robb needs this. I won't be gone long, and when I'm back we'll have a fleet of ships, and perhaps your husband will have won the favour of the Baratheons, then we can go and make the Lannisters shit themselves so badly the whole of the south will turn gold."

"Beautiful language choice," she replied stoically, rolling her eyes once more. Still though, she couldn't ignore the ache inside, the fear that she couldn't help that she was saying goodbye to someone else she held dear, no matter how much he frustrated her. "I have already lost my father, and my sisters are prisoners. I have one brother at the Wall and two more far away in Winterfell. My marital family most likely all hate me for convincing my husband that this war is a good idea. I cannot bare to lose another family member. I hate myself for saying this because you're never going to let me forget it and torture me for the rest of my life for this, but I cannot bare to lose you."

Theon looked her up and down for a moment, his face deathly serious. He recalled the first time he ever saw her when he first arrived in Winterfell. He saw her stood with her brothers, wearing a dress of Stark grey with mud around the bottom hem, her hair tied into a braided bun, a stoic expression perfected even at that young age, holding her younger sister, the girl that later grew into Arya. Even at the age of ten, Eddmina Stark seemed to be a perfect vision of a girl who knew who she was, and for a boy torn away from everything he knew, he hated it. He later found out that she was completely at a loss for who she was, and how she detested what awaited her in life, but even so, she continued to intimidate Theon with the courage she approached life with, and the grace in which she took what she hated face-on.

He loved her from the moment he saw her, even as children. It was not something he knew how to express, nor was it something he really wanted. He bullied her and ignored her, mocked her and gave her the cold shoulder, but it didn't scare her away or get rid of his feelings. If anything it impassioned her, and he found her even more endearing the way she threatened him. She was fearless and strong, and despite himself he imagined taking her home to Pyke and making her Lady of the Iron Islands; a vastly different fate than the one that awaited her with the flowery Tyrells.

Then came the night of her ten-and-fourth nameday, when Lord Stark had held a feast to celebrate his eldest children. He'd seen all the young ladies flock to Robb, wanting his attention and the good fortune of a dance, while Eddmina attracted no focus at all, except from her mother who seemed to be correcting her posture, her clothes, her accent, her everything. Theon had snuck out of the hall in the hopes of finding some serving girl he could take to bed, but instead realised Eddmina had also left. He found her out in the armoury, looking for a bow, and when he asked her what she was doing, she told him all about her plan of running away, her plan of fleeing to the East. He'd laughed in her face and called her a fool.

"You don't want to leave your home, Edd," he'd laughed. "You don't have the guts to survive without your family. You wouldn't survive a day."

"How would you know?" she'd snarled at him.

"Because, as someone who's been forced out of my home, you don't have what it takes to make it alone," he'd felt his temper rising, yet still managing a smirk. "You're too much of a sheltered little lady to survive out in the East. You'd be crying out for your brothers in no time."

Theon had not known where his anger had come from, but he later realised it had been the thought of her leaving, leaving him behind. She'd hit him and bruised his jaw, but a fortnight later she invited him to go riding after supper, and after their ride invited him back to her chambers. It was everything he wanted, but at the same time, nothing at all like what he had expected. She kissed him, nothing more. It had driven him wild, knowing how much he wanted her, knowing she was completely ignorant to it all.

He could've told her. He could've told Lord and Lady Stark about their secret meetings. If he had told them, they would've arranged a marriage hastily to protect their daughter's virtue. Perhaps then if they'd married he might have felt like a real part of the family, and not like an extra body in the room, just like Jon Snow. Perhaps marrying Eddmina would have made him happy, but she had been happy in their arrangement and their secret, so he'd kept it for her sake, and was beaten to a proposal by a bunch of Southerners.

Things like that tended to leave a bitter taste in Theon's mouth. He didn't tell her, nor did he tell her parents, and instead he had to watch her fall in love with another man who he thought was highly inferior. He had to watch her join another family he thought was foolish. He couldn't help but be irked by it all, how could he not?

Yet when he looked at her then, the bitterness left, every single trace of it. Theon reached out to squeeze her arm, but forgot that idea as he instead hugged her tight. He savoured having her so close, no anger or animosity between them for once, and Theon tried not to imagine what their lives would look like had he just told someone how much he adored her.

Eddmina didn't love Theon. She never would. She'd given her heart away to someone else, but that didn't mean his lifetime's worth of feelings could suddenly disappear.

"You're right," he told her quietly when he knew he could bare touching her no longer. "You're really going to regret telling me how dearly you care for me, how you would mourn for me for the rest of your life and name your next son after me."

"My next son will be called Eddard," she replied through a clenched jaw, pulling out of his embrace to punch his arm. "You should get going before I break your nose again."

Despite everything, Theon grinned.

Despite everything, Eddmina grinned back.

***
Saying goodbye to Willas and her mother was less straightforward than it was saying goodbye to Theon. He had only been gone an hour when the riding party for the Stormlands was ready to set off, though unlike Theon, Eddmina wasn't seeing their party off alone. Robb had said goodbye the night before, but Garlan had joined her, and she held Uther on her hip, which only made saying goodbye to her husband worse.

While she watched the Tyrell brothers embrace, wishing each other well and joking about Willas reuniting with their family, Eddmina took the opportunity to say goodbye to her mother. Lady Stark clearly didn't want to go, but she was a highborn woman, and it was not the first time she was having to do something that she didn't want to simply because it would benefit someone in the long run. She was gracious enough to accept it, and Eddmina found her rather brave.

Lady Stark kissed the top of Uther's head, stroking his arms and smiling sadly when he grasped onto her finger.

"Your father would have loved him," her mother said, her voice tired, though she was forcing a smile.

"I know," Eddmina nodded, looking at her son and trying to ignore how similar he was to her father. "He's lucky he has so many people around him who love him and will tell him stories of his grandfather when he's old enough."

"I know what it is like to raise children in a time of war, it isn't easy, but to raise him in this camp..." Lady Stark spoke, trailing off as she saw her daughter struggle against frowning.

"I don't have a choice, mother," she sighed. "Robb needs me, and I won't abandon him, not now."

"I know," her mother nodded quickly, as if trying to eliminate the thought that she had doubted Eddmina's parenting. "After this, I will be going to Riverrun to see my father. Perhaps you could come with me? It will be more comfortable for all of you."

"Comfort doesn't matter, it's the North and this war that matters to me," Eddmina spoke too quickly, her usual defences shooting up as she refused to be helped, but she stopped herself, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. "Thank you. I will consider it."

Lady Stark looked at her daughter with proud heartache. The girl was too stubborn and selfless for her own good, but she wasn't a girl anymore. She was not a girl, and she couldn't be controlled or advised by a parent. She had lost her father and outgrown her mother's guidance. Lady Stark didn't know whether to be pleased that her daughter had grown into such a fine woman who knew her own mind and carried enough strength to control her own life, or if she should grieve the child she had once been.

Either way, it was Eddmina who hugged her mother first, and she didn't protest when she felt her mother push a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, savouring the parental affection, and suddenly she was back in the godswood, sat on the log next to her father with his cloak draped over her shoulders, his hand squeezing hers. That memory had once been so lovely, her last encounter with her father, but over the last few months it had become so utterly spoilt by her grief that she could barely think of it. It hit her then unexpected and unwanted, and served no purpose other than to remind her that she had lost one parent, and nothing would stop the world from taking the other.

"Please stay safe," she whispered, quiet enough that only her mother would hear. "Please, please, don't be gone too long."

"I will be back before you know it," her mother vowed, her voice also low.

Eddmina remembered the last time her mother had promised her something similar. It was back in Winterfell, when she was going south to investigate who had sent the killers after Bran and Eddmina, and she had promised to be back before any of them missed her, before Eddmina gave birth. Eddmina couldn't help but doubt any promises her mother made in regards to returning back to her. It wasn't something she wanted to remember, not since she was trying to build a better bond with her mother, but Eddmina found the past kept rearing up it's ugly head in the worst way. Bitter memories made their appearance, and left her feeling uncertain about everything, especially her future.

The night Lady Stark had promised to return home to Winterfell was the night Eddmina had felt Uther kicking for the first time, and he made himself known again as he tugged at both women's hair, his hand tangling into their braids. Eddmina yelped slightly, while Lady Stark laughed; a rare sound. The two of them left their embrace, offering each other one final smile as Eddmina worked their hair out of Uther's iron-fisted grip.

It was only when Eddmina straightened up that she saw Willas watching them. They had said goodbye properly in the tent that morning, that way Eddmina didn't have to risk any of the men seeing her get emotional or act affectionate, but he clearly wanted one last farewell before he mounted his horse. Lady Stark saw the look exchanged between them, and her face fell into an expression of devastated envy, obviously still wanting a husband of her own to say goodbye to. Even so, she moved aside, and let Willas take her place.

"I love you," he told Eddmina softly, taking hold of her shoulder and squeezing it tightly three times as he smiled at her, as if everything was good with the world. His gaze fell to their son, and his smile grew as he stroked his hair. "Be a good boy, won't you?"

"Don't worry, I will," Garlan called from where he stood holding the reins for his brother's horse, wearing a signature Tyrell smile as he winked.

"I'm going to kill him," Willas sighed to his wife in amused exasperation before he focused back on his own little family. "Look after yourself. Don't work yourself too hard. Remember even if you are the Hand of the King you need to eat, sleep-"

"Stop worrying," Eddmina rolled her eyes, though couldn't help but smile. "You're one to talk. Don't ride for too long without taking a break, don't hurt yourself trying to prove something."

"I think we know each other too well," he sighed, looking unbothered at her mentions of his bad leg as he smiled. "I will see you soon. I promise."

Eddmina wondered if her father had said a similar goodbye to her mother when he left Winterfell. She wondered if Willas' grandfather had said a casual goodbye to his grandmother before he went riding, only to ride off the edge of a cliff. She wondered what her father's guards had said to their families when they left the North to go to King's Landing. She was sure they all had promised to reunite, they had all sworn to see each other again. No one could ever guarantee reunion, and the reality of it dawned on her. Her chest tightened, and she found herself looking over Willas' face frantically, desperate to memorise every detail of it in case she needed to live off the memory of him for the rest of her life.

Willas noticed her face fall, and soon his hand had gone from her shoulder to her jaw. His thumb stroked over her cheek, particularly the scar, and he was resisting the urge to grab hold of her and kiss her so passionately that she forgot all of their troubles. He couldn't do that, though. There were enough people around to see, and Eddmina's repuatation would not benefit from a big emotional display.

"Look at me," he spoke, his voice calm. "I will be fine. Your mother will be fine. You and Uther will survive without me."

"I don't want to," she said before she could stop herself, hating how desperate she felt.

"Neither do I, but I'm doing this for the good of us all," he told her. "I will be back before you can even miss me. I'd say be strong, but you're already the strongest person I know. Just try and remember that. Soon we will be home, and all of this will be a distant memory."

She nodded quickly, as if willing herself to believe him. When he pushed a quick kiss to her cheek, she didn't consider what others would think of her. Repuation be damned, she grabbed hold of his collar with one hand, pulling his face to hers as she pushed her lips to his. If it was truly the last time she would see him, she would hate herself if the memory was clouded by manners and protocol, keeping her feelings at bay just so men would not think less of her. Their kiss was not long, but it said all that she felt words incapable to express, and when they separated he looked as though it was the first time she had ever kissed him. He looked as if he could barely keep his thoughts together, and it took him a moment to recall what he was meant to be doing. He kissed her cheek again, just because he wanted to, then kissed the top of his son's head, before he turned to his horse.

Eddmina didn't want to watch, but she made herself anyway, even if her chest felt as though it was going to burst open. Garlan came to stand with her, not saying anything, not touching her, but he was there, and that was all she needed. Willas offered her one final wave, as did her mother, but they both turned to focus on the road ahead of them, surrounded by their travelling party of guards.

"Wave goodbye," she told Uther quietly, adjusting her hold on him so he could see. He seemed to then notice that for the first time in his life his father had left him, and he began to cry. Eddmina brought him closer, stroking his head, all while keeping her eyes fixed ahead, where she could just about see Willas in the distance. "I know, I know. I'll miss him too, but he'll be back soon. He'll be back. He promised. He's a good man, he wouldn't lie, he wouldn't leave us."

Eddmina managed to get him to stop crying after a few moments, and it was then that she steeled herself. She turned to Garlan, her jaw clenched tightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, sure that no one else would see.

"It's been a long morning," she admitted. "But we have work to do."

***
They had been travelling for just over two weeks on the road to the Stormlands, and Willas and Lady Catelyn were still yet to have a proper conversation.

It was no fault to either of them, and it wasn't like they hadn't spoken to each other at all. They made polite small talk, discussed the weather, discussed the birds that Willas couldn't help but point out, but their conversations never ventured into anything of worth. Neither of them knew why particularly, but it surely had to be a mixture of Lady Stark not knowing what to say to him, and Willas not wanting to say anything rude. He'd seen his wife disrespected by her mother enough, after all, and he wasn't sure if he was able to put it all aside in favour of talking to her.

Not to mention, Willas had enough going on during their travels without factoring in his difficult goodmother. He'd expected it would be difficult to visit the Stormlands again after so long, after his last visit had permanently changed his life, but he'd not realised just how strange it would feel arriving back there. The constant riding had made his bad leg ache, and each pain no matter how subtle served as a sour reminder of what had happened on his last trip there. He knew several of the people who'd been there to see his joust would be serving Renly, and he couldn't help but wonder what they would think of him. He was very much like his wife in his hatred of the sympathy of others, and he detested the thought that those who had seen what happened the day of the joust would see him and look on at him with pity.

He didn't need pity, nor did he want it. His last visit to the Stormlands had nearly killed him, and the months of recovery that had followed had been horrific. Yet, if the joust hadn't happened, he would have wed a woman who didn't love him. He would have continued to chase aimless glory in tournaments, he would have never discovered what true love and happiness meant. His last visit had, in a way, led him to Eddmina, and she had given him the greatest gift of all; her love, her life, and their son. It was a struggle arriving in the Stormlands, knowing that all anyone would see of him was his leg and how it had happened, and not what his life truly was, which was good.

That line of thought had led to many sleepless nights. His mind never stopped racing, his leg was constantly aching, and every bed he slept in without his wife felt too large, too cold, too empty. To wake up and not see her next to him was torture, to not see their son was agony. He knew they were safe, but it didn't stop him missing them.

On the morning of their third week travelling, Willas emerged out of his tent to face fierce winds, and knew they were truly in the Stormlands. According to their guides, they would be at Renly's camp by the afternoon, but for that morning, the whole group didn't seem to be in any rush while they broke their fasts on warm soaked oats. He saw sat closest to the fire was Lady Stark, and though instinct told him to take his food and go back to his tent, he instead decided against it, and sat down on a tree stump across from her.

"Good morning, Lady Stark," he greeted, noting the way she looked surprised at his presence.

"Good morning, Lord Willas," she replied, as manners dictated. Then, quite unexpectedly, she added, "I suppose you're looking forward to seeing your family soon."

"I suppose so," he said, as it was something he'd spent a lot of time thinking about. "Margaery and Loras, yes, but my father... I can't imagine he'll be too pleased to see me. I don't think I left things on the best terms with him in Winterfell."

"Ah," she replied simply, not wanting to pry but wanting to know all the same.

It would've been easy to fall into silence. Their small talk had reached a point of conclusion, and it was normally the point when they would go their separate ways, but Willas sighed, trying to figure out what to say next. He wondered if she felt the same, if she too was desperate to make an effort, but when he looked up at her he saw she was looking to the fire, completely unbothered.

"Lady Stark, I love your daughter," he said eventually, looking her in the eye when she glanced up at him, clearly alarmed at where his statement had come from. "I love her more than anything else in this world, and I would do anything for her. When I had to choose between her and her family or my own, I chose her, and I would make that choice over and over again."

"I know," Lady Stark replied slowly, taken aback by his serious, unexpected declaration.

"I love her, and I love her family, and her home, and everything that she stands for, and so I don't really understand what it is about me that you struggle to accept," Willas spoke, his voice still calm, but he was working hard to keep his temper in check. The more he thought about it, the more infuriated he got, but this was something he'd planned on saying for a long time so he managed to keep cool. "I am southern, I'm a little older than her, my family is a little richer, I'll admit my family are also foolishly ambitious. I'd understand if you don't like me because of all that, but Eddmina manages to, so I don't know why you can't put your dislike aside for her sake. I know the two of you haven't always seen eye-to-eye-"

"You don't understand my relationship with my daughter," Lady Stark interrupted coldly, still not looking at him. Willas was surprised that it was that part that bristled her.

"Don't I?" He couldn't help but raise his eyebrow, holding back a bitter laugh. Somehow, something snapped in him. "Or did I spent the night after our wedding consoling her that she was scared to have children in case she'd make them feel the way you made her feel? Did I spend most of my time in Winterfell alone because my wife was constantly running around looking after people in an effort to prove herself? Did you not leave her alone time and time again when she needed you, when she was pregnant, when she had been attacked, when she lost her father? Yet, Mina never once complained, because she loves you, and all she wants is to make you proud and be loved by you."

It had all been uncalled for, every single word that had come out of his mouth. Willas regretted saying it as soon as he'd spoken, but he'd not been able to hold his temper any longer. He'd not realised how much he had wanted to say it all until it was out, realising that every word had been brewing for a long time.

If Eddmina knew he'd said it all, she would've been furious. If Eddmina had heard him she would've felt like he'd betrayed her trust, using all her secrets he'd been allowed to know just to take out his anger on her mother. Even so, she was not there, but Willas had sat by and seen her get hurt too many times to not say anything. He'd started the conversation to try and work out some level of respect between him and his godmother, and instead wound up letting out all his pent up anger, which would surely only further damage their relationship, but he didn't have it in him anymore to let it go unsaid.

"None of that is your business," she snapped, glaring at him. He'd hit a nerve.

"It became my business the day I took her for my wife," he replied simply, refusing to back down.

"I am not a bad mother," she said, her voice pained and hollow, and Willas couldn't help but feel guilty; he'd not intended to imply that.

"No, you're not," he agreed, and her head snapped up in shock to look at him. "You love your children, anyone can see that, you and Eddmina just don't know how to communicate with each other. My grandmother insults my father and calls him a fat fool everyday of his life, yet we all know she would do anything for him."

Lady Stark sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire. Willas wondered if she was going to speak again, or if he had let his anger destroy any chance of ever getting along with her. When she did meet his gaze again, her eyes were tired and bloodshot, as if fighting back pain. Suddenly Willas realised that his wife got her bravery and strength not simply from her father.

"All I want is for her to be happy," she said eventually, not looking at him. "If the two of you ever have a daughter, you will understand. It is all I have ever wanted for her, but I've always known that what makes her happy isn't what ladies should find happiness in. Archery, riding, even singing all the wrong songs..."

"That's why I love her," he confessed, feeling a small, fleeting smile appear, remembering the first time they ever went out riding, the first time he saw her hit the bullseye of a target with her arrow, the first time she sang for him.

His smile grew sad then, only for a moment, as he realised he hadn't heard Eddmina sing properly for such a long time. She sang Uther to sleep every night, but it wasn't the same. She used to find such joy in it, and when they'd first wed he'd collected books of songs for her from all over the world. Eddmina had taken pleasure from learning each new song, especially when they had been in Highgarden, and when they had visited Dorne, but he could barely remember the last time he heard her sing properly, for an audience other than their sleeping son. Willas supposed it was just another part of their lives that the war had altered.

"I just wanted her to fit in, and be the sort of lady that she was expected to be," Lady Stark continued. "She'd listen and take all the lessons in but then just... carry on as herself. She never believed the fairytales, even as a little girl, not like Sansa. She seemed to resent it all, everything that was awaiting her in life, but I knew the more I pushed her, the more she would rebel against what she was meant to be, so I merely... left her to it. I thought she'd flee the North before you and your family were meant to arrive, and I thought she would've fought against marrying you. You're southern, you're oblivious to the north and her traditions, you're the exact sort of match I expected her to hate, but instead of fighting, she just... accepted it."

"She accepted it because she knew the family needed it from her," Willas sighed, because as much as it pained him that his marriage was founded on nothing but his wife upholding her family's expectations, it was true. "She knew the King had written to her father, she knew the crown expected it and to refuse was to embarrass her father and her whole family, perhaps the whole North. She might be a bit of a rebel, but Mina has an impeccable sense of duty."

"You're right, I simply never saw it until you were married," it was Lady Stark's turn to sigh in misery, as if she was mourning that time, back before her daughter was married, when all of the Starks were safe and lived in Winterfell. "When you returned to Winterfell I could see how much she cared for you, but I just didn't understand. You were the exact sort of match that she was meant to hate, yet she paraded around with you proudly, and you didn't seem to care if she did things improperly, and you seemed to just embrace her life as if it was not entirely different to everything you were raised to understand. You... both of you... you just didn't make sense."

"I love her," he replied simply with a shrug. "Somehow I'm lucky enough that she loves me too."

"I just didn't expect it," Lady Stark practically announced, looking at Willas as if she was trying to see him properly for the first time, her eyes narrowed as she struggled to see beyond the past. "I didn't want her to go. I didn't want her to marry some stranger so far from home, not while she still seemed determined to keep me at arm's length. When she left I lost any chance of getting closer to her, and when she returned, she was so changed that I felt as though I had lost her completely, and the only person I thought to blame was you."

Willas let the words settle in the air for a moment, not daring to look away from her, until she eventually looked back to the fire. He looked to the sky, noting the birds migrating from tree to tree, and tried to listen out for their calls. It was what he did anytime he had to face something he didn't want to. He could remember so many mornings in his chambers in Highgarden confined to bedrest after his joust with nothing to do but sit and watch the birds, using it as a form of escape from having to think about his leg. He caught himself watching the sparrows then, and sighed, looking back down to Lady Stark.

He wondered if Eddmina knew any of what her mother had said. Of course she didn't, because Eddmina told him everything, even if it was personal to her family. He felt a strange, uncomfortable privilege settle over him at the thought of having such an uncommon insight into Lady Stark.

"Ned liked you," Lady Stark declared bluntly into the silence, and Willas felt his breath catch in his throat upon hearing her. When he looked at her, he saw her eyes closed, as if hiding from the reality that the man she spoke of wasn't there to tell him himself. "He told me once after Edda had written to him, and she'd said you had started building a godswood for her. He thought you were... different, but he thought you had a good heart."

Willas swallowed slowly, feeling his chest tighten. He'd always had such a deep respect for his wife's father, even more so since he had been killed and Willas saw the impact he'd had on everyone who'd had the chance to meet him. To think that Lord Stark had actually liked him too, and not just endured him for the sake of honouring the alliance the King had forced him into... Willas looked up to the sky once more and tried to spot the birds, but they seemed to have disappeared.

"I do not dislike you, Lord Willas," Lady Stark said, after another silence. When he managed to look at her, he saw her watching him with concern, and she was offering him a sad smile.

"I don't dislike you either, Lady Catelyn," he managed, running a hand through his hair. "Perhaps we should be kinder to each other, start fresh? It's not as if there will ever be a time in which we are no longer part of each other's lives."

Lady Stark looked him up and down, but it was not long before she held her hand out. He didn't realise how relieved he was when he took hold of her hand with his, shaking it. He wished Eddmina were there to see the two try to find common ground, he wished she were there to have heard her mother and know that she was trying. Yet, his wife wasn't there, she was miles away with their child, helping her brother lead a war. That was what he was meant to be doing too - helping the cause - and so he heaved himself up from where he was sat, offering his hand to Lady Stark to help her to her feet.

Whilst they had been talking, their travelling party had been readying itself, and they re-joined camp to find it ready to move, and so they mounted their horses and began their day. Neither one spoke, but not because they did not want to, but because they had found a comfortable silence, discovering how to exist simultaneously without their usual awkwardness.

Except, now Willas wasn't having to plot in his mind what he could say to clear the air with Lady Stark his thoughts were far less occupied, and he kept catching them wandering onto the memories of his last visit to the Stormlands. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly each time he caught himself, grimacing and clenching his jaw, all while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead of him. He was not a nervous rider, he never had been, not even after the accident. It had not been his horses fault just as it had not been Prince Oberyn's fault, and the day he had found himself well enough to get back on a horse after a long period of recovery was one of the happiest of his life, save his wedding day and the day his son was born. Yet, that morning, he felt tense, as if his mind refused to let him live in the present and see nothing but what had happened to him.

"Are you well, my lord?" one of the guards called to him, and it took a while before he realised he was addressing him. Willas swallowed, before nodding quickly, forcing a smile. "We may stop, should you need-"

"No," he said, a little too quickly. He noticed Lady Stark at his side looking over with concern, but he refused to acknowledge it. "No, thank you. I'm alright."

'Alright' was an odd choice of word, especially since he could feel a nervous coil tightening in his stomach, threatening to burst. His head was pounding, though he was unsure if that was simply his heartrate that he could hear echoing around his skull. That had happened after the joust too, as if his mind had made sure he could hear his heart, the beats like a countdown as he waited for-

'No,' he thought. 'Stop. Don't think about it. Think of anything else. Think of Mina, or Uther. Think of Garlan and Leo, or Loras and Margie.'

Margaery was a sufficient distraction. He imagined what Queenhood would've done to his sister, whether he would find her changed or if she would just be the same as always. He'd always hoped to see her married to a man who loved her, a man powerful enough to meet her ambitions, as she had inherited the family wish for titles and legacy. He'd never really cared about that sort of thing, especially when it came to his siblings. Garlan had wed for love, something Willas was infinitely grateful for as it had brought Leonette into their lives, but he was the second son, and he was allowed that privilege, as was Loras. Willas and Margaery's marriages were to always be strategic betrothals, meaning they'd have very little control over it all, so all he could do was hope that whatever man his sister ended up with would be one who cared for her.

Renly Baratheon was not the man he had imagined, but yet it made perfect sense. It would have made sense even if he had not declared himself king, but ambition aside it was not a match for the right reasons. It made sense and Willas had almost expected it, and he liked Renly. Yet, he struggled to embrace the match when he knew what sort of relationship lie between Renly and Loras.

Whatever happened between his sister, his youngest brother, and the man who now called himself King was not something Willas knew, nor was it something he thought he wished to know. All he'd ever wanted was for his brother to be happy, and safe, and he would do anything to ensure both of those things, but to complicate matters by involving Margaery seemed baffling. He'd hardly thought of the match save whenever Garlan would joke about it, managing to put it to the back of his mind while he dealt with more important things, but with them growing closer to their camp, Willas had to face it, and he had to think of what he was going to say to them all.

He barely noticed that the day had settled into late afternoon until he felt the wind rise. When he pulled himself out of his thoughts, Willas noted his surroundings, and realised with dread that the war camp they were approaching was set exactly where the tourney had been based all those years ago.

'The gods must find me an amusing thing to poke fun at,' he thought bitterly, but somehow managed not to let it show.

Instead he focused on how vastly different Renly's camp was to Robb's. There were far more guards on the outskirts of the northern camp, and those who were milling around camp didn't look as worn as the men who fought for Robb. Renly was yet to fight a battle, and it showed, given how content many of the men seemed.

"It's all too... clean," he found himself saying aloud, noting how Lady Stark nodded.

Willas grimaced as he noticed a man walk past their party, wearing Tyrell armour. Men of the Reach were known to take pride in their appearance in battle, but the man's armour was spotless, without a single dent or scuff; he had not fought, yet he paraded his armour as though he was a battle hero. He thought of Garlan, who looked bloody and broken each time he returned from battle, like he had gone to wherever the fighting was the thickest simply because he was needed there, and Willas made a mental note to tell his brother how brave he was the next time he saw him.

When they were eventually stopped, their guards explained their presence, and thankfully they were expected. It was advised that they dismount and be presented to King Renly, and so Willas and Lady Stark followed instruction, continuing their journey through camp on-foot, following the Baratheon guards. As they ventured on, Willas realised he could hear cheering, and the sound of sword against steel.

"Is something happening?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"A small tournament, my lord, to celebrate the union of his grace and his new wife," the Baratheon guard told him. "It is the melee right now."

"Another fucking tourney," he cursed under his breath, but he couldn't help the surge of anger as he spoke louder, "And that's a productive use of time while the kingdom is torn by war? You're all playing, while men die on the battlefield for real?"

The Baratheon guard did not answer, but Willas saw Lady Stark nodding at him. She agreed, she also found it a crude display. It only got worse when they reached the main courtyard and saw a great crowd formed around the two who were fighting, and he saw the fine silver armour decorated with roses and vines darting around with a sword, being smashed into by a bigger, better fighter. The guard let him and Lady Stark through the crowd so that they were at the front, a perfect spot that provided a clear view for him to see his little brother, the Knight of Flowers as the bards called him, fighting in the melee as if his life depended on it.

"Is that not..." Lady Stark began, but trailed off when she saw Willas pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Yes, you remember my youngest brother, don't you?" he sighed, lowering his voice. "I taught him to fight better than that."

If Lady Stark was surprised by the thought of Willas fighting with a sword, she concealed it well, focusing her attention on the fight in front of them.

"My son marches off into battle, while these men do it for fun?" she muttered to him quietly, and because he felt like it was appropriate, the two of them sharing disgust, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

That was when he looked beyond Loras and saw the raised viewing platform, twin thrones placed upon it with a stag banner mounted next to the golden rose Willas was so familiar with. Sat upon one throne was Renly, who in fairness looked every bit of what a King should look like, regal and fit, sporting a new beard and a golden crown resembling stag antlers. Sometimes he understood Loras' attraction to the lord of Storm's End, especially when he saw the fine green robes he wore, but then he remembered Robb, and how his goodbrother was a king too, yet he wore leathers and armour, and a crown that could easily be turned into a weapon should the moment call for it. There was nothing grand about Robb, nothing that screamed regal, yet that was what made him such a good King.

Sat next to Renly was Margaery, a sight so wonderful Willas felt his heart leap, and despite it all he couldn't help but smile. She had not noticed him, so enraptured in Loras' fight, grinning and cheering him on. She looked happy, but Margaery had always been so skilled at courtesies and playing games that he wasn't sure if he believed her smile.

When Loras' opponent knocked him into the mud, and pulled a knife out, pointing it to his throat, Margary's smile died. As did everyone else's in the crowd, everyone around them falling silent save the few who whispered remarks about the defeat. Willas tried to fight it, but he found himself unable to stop the laughter that escaped.

"Yield! Yield!" Loras yelled frustratedly, and when his opponent moved away he pulled his helmet off and threw it to the ground. He was brooding the way he did as a child, whenever he would lose in a horse race; it was a face Willas knew well.

When his opponent unveiled themselves it turned out Loras had been beaten by a short-haired, square-jawed woman, and perhaps Willas had spent too long with the axe-wielding Mormont ladies, as he didn't share the horror or shock that circulated around the crowd. There were murmurs and whispers, but all he could think was that his wife would rather like the woman who'd just beaten his brother to the ground. He wasn't surprised either when the woman - who was named to be Brienne of Tarth - was welcomed into Renly's personal kingsguard. He thought of all the times he'd seen Dacey Mormont return from battle, bloody and filthy, because she'd followed Robb wherever he'd gone, warding off any threats to her King. He thought of his wife and her position of Hand of the King, and how all the northerners regarded her with the upmost respect. Willas hadn't realised the concept of women in positions of conflict and power had become so normalised to him until he saw everyone's reactions around him.

Lady Stark nodded solemnly to the guard who had escorted them, clearly tired of the charades of Renly's melee, and the guard stepped forward.

"Your grace," he called, and the two of them followed. "I have the honour of presenting Lady Catelyn Stark, and Lord Willas Tyrell, sent as envoys of Robb, Lord of Winterfell."

"Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North," Lady Stark reminded them coldly, because even if she had hated them crowning her son, she wasn't going to let anyone forget it.

Willas nodded in agreement, trying to stay serious, though that became harder once Margaery saw him and shot up out of her seat, beaming at him. She looked as if she was about to jump off the platform and run at him, the way she used to when they were smaller, but she stopped herself, remembering the fact that she was a Queen, and queens didn't tend to throw themselves at their older brothers. Instead she sat back down, containing herself, though her smile didn't fade.

Loras didn't share their sister's enthusiasm, his arms folded across his chest as he stood off to the side, wearing the same grimace as before. Willas thought it was simply leftover shame from his defeat, worsened by the fact that he hadn't known one of his older brothers were watching.

"Lady Stark, Lord Willas, we're pleased to see you both, you are most welcome here," Renly greeted, flashing a wink to Willas, who tried to be subtle in rolling his eyes.

"We're so sorry for your loss," it was Margaery's turn to address them, though her eyes were fixed on Lady Stark, who seemed surprised at Margaery's genuine sympathy. "My goodsister Eddmina always spoke so fondly of your husband, he was a good man."

"My Lady, I will see the Lannisters answer for your husband's murder," Renly vowed, and Willas bit back a bitter laugh, clenching his jaw. He knew his brother and sister noticed, but he didn't care, desperately trying to keep his temper under wraps as he considered how, if Renly hadn't fled from the capital in the first place, Lord Stark might still be alive. "When I take King's Landing, I will bring you Joffrey's head!"

The men surrounding them cheered, but not Willas. He'd heard too many people promise that same thing, to Lady Stark, to her children. The more he heard it, the less he actually believed it possible.

"It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord," Lady Stark spoke, but Willas could tell how Renly's words had riled her too.

"Whether it be justice by you or the many other men promising us Joffrey's death," Willas muttered, though his brother heard and shot him a glare, as if offended he would dare question Renly's authority.

"'Your grace'," Renly's newest King's Guard Brienne snapped at them both, fiercely protective. "And you should both kneel in the presence of a king."

"If I kneel we will be here all day," Willas joked quickly, hoping it hid his annoyance, though the only person who laughed was Margaery.

"There's no need for that, Lady Stark is an honoured guest and Lord Willas is, after all, family," Renly smiled at them both, but Willas couldn't help remember the last time he had seen them, in Winterfell, when he abandonned his family for the sake of Eddmina. He could tell Renly was remembering it too. "Tell me, how is your wife?"

"She is well, thank you," Willas said, unable to help the smile that grew when he thought of her. "She's serving as Hand for his grace, King Robb."

"Some King he is if he's sending you and his mother to do his bidding," Loras remarked, and though Lady Stark remained cold Willas turned and glared at him. "Has he marched against Tywin Lannister yet?"

"Have you marched anywhere yet?" Willas shot back. He'd had a lifetime's worth of practice when it came to arguing with Loras, and he wasn't afraid to use it. "What business is it of yours, you wanted no part in his war?"

"If he wants a pact with us he can come himself," Loras said, clearly riled. It was almost amusing how the brothers could do that to each other so quickly. "And if Eddmina is his Hand then-"

"Then what?" Willas cut him off, raising his eyebrows questioningly, unable to help how protective he became purely at the mention of his wife's name. "What would you have my wife do?"

Willas loved Loras, and he knew his brother felt the same, yet the relationship they had was vastly different to the one he had with Garlan. Garlan was closer in age, and they had grown up as confidants and partners, while the seven year age gap between eldest and youngest brother meant their relationship ended up shaping into rivals. Loras grew up watching his two elder brothers, wanting nothing more than to be just like them, if not better, yet they were both already so brilliant at everything they turned their hands to. It didn't help that Garlan was naturally a jokester while Loras was more serious, often leading to many misunderstandings and disagreements. It didn't help their father and grandmother enjoyed pitting them against each other in the hopes that their competition would lead to further greatness, yet all it had done was push Willas into jousting before he was really ready and create a rivalry that would threaten their brotherly bond.

Willas loved Loras, but it didn't take much for them to fall back into competition. Except instead of horse races or swords or jousting, their competition had become war and their opposing sides. Margaery noticed, looking between the two of them cautiously the way she always used to if she sensed her brothers on the verge of an argument. If Garlan was Willas' ally, then Margaery was Loras', but that didn't take away any devotion to any of her brothers, meaning she was constantly caught up in their nonsense shenanigans. Even as a Queen, she was shoved into a middle man role, forever caught being the peacekeeper.

Before she had chance to say anything, it was Lady Stark who stopped their disagreement from going any further, shooting them both a look that silenced any words that they might've said. It was a strict, motherly look, one that she might've given to any of her own children had they been arguing. He knew he shouldn't, but Willas almost liked it.

"My son is fighting a war, not playing at one," she said coldly, and the whole coutard was watching her with solemn respect.

Renly took a moment, looking over the two newcomers, before he smiled, rising to his feet.

"Do not worry, my war is just beginning," he told them sincerely, though he looked eager and naive, not at all like the northmen Willas had grown to call friends, the men he knew were fighting a real war.

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