Only two days after arriving in Old Town, Daenerys Targaryen was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in the Starry Sept, following the ancient traditions first bestowed upon Aegon and his sisters.

It was the High Septon himself who conducted the ceremony, anointing her in the oils and proclaiming the prayers that had been said for every Targaryen monarch that had come before her, placing a crown decorated with three golden dragon heads atop her silver braids.  It was planned to be a small coronation, attended by only her loyal supporters ho had followd her from Essos and Dorne, but following Willas' suggestion the small folk of the city were invited into the Sept to see their new queen and to get a glimpse of the Targaryen woman they had curiously lined the streets to see in the previous days be crowned as their rightful queen. In the days since they had arrived in Old Town Daenerys had made herself familiar with the city by riding her horse through the streets with Willas while he introduced her to all necessary dignitaries, and that had won her favour with the city's residents, who all seemed more than happy to pour in through the great sept's doors, craning their necks and edging as close as they could get to the dais, anything to get  better view of the last Targaryen.

When her ancestors were crowned, Willas doubted they did it dressed in blue silks, and he also doubted that they were greeted with such awestruck delight, the crowd quick to be won over to her cause. All it took for them to start cheering was the Septon announcing her name, and though it made her devoted guards grimace and clench their fists around the hilts of their swords, Daenerys beamed as she left the dais behind and made her way into the crowd to walk amongst the people. They were her people, the crown on her head made it so, and as the folk of Oldtown embraced her and lifted her up onto their shoulders it was more than obvious that they were happy to be her people. To say she had started her life constantly fleeing murderers and assassins, the adoration she was instantly served must have been jarring, yet no man in that hall wanted her harmed. Why would they, when the alternative monarch was a seven-year-old boy hiding in the shadow of his vein mother and cold grandfather, a boy who only inherited the throne due to his brother's murder?

If they liked her merely because she was a better choice of ruler than a child, that changed the moment she stepped outside the sept, and all who followed and the thosands of others who lined the streets saw her three children. The sight of Viserion and Rhaegal perched on the great domed roof of the sept had people turning pale, pointing to the skies and whispering fearful prayers, while the sight of Drogon landing in the courtyard just in front of the sept doors had people screaming and claiming the world was ending. Their screams were drowned out by the dragons screeches, though the whole city seemed to fall silent the moment Daenerys climbed onto his back, taking her seat on the newly-fitted saddle Willas had made for him before she commanded him to fly. They circled the city three times, swooping and soaring, making the people gasp, curse, and cheer, and Willas knew that the prayers and oils had been meaningless; it was that flight that made her Queen. 

When the spectacle was done, Willas was more than happy to retreat back to the High Tower, leaving Daenerys with her other councillors with the excuse of the steps of the sept straining his bad knee, though the reality was quite the opposite. If his knee did hurt, he barely felt it over the relief of how well the day had gone, as well as the suffocating despair he'd been battling since the moment he had stepped foot in his maternal home. He had expected to enjoy being in Old Town, excited to be in the chambers he'd occupied since boyhood and surrounded by cousins and uncles, yet like most things in his life it was tinged with the memory of his prior visit, and the ghost of the person not visiting again with him. How odd it was, to have a place that was a second home be haunted by a woman who had visited it only once. He had spent such a vast amount of time growing up in his mother's home, yet upon his arrival his first thought was that his wife had marvelled at the city, the sept in particular.

His wife had adored history, and after being turned away from visiting the citadel simply for being a woman, she instead turned her interest to the Starry Sept. The whole morning while watching Daenerys be crowned, Willas had to fight against memories. He'd visited plenty of times as a boy, remembering his first trip there when he had been so young he still held his mother's hand as she knelt by the statue of the Crone and told him about the devotions that needed to be paid to each of the gods, remembering when his uncles took him there to pray before they took him to the battle they knighted him for, but his taking his wife had been different. That visit had been mostly as tourists since his wife had no real need to pay homage to the Seven, knowing she was far more at home in a godswood in the rain than an incenced marble sept even if her mother had tried to instil that faith into all the Stark children. If she had ever followed the traditions of the Seven, it had merely been to please her mother or for duty's sake, recalling how she had forgotten the names of the gods during their wedding. Willas was more than comfortable with her keeping her own gods, even if the rest of the Reach would expect different from her upon becoming Lady Tyrell, so he'd expected her to merely look at the Sept with vague interest. Instead she wandered around awestruck, taking her time at each monument as she asked him how best to pay tribute to each god, lighting a candle for the Mother without suggestion or influence.

He had felt sick when the septon had mentioned the Mother that morning, and it wasn't simply because of the amount of wine he'd drank the night before. When he'd visited the sept with his wife in the early months of their marriage, he'd never expected that the next time he visited the place that she would be dead, and he would be stood at the side of the High Septon as he said blessings and annointed Daenerys Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That was enough to make his chest tighten and his head swim, and so the moment he was back in his room he drew all the shutters closed and hid under the sheets of the bed he'd called his from being a child, burying his face into a pillow so he could suffocate his sobs and the world wouldn't have to see his tears. He'd done the same upon first arriving in the days before when he had sat down at the desk on the other side of the room only to remember how many times he had done the same throughout his life to write letters to his brother in a language of their own creation, and when his uncles had invited him out for a drink in the city and remembered how his brother had gotten drunk for the first time in Oldtown, no longer finding it funny to recall how Garlan's lips had been stained red from the wine so badly his cousins called him Lady Gallant for weeks.

There were plenty of distractions in Oldtown, plenty of work to be done for the cause, yet he struggled to engage with it as he had done in Dorne. Perhaps it had something to do with the new members of their party, because even if Daenerys had quietly sent the Greyjoys away with the task of reclaiming Dragonstone for her, Tyrion Lannister remained with them, and having a Lannister so close made him twitchy. It wasn't just him, because at least in Dorne his losses had been brushed over and added onto everyone elses, while everyone in Oldtown insisted on expressing endless condolences. Willas had resigned himself to listening to every offer of sympathy, every relative or subject determined to tell him how sorry they were, how saddened they are, how gladdened they will be to seek revenge.

'"They didn't even like me,"' Willas heard his father's voice in the back of his mind, accompanied by one of his signature chuckles when one of his uncle's offered his condolences. '"Mourning your brother fair enough, but myself? After a lifetime of being told I wasn't good enough for your mother?"'

That thought would have made him laugh if it didn't make him want to scream. His father would have found Hightower sorrows amusing, but Willas was not his father, nor did he have the patience for finding anything funny, not when word would spread of the corronation quick. That had been the idea, to make a statement, to be bold and fearless, yet the reality of it had set in quickly, and as Willas curled up under the sheets with his eyes screwed shut tight, he wondered if he had made a mistake, if he had exposed them too quickly, if he had endangered his family yet again. Would he have to lose more loved ones? The day they arrived in Oldtown he'd been given a letter by his grandfather from Margaery, a short but sweet note explaining that they were leaving King's Landing secretly to get away from Cersei's maddening grief before it would be too late, but how did he know for sure that they had left, that he hadn't caused more fury for the regent queen while she held his sister and grandmother? How did he know that Tywin Lannister wasn't marching towards Highgarden, ready to put his home under seige? Loras was there, but Loras couldn't singlehandedly protect them all, not their mother, Uther, and Leonette alongside a castle full of people.

Gods, what had he done?

"You wanted me to do something, darling," he found himself saying, almost laughing at how mad he felt for talking to his dead wife. "I don't think this was what you had in mind, was it?"

A knock came at his door before he could spiral further, and he was quick to pull himself together and get to his feet before his grandfather came into the room. Despite his age, Lord Leyton still cut a figure of respectability, his mind still sharp. Willas had often thought that his Hightower grandfather and Tyrell grandmother would make a fearsome duo if they ever set aside their animosities, but he knew better than to suggest such a thing, especially when they were on the brink of another war and his mind felt shredded enough. Even so, he forced a smile, hating the thought of letting onto his family just how much he was struggling.

"You well, boy?" he asked gruffly, then remembered himself, looking to the floor. "Apologies, I mean, my lord?"

"Shut up with all that formality, would you?" Willas sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, hating how his insides twisted whenever his family had to regard him as their superior.

"You are a Lord, and a Lord Hand besides," his grandfather reminded him, leaning back against the wall. Willas took that as his cue to sit back down, perching on the edge of the bed. "I never thought I'd live to see the day my liege was my bloody grandson. By the end of this mess your hair will match your mother's, you know."

Willas did know, and the reminder made him scowl. His mother's hair had always been silver, and though Willas had occassionally found a streak of it in his own curls from being a teenager, during the last few weeks he'd found more and more of it. He wasn't particularly old, not long past his eight-and-twentieth nameday that had gone uncelebrated, but he knew stress manifested in strange ways. He hated it, hated that yet again there was a feature of his appearance his family could pinpoint to emphasise how tired and strained he was. First it had been the beard, then it had been weight loss, would it ever end?

"It's an odd bunch you're keeping company with," his grandfather noted, sensing that he wasn't going to get an answer to his last statement. "Dothraki savages, eunuch soldiers, eastern bastards, disgraced knights, that Dornish Viper... I'm a great deal happier to see him even after what he did to you than have that Mormont prick here."

"Ser Jorah isn't keen on me either," Willas managed a laugh.

"He'd prefer you a great deal to your brother, Garlan bless his soul would have called him 'uncle' enough times to drive him mad," Lord Hightower joked, before grimacing. "Pity your goodfather didn't kill him."

"There's a great deal about my goodfather that I feel pity about," Willas remarked with a bitter sigh, running his hand through his curls tiredly. "As for my brother... Ser Jorah wouldn't hate him, Garlan could wear anyone down into liking him. That's how half the north ended up loving him."

"We haven't had much chance to talk about him since you arrived, or your father, and..." his grandfather sighed, watching him carefully as if testing how far he could go before Willas showed any signs of hurt. "How was your mother before you left? Your brother and sisters?"

"As well as you would expect them to be," he shrugged, guilt weighing heavy on him as he realised how much he missed home. "Do you think me a fool for being here with this odd bunch instead of being at home with them all?"

"Used to be that you get punished for calling your leige lord a fool," his grandfther remarked with a dark chuckle that quickly dried up the moment he caught Willas' tired stare. "I doubt this was your idea, that scheming old woman-"

"You mean my dearest grandmother?" Willas cut in.

"Whatever you wish to call her," Lord Hightower merely rolled his eyes, before continuing, "What you've all been through is unspeakable, it's despicable. It's only fair for your to want to do something drastic, but you're not a rash man. I remember you age nine spending countless hours in the library, not reading but overthinking what you wanted to read, determined that whatever book you picked had to be the best. You've never rushed into anything, you're not like that, but loss does strange things to a man, and you don't need to explain to me what it's like to lose a wife."

"My wife..." Willas began, his voice faltering against his will. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with the leather bracelet knotted around his wrist that was once hers. "Eddmina would have torn apart all Seven Kingdoms for me, she would have fought to the end for our family, so I must do the same for her. I can't let losing her be in vain, I can't let my father and brother have died for nothing. How can I be faced with an opportunity to overthrow those who took them away from me and not take it?"

His grandfather studied him for a moment, before letting out a tired sigh. It was a rare thing for the man to show his age, but as he ran a hand across his furrowed brow, he looked older than Willas had ever seen him. Another wave of guilt washed over him, because not only had he abandoned his Tyrell family, but he had brought danger to the Hightowers just by bringing Daenerys to their city. The guilt was short lived, as his grandfather crossed the room and took a seat next to him.

"There are many who would say Tommen Baratheon is our rightful king, and some who would argue for fallen Stannis' little daughter being queen, if she's even still alive," Lord Hightower theorised. "Those people will see this dragon queen as a usurper, and you a traitor, and will not hesitate to strike you and all her followers down the moment they are able. What's left of your family won't be spared, all of us, your siblings, your mother, your boy. Is this girl worth the risk?"

Was she worth it? Willas had thought so, otherwise he wouldn't have helped her in Dorne by teaching her about Westeros, he wouldn't have planted her an orchard of lemon trees, he wouldn't have trusted her to climb atop one of her dragons multiple times, he wouldn't have brought her to his kingdom and had the highest authority of his religion declare her a queen. What made her worth it, though? Was it just her bloodline and dragons, the things that everyone would see and think of as signs of royal authority? They surely helped, but when Willas looked at her sometimes he was reminded of what it meant to trust someone, to feel safe and want to believe in them. She was so intrinically good at her core, wanting nothing but the best, wanting no child to feel as scared as she did as a girl, wanting no girl to be treated the way she was, and it made it easy to root for her. She was royal, of ancient Valyrian decent, yet she was so easy to be with, lacking all intimidation that he thought authority figures were meant to have. It was easy to love her and want the best for her, and the best would be for her to sit the Iron Throne and rule the kingdoms; Willas was more than happy to help with that.

His wife's letter had asked for him to make sure the north was not forgotten, and a great injustice had been served to her. His service to Daenerys had started purely as vengence for his losses, but somewhere down the line, it had brewed into genuine support, boiling into a loyalty he hadn't felt since the day the northerners crowned his goodbrother King and declared his wife their Princess.

"I..." Willas began, uncertain how to voice it all, until he realised he didn't have to; his grandfather would just know, he would surely just believe him. He nodded, regaining his strength. "She's worth it. I wouldn't have risked everything so far if she wasn't."

"And she thinks you're a worthy Hand?" he asked. Willas nodded again. "Even though you're half-a-Hightower? Does she not know her family history?"

"Of course she does, and I know my family history too," Willas bit back a small laugh. "House Tyrell was practically nothing until the Targaryens. House Targaryen is practically nothing now, until house Tyrell can assist."

His grandfather regarded him seriously once more, studying his face as if to read just how deep his belief in Daenerys ran. He wondered if his grandfather was remembering the boy he used to be, the young lad that would stay in the High Tower for months even though it would irritate his father greatly, simply because his mother wanted him to know her home and Willas liked seeing his uncles and cousins. He wondered if his grandfather was considering where the time had gone, how fast his youth had passed for him to be Warden of the Reach. With a sigh, he clapped his hand on his shoulder, still possessing the strength of a much younger man.

"I trust you, lad, all of us do, so I promise that we will give you and your new queen all you need to win this inevitable war, just as long as you promise me one thing now?" Lord Hightower vowed, looking at him seriously until Willas frowned, when he cracked a smile and ruffled his hair as if he was a teenager again. "Go home. Get yourself back to Highgarden, on the back of one of those great bloody beasts if you have to, and spend some time with your family now before you have to ride back off to war, and next time you visit don't come without my great-grandson."

***

Highgarden was a day's flight on dragonback, and Willas was slowly getting used to the sensation of being in the air, even if he knew he'd never get over the marvel of feeling scales rather than horsehair, even if he suspected he would always curse under his breath and close his eyes upon take off and descent. It made Daenerys laugh how he unconsciously held on so tight his knuckles turned white, but she kept her amusement quiet, not wanting to offend her Hand, especially when their flight was to his home where he would be introducing her to his bannermen.

Drogon landed on the edge of the Mander, a litle too sharp to the point Willas thought he'd go flinging off into the water, and so did Daenerys as she immediately scolded the dragon on Valyrian, but if the beast cared he didn't show it. Instead he leant down to shrug both passengers off before he took to the skies again, chasing after his siblings who still soared overhead in a great circular dance. For a brief moment Willas considered what people would think to the sight, what they would think when they heard dragons screaming at each other for the first time in centuries. They would surely think that fire and death was coming, that the end of all things was near. The Reach had experienced it's fair share of dragonflame, so he knew that his kingdom would struggle to see the three growing creatures as anything other than a dark omen, and not the sign of a new start at all.

Even so, he didn't have the time to waste on wondering how he could change people's minds about the dragons when he realised a procession of guards was riding out to meet them, carrying the banner of the golden rose. It felt like a winding punch to the chest to realise that the banner was not for his father but for him, that it was his house and not simply a house he would one day inherit. Dorne and Daenerys had been theraputic, but it had also made it easy to forget his new duties, ones that were rearing their head almost immediately. He tried to stand up as straight as he could, tried to seem as Lord-like as possible, because as soon as the guards reached them, they removed their helmets, bowing their heads at him.

"My Lord, we didn't know you would be returning-" one guard began.

The guard's voice was cut off sharply as a shining white stallion stormed in front of him, a knight in armour so polished it reflected the sun blindingly. Whoever was riding the horse was quick to abandon their saddle as he jumped off his mount, and ran at Willas.

"Brother!" Loras' voice screamed desperately as he ran to him, enveloping him into an embrace at such a speed he was nearly knocked to the floor, hugging him so tight he could barely breathe.

"Seven hells, Loras," Willas gasped in surprise, laughing. "I didn't think you'd have missed me this much."

"You left me as Lord of Highgarden, of course I'd miss you, it was horrible, don't rush to do it again," he explained with a dry laugh, though as he pulled away from their embrace he grimaced, his nose wrinkled. "You bloody stink. What's that smell?"

"Dragon," Daenerys called, only slightly defensive. Loras looked around his brother to see the silver haired woman, though he still held Willas' shoulder tightly. "You must be Ser Loras, your brother has told me a great deal about you."

"All terrible things," Willas winked at his brother, ruffling his hair and laughing as he scowled. As much as he wanted to linger in that moment, savouring the teasing and the joy, he cleared his throat, regaining his posture as he gestured to Daenerys, looking between both his brother and the guards who were accompanying him. "May I introduce Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons and queen of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Queen?" Loras frowned.

Willas knew his brother well enough to guess what he was desperate to say: 'What in seven's name have you done?'

"She was crowned yesterday in the Starry Sept, just like Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya, and the rest of her royal party is following just behind us," Willas explained.

Loras' eyes narrowed: 'What have you bloody done, you fool?'

Willas raised an eyebrow: 'Trust me and I'll explain everything.'

"I trust Highgarden is equiped enough for a last-minute royal visit?" Willas asked, calling to the guards behind Loras instead of speaking directly to his brother.

"Why wouldn't we be, considering all your bannermen are already here, my lord?" Loras told him, rolling his eyes. Willas fought the urge to elbow him sharply in the side, even if he was grateful Loras had followed his instructions he'd written home with to summon the bannermen, and instead held his hand out to the Queen. "I trust his lordship remembers his way back to the keep?"

"And I trust my knightly brother remembers that I could easily push him into the Mander and ruin his pretty curls?" Willas replied. Much to his surprise, he heard Daenerys laughing, and when he looked at her she was watching the pair of them with amazement.

"My brother never spoke to me like that," Daenerys explained quietly as they made their way to join the guards, two of them dismounting their horses for their lord and his queen. "Viserys had his moments where he was kind but he... he could be quite cruel."

"It must have been hard for the pair of you," Willas noted, climbing onto the horse, silently grateful for his brother's begrudging help in getting him into the saddle, knowing it wasn't the right one to support his bad knee but it was better than having to walk. "My brothers and I never had to fight for our survival as children, I can't imagine what it did to the pair of you."

Daenerys did not respond. Instead she looked up to the sky where her children were, her gaze lingering on Viserion. The silver dragon was Willas' least favourite, purely because it was the first he saw, the creature that had terrified the life out of him, but he'd seen how affectionate she was to Daenerys. Viserion was the one who liked to be closest to her when they were not in the sky, and he found a bitter irony that the dragon named for her cruel and abusive brother was the one who liked to lovingly nudge her face into Daenerys' side, making an odd noise that sounded vaguely like purring whenever Daenerys stroked her scales.

"Do you want to explain why you flew home on a dragon and why there's now three of them above our home?" Loras demanded, pulling his horse into line with Willas'. "We sent you to Dorne to talk to Oberyn about his eastern guests that wanted revenge against the Lannisters."

"Queen Daenerys was his eastern guest," Willas pointed out, rolling his eyes again. "As for Oberyn, he's riding with the rest of the Queen's party."

"Bloody good job grandmother is still away then isn't it?" Loras scowled, and Willas fought off a laugh at how every member of his family resented Oberyn for the joust save himself. "Willas, answer the question about the dragons."

"How about we discuss everything together, tonight over dinner?" Willas suggested, though his stubborn brother didn't particularly care for that idea. "It'll give me chance to wash the smell of dragon off."

"This is Highgarden?" Daenerys called, interupting the two brothers as they turned in the saddle to see her looking up at their home in awe. "It's beautiful."

Flattery, surely, considering Daenerys had lived in some of the finest palaces across Essos with her brother as 'honoured guests', and had seen so many exotic beauties. Even so, as Willas looked up at the white stone keep surrounded by flowers and nature, it was impossible not to agree. Pride washed over him, as well as an overwhelming sense of relief to be home. He'd buried all notions of homesickness in Dorne, simply glad for the distractions that it could provide, and he'd never really allowed himself to feel it in the North and the Riverlands either, but as he looked up at the keep then, he realised that so many times he had come close to never returning home. How good it was to see Highgarden once more, and to be with his people.

They rode up the hill from the Mander, and Willas didn't allow himself to think about all the times he and his wife had laid out on a blanket on that same grassy verge, picnicing, watching the sunset, stargazing. Peaceful, happy times, all of them in the past. He tightened his hold of the reins of his horse, clenching his jaw and staring straight ahead as the castle walls grew closer, the opened gates inviting him in. Stood in the gateway, he spotted someone looking up at the sky, their mouth agape in a mixture of wonder and horror. They were dressed in a dark green gown, so dark it could have easily been black, a welcome sight considering Willas was yet to feel comfortable wearing any other colour, though the waiting woman's dress was casual and loose, hiding the growing swell of her stomach. A feeling of grief stirred in the pit that was once his heart, but it did not last long, not as a grin was inevitable, and Willas forgot all about Loras and Daenerys as her jeered his horse faster.

He was dismounting before he knew it, and his smile still hadn't faded as he approached Leonette. She had seen him coming, but had barely glanced at him, her eyes still fixed on the bright blue sky darkened by three dancing dragons.

"Fucking hell," Leonette cursed, her face as pale as snow. She looked as if she wanted to be sick, but Willas ignored that as he hugged her as close as he was able. "What in seven hells have you done?"

"What, have you never seen a dragon before, Nettie?" he teased, grinning at her, though his smile faltered when he saw how she looked on the verge of tears. "They're terrifying, I know, but-"

"No, not that, you... you look so well," she choked out, leaning up to cup his face in both of her hands, her lip trembling slightly. "I've missed you so much."

"And I you, sister," he fought off his own tears, especially as he couldn't help but glance down to her stomach. "How are you? How's my nephew or niece?"

"Both of us are better for seeing you," she brushed his questions off quickly, flashing him a quick smile, though it seemed unintentionally tired and sad. "I think you have a great deal to catch us up on. Why is it we're getting letters from you in Dorne saying you're the Hand of the Queen and that Daenerys Targaryen is the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"The officially crowned Queen, you should be getting that next letter just as soon as my lord grandfather has sent out the ravens," Willas shrugged, and Leonette scowled at his casual nature, swatting at his arm. "Ow! What? You all sent me off to find a cause for us to follow, now you're hitting me and Loras is rolling his eyes, and I dread to think what my mother will say."

"I don't think us telling you to find a cause included riding a bloody dragon, you reckless bloody fool," she hit him again, but let out a small laugh as her hand wrapped around her arm. "Let Loras tend to your royal guest, there's someone who's missed you far more than I have."

Willas didn't have chance to object, not as Leonette dragged him in through the gates into the courtyard and inside the nearest entrance to the keep, the one closest to his own quarters. Before the joust he had occupied a tower room he had chosen because of the great view it provided, but when stairs were no longer his friend and it became impossible for him to make that trek everyday his family had spared no expense converting some of the spare rooms of the keep into appropriate living quarters for him. He'd resented it at first, but it quickly became home, and he was relieved to be back in familiar surroundings, walking down hallways that he had known his whole life, surrounded by staff and servants who thought of Highgarden as home just as much as he did.

Unlike being in Oldtown, he didn't feel the stirrings of grief mixed with the familiarity, he didn't feel like the ghosts were as suffocating, but perhaps that was because Leonette's arm was still linked with his. Whatever he was feeling, whatever sadness would inevitably envelope him, he knew she would surely feel the same. He didn't understand why before going to Dorne he had wasted so much time avoiding her to avoid their losses, so as they walked through the keep he kept glancing at her with a smile, asking her at least a dozen questions about how she was, how everyone else was, what he had missed, wondering why he would have ever wanted to stay away from her.

Not only did the questions distract him from the guilt of being absent for so long, but it helped him cope with the excitement of who he was being taken to see, because as Leonette led him down the corridor and into the room used as a day lounge, he knew exactly who was waiting for him. As they got closer to the door, he could hear his mother's voice, light and loving as she read aloud from a book Willas was sure she had read to him and his brothers when they were younger. The door was creaked open, and so Willas took a moment before his presence was noticed to glance in at the scene waiting for him, feeling a grin creep up onto his face as he saw his mother sat on the chaise sofa, Uther perched on her lap as she held a book open, his wife's large brown direwolf curled up next to the pair of them as Uther matted his hand into the fur of her neck. He'd missed them, he knew he'd missed them, but only seeing them there reminded him of just how much he loved them, and how every risk he'd taken had been for their benefit.

"Look who I found wandering around the Mander," Leonette called as the two of them entered the room.

His mother's head snapped up from the book she was reading, a grin instantly on her face, though as Willas waved to her he hated how he noticed that her eyes had become tearful at the sight of him. He wanted to tell her that he was alright, that going away was possibly the best thing he could have done not just for himself but for all of them, but he didn't have chance as Honour let out a howl and leapt to her feet, wagging her tail as she ran to him. She seemed bigger, if that was possible, jumping up at him to lick at his face. She hadn't shown that much love towards him for a long time, since before they left Riverrun, and he grinned as he ran his hand through her thick fur. His wife had loved her wolf so desperately, almost as much as she loved Uther, and Willas remembered the little pup she had been when he first met her, how his wife had beamed as she presented the wolf to him who had stared at him thoughtfully with those bright topaz eyes.

Thinking about how much his wife had loved her Honour would have driven him to tears, if he wasn't distracted again by the sound of an excited squeal, and as the wolf jumped down, her tail still wagging, he saw Uther fidgetting out of his mother's grip.

"Papa!" Uther shrieked, leaping off his grandmother's lap, running full-pelt at Willas.

"Hello, my boy!" He grinned back at him, feeling his heart hurt with just how much he'd missed him, swooping him up into the air with one arm as his son wrapped his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Gentle, dear one," his mother called to the boy as she set her book aside, getting to her feet and rushing to join the pair of them. "Be careful with your father-"

"He's fine, I'm fine," Willas told his mother calmly, though smiled as his mother drew him close, pushing a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his other cheek, stroking his hair as she did so. "I take it you've missed me?"

"Tell me you've done something other than ride dragons and sit out in the fine weather, lovely boy," his mother said, as if trying to be stern but couldn't quite manage it with her tearful grin, stroking his face before she placed her hand on his shoulder. "You look as if you've caught the sun, now come and sit and tell us everything."

He didn't want to follow her, not wanting to seem as if he was weak, but his knee did ache and Uther was heavier than he used to be. His son had grown more than he had expected him to, so rather than dwell on the fact that he had missed so much, he let his mother lead him back over to the chaise. He sank down into the soft seat, and though he wanted his son close, he gently untangled his arms from around his neck and held him up in the air, pressing a kiss to his cheek that made him squeal out a laugh. Holding him up meant he could get a good look at him, hating that he was growing so fast, adoring that he was growing so strong and handsome, trying desperately not to feel the ache of despair that he looked so much like a Stark. When he couldn't bare to look any more, he pushed another kiss to the top of his head and set him back down onto his lap, grinning as Honour curled up at his feet to stare up at the boy.

"He's missed you," Leonette told him, her voice a whisper as she took a seat next to him, grimacing a little as her hand cupped her lower back. "He asked me when you first left if you would be coming back or if you would be gone like the others."

That felt like a knife to his heart, and he let out a small sigh against his will. The others... is that really how his son would remember his mother, his uncles, his grandparents? As if she knew the pain, Leonette gently took hold of one of his hands, squeezing it; Willas squeezed it back three times.

His mother had taken a seat on the couch opposite, still looking him up and down, still examining him for any possible change. Wasn't that what he'd just done with his own child? If she had heard what Leonette had said then she didn't mention it, nor did she offer any other upsetting updates on his son, not in favour of grinning at the pair of them. Even though she smiled, Willas could tell it was hiding something, and he knew that just like himself, his time away hadn't fixed all their troubles.

"You didn't let that Dornishman convince you to get drunk, did you?" his mother asked with dread, her frown deepening when Willas snorted out a laugh. "Oh, Willas, I thought I'd told you-"

"Prince Oberyn was a model host, and didn't once put me in danger," he attempted to reassure her, though he lifted Uther up again and turned him so he could press his forehead to his, the little boy giggling as he told him daringly, "Except for when he let your father come face-to-face with a great big dragon!"

"Can I see the dragon?" Uther asked, wide-eyed, still giggling. Though Willas was still focusing on him, from behind Uther he saw his mother turn pale.

"Seven above," she sighed, horrified, her head falling into her hands as Leonette stifled a laugh. When his mother looked up, she shot Leonette a look. "Don't encourage him."

"I'd rather than have a dragon rider than the depressed mess he was before he left," Leonette shrugged, glancing over to Willas as she added, "No offence meant, obviously, my lord."

"No, you're right, and don't call me 'lord' please," he said, stroking his hand through Uther's curls as he looked between both women. "I was a mess before I left, I... I'm sorry I didn't sort myself out sooner, I'm sorry I didn't look after us all the way I should have done. What I did wasn't right, it was not becoming of a lord at all. I'm not saying that going to Dorne has fixed everything, but seeing Oberyn and his family, meeting Queen Daenerys and her party, it's helped me find a focus. I'll explain everything properly over dinner, I promised Loras as much, but I know it seems as if I'm being foolish and reckless. I keep worrying over the risks I'm putting us all through, but I promise if you meet Queen Daenerys you'll understand, you'll see that it will all be worth it, and... It's not just about revenge anymore. Daenerys Targaryen might be able to help us get revenge for what has been done to us, but she's also the greatest chance these damned kingdoms have for thriving."

"If you think allying with her is what is best for us then that is what we will do," Leonette told him with a small smile, a mixture of sadness and pride on her face. "He would have followed you no matter what, no matter where, so you have my full support."

He. His brother. His lovely, glorious, gallant Garlan. Leonette's husband, the father of her future child. Willas tried to ignore how much it hurt to have him be mentioned, but he saw how Leonette's hand ran over her bump as she had spoke, saw how she bit the inside of her lip the moment she had finished speaking so he didn't have to see how it would have trembled otherwise. He wasn't alone in his grief, and Leonette didn't need to be alone either, so he leant over and took her spare hand, squeezing it again, offering her a thankful, reassuring smile, a smile he hoped didn't look strained or tearful.

"Leonette..." his mother sighed, looking between her son and gooddaughter with a conflicted frown. "I don't know if Targaryens and dragons are quite what any of them would have wanted."

"How would we know? It's not as if we can ask them," Leonette shrugged with a scowl, though quickly snapped out of it as she glanced to the floor then back to her goodmother. "It does not matter, anyway. Willas is Lord Tyrell, he's our liege, it is his call to make. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe it's time for another Lord Tyrell's pony lesson, so if you wouldn't mind..."

Uther didn't seem keen to leave his father, nor was Willas pleased to let his son go so soon after reuniting, but Uther took Leonette's hand anyway, and Willas ruffled his hair as he went. With his other hand he waved goodbye to both his father and grandmother, laughing at some joke Leonette whispered to him as she lead him out of the room, Honour bounding after them. Willas tried not to notice how Leonette wiped her thumb under her eyes before she left, and instead turned his focus onto his mother.

It was only upon them being alone that Willas actually noticed how tired his mother looked. She wasn't wearing black anymore, but she wasn't wearing her usual greens either, instead dressed in muted grey. It made her look grey too, and it was the first time he realised his mother wasn't as young as she used to be. He hadn't noticed before he'd left for Dorne, too blinded by avoiding his own pains and ignoring everyone around him, but losing her husband and second son had clearly taken a toll on her, and he couldn't imagine worrying over her remaining children and looking after Uther had been much help for her. Guilt was a familiar feeling for him lately, but feeling it for his mother who usually worked her hardest to shield him from all her struggles was a new sensation.

"He's been a good distraction," she told him, glancing off to the doorway where Leonette and Uther had once been, as if she had read his mind. "A tiring one, but a distraction nonetheless. A clever little thing, I'm assuming it was you that taught him the whistles different birds make?"

"Who else would be boring enough to remember the different bird whistles?" Willas said with a shrug, hoping the self-depreciation would hide just how proud he felt.

"You are not boring, you are remarkable, and don't you dare ever say otherwise," she snapped gently, getting up from the seat opposite him and sitting down at his side. "You are not boring, you're my boy, even if you are a lord now."

"Mother..." he sighed, wanting to unpack the past few months but not sure where to begin other than by asking, "How are you? Truly?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," she chuckled, smiling at him, though the expression was tinged with a little frustrated sadness. "I was fine enough until last week. As if worrying over you and Margaery was not enough, as if running after Uther was not enough, then your brother invited all the bannermen. I know he was following orders you gave him, but... If one more Lord offers me their deepest condolences then I am going to throw myself into the Mander."

She had let out a bitter laugh as she said it, and had rolled her eyes too. It was intended as a joke, but Willas recalled the last time they discussed what had happened and how she had joked about running low on sons. She would never openly talk about the state of their family or how she felt, not to Willas if she thought it would inconvenience him.

"Surely they mean it as a gesture of goodwill," Willas suggested, but he did not believe his own words.

"No amount of goodwill will bring any of them back," she pointed out, before looking regretful. "I am sorry. I didn't want to become such a bitter creature, nor do I want to burden you-"

"You're not," he cut in, his voice insistent. "Please, mother, talk to me truthfully."

"Well then, in truth it's nice having the castle be a bit more full, to see the staff a little busier rather than walking on eggshells around us all," she sighed before sitting up a little straighter, sounding almost diplomatic. "Leonette has found it horrid, I thought she nearly broke Lord Bulwer's youngest son's nose when he offered her a remarriage, but after that incident she's kept away, and kept Uther away too. Loras has kept them all occupied while they waited for you to return, he's been such a good lad, you should be proud of him."

"I'm always proud of him, and if I hear anyone offer themselves to our Leo then I'll wring their necks," he told his mother, making her chuckle again even if it did still sound hollow as she patted his cheek. "You are more than entitled to being angry that your home has been invaded by well-meaning but infuriating bannermen."

"Lord Ambrose told me that it was an unfortunate accident," she recalled, and Willas saw how her jaw tightened frustatedly. "What happened wasn't an accident, nor was it unfortunate. They murdered them, they... I'm sorry."

"Do not say sorry for telling the truth," Willas shook his head, ignoring how his heart raced and his eyes stung. "Cutting my wife's throat wasn't an accident."

"Is that what they..." she breathed out, clearly not knowing that detail as she looked at him with horror, taking hold of his hand. "Oh, my boy, I didn't know."

"Neither did I until I heard some singers telling the tale in a tavern in Dorne, Oberyn told me he would take care of it," Willas explained quietly, feeling like he was a small boy confessing to some minor misbehaviour.

If his mother cared about his confession to being in a tavern then it was overshadowed by the look of horrified sympathy she wore, her brow furrowed and her cheeks pale. She let out a shaky sigh as she took hold of his hands, squeezing them tightly. If that was her reaction, then Willas didn't dare tell her how Arrianne told him afterwards that Oberyn broke the musicians fingers and made them vow to never sing the song again.

"That poor girl," she whispered, almost like it was against her will. "Poor, poor girl."

"I'm sure they did the same to the others," Willas said with a forced shrug, trying to sound as if his heart wasn't in a vice though his voice was thick and shaken, as if imagining them all dying the same way would make the agony less.

"No, dear boy, they didn't do the same to them all," his mother sighed again, then instantly looked at him wide-eyed as if realising she'd revealed some sort of secret. She cursed under her breath before squeezing his hands again, looking him in the eyes. "I do not think your brother would have had chance to tell you, but... an envoy from the west arrived two weeks after you left with... oh, gods, with your father's body. It was a knife to the belly for him, not to the throat. My poor love."

Anger burnt through him then, so badly he had to fight not to scream or jump to his feet and smash something. If his mother was not still holding his hands, he might have forgotten himself, might have allowed his fury to win, but he felt her thumb stroking over his knuckles, and suddenly remembered himself. He could see how desperately his mother was trying to conceal her own agony and anger, how badly she was doing at hiding it, how she was only trying to cover it up for his sake, so he took a deep breath and squeezed her hands, willing her to look at him.

"It was only him they brought home," she continued before he could say anything, as if she knew what he would ask and it would be too painful for her to hear. "They brought Eddmina's wedding ring with them, I had it put in a box for you in your room, you don't have to look at it until you're ready."

Her ring? The ring he'd given to her as proof of his care for her as the sun set while they picnicked, the evening he pledged for the two of them to make their own traditions? The ring he'd never seen leave her finger? The ring he had promised to be joined by an eternity ring for their children? He had images of the ring being forced off her cold hand, being bent out of shape as the Freys laughed at her. Had they parted her from her other jewellrey too, the little ring she wore on her thumb or the Stark locket that had hung from her neck everyday since her ten-and-eighth nameday? Had they really sent a little piece of jewellrey back in place of her body, expecting that to be good enough?

"We haven't held a proper funeral yet, I thought you and Margie should be home for that, your grandmother too," his mother continued, knowing his mind was racing and knowing he needed the distraction. "I am glad he is home, I truly am, but... It's not fair."

"Little about this is fair," Willas agreed, wishing he didn't have to be the strong one, wanting to burst into tears and have his mother wrap her arms around him. "They only returned him? Not... Not Garlan, or..."

"No, darling," she shook her head, and Willas looked at the floor to avoid seeing the heartbreak in her eyes. "My husband gets to come home, but poor dear Leonette's doesn't? Why not? I understand if they think he's a traitor, but... I lay awake every night wondering what they have done to my beautiful boy."

Willas clenched his jaw, and knew his mind was set. If he had wavered from Daenerys' cause briefly out of fear for the family he had left, then hearing his mother's grief set him back on track. Whatever they had done to Garlan, whatever had been done to his wife, he would not let any of them rest or know peace until they had answered for their deaths. The Lannisters and the Freys would burn and suffer, and even if it wouldn't bring them back, he would at least be settled knowing they were avenged.

He had hardly noticed that he had risen to his feet and paced over to the window until he realised his gaze was fixed on the three dragons still in the sky. They were not as terrifying as he had once found them. No, they were beautiful; it was humans that were terrifying.

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Word Count: 8975

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