Gods, he wasn't made for running.

Even so, Willas did, or at least, he ambled as quickly as he could from his study out to the castle gates. As he went he passed many staff who double-taked their new lord moving faster than he had done in a while, still whispering about their dowager lady who had sprinted past only moments before. It was impossible to keep up with his mother so he didn't even try, which meant that by the time he got to the gates she was already there, screaming at the guards to open them up and let the visitors in. It wasn't like her, to yell demands, always polite and demure the way a southern lady should be, but Willas understood completely. If his mother felt the way he did, if her heart was pounding like a galloping stallion, if her head was buzzing as if it was filled with an anxious beehive, if she too felt like she wanted to throw up all over the cobblestones until there was nothing left inside... then he was sure he could forgive her lack of manners.

"Do as she says, open the gates," he breathed out, his voice no stronger than a shaken whisper.

By the time he had spoken the gates were already ajar, and Willas took the opportunity to step closer to his mother. It made him feel like a child, but he couldn't help reaching his hand out and finding hers, and she was clearly glad of it as she clasped their hands together tightly, intertwining their fingers without a second thought, squeezing his hand three times. She'd always done that to him as a boy, just as she had done to his siblings, a silent gesture of love, and he wondered which of them needed it the most in that moment as he did the same back to her.

When he tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, he realised just how much he was shaking. He took another deep breath, desperate to still his mind before he faced the inevitable, but then the gates were open and he was practically choking on the air as he caught sight of his brother. Suddenly he felt his mother wrapping her other arm around and it was only when he felt her grab him that he realised the mere sight of his brother had robbed him of all strength and balance, finding it just as flooring as the news of his death had been. He hadn't been able to breathe then either, or see straight, or...

"Hello, mother, Willas," Garlan called, his voice gravelly from nerves as he nodded, an awkward half-smile flashing across his face that disappeared as quick as it came. "Apologies for my late homecoming."

No apologies were needed. Willas was sure Garlan could have been missing for another fifty years and the sight of him would be just as sweet. It didn't matter how long he had been gone, it didn't matter just how much he had wept over him, he was back, and he was home, and that was all that mattered. Willas knew he would have spent the rest of his life waiting for him, and merely glimpsing him and seeing him alive and well made it worth it.

Alive and well might've been pushing it. The Garlan he had said goodbye to in Riverrun was broad and brash, grinning and jesting. That was the Garlan he knew, the Garlan he loved with every fibre of his being. He had been fit, with colour in his cheeks and sparks of life in his eyes that matched Willas' own in colour. Willas had always adored and envied how his brother just constantly seemed at ease in his own skin, constantly sure of his place in the world. Whatever had happened, whatever the Freys had done to him... his brother was much changed. The way he stood was nervous and unsure, as if he didn't know where he was or what to do, and while his left hand was in his cloak pocket, his right fist was clenched around the hilt of the sword on his belt, as if he was primed and ready to unsheath it at any moment. He seemed smaller, as if he had lost weight, paler too like he hadn't seen the sun in years, and his once beautiful shining curls hung limply around his face, shaggy and overgrown, desperate for attention.

Then there was the matter of his face, or, his eyes. Eye. His right was gone, or damaged badly enough to warrant a patch. It was a sleek dark leather, almost the same colour of his hair so it blended in. The stitches were neat, and it was a real feat of craftsmanship, but... but what did it hide? Whatever was beneath was probably why his brother was frowning, grimacing through the aches of an old wound. Willas knew that sensation well enough. Willas wondered what other scars his brother hid, wondered if there were other wounds that were not as visible to the world as his eye was.

Did the other wounds still hurt? Willas' knew what that was like, knew that some injuries never stopped hurting, the pain merely ebbing and flowing throughout life, sometimes being nothing more than a vague nuisance then other times flaring up into agony. When the pain was bad, that was always when he would have a jousting dream, and he wondered if Garlan was the same, if his eye ever ached and made him see that wedding in his sleep. The northerners had mentioned him being thrown into a bog, did he remember it, did he still feel the cold of it? His hand was around his sword hilt, but could he still see well enough to fight, could he see well enough to ride? Did it bother him that he was alive but there was so much about his life irreversibly changed?

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. It was Garlan, and that was what mattered.

His mother reacted first, only letting go of Willas when she was sure he wouldn't fall to the floor. She steadily withdrew herself from him, and took a step closer to her middle son, looking him up and down. Willas wondered if she was thinking the same as him, if she too wanted to track down whoever had hurt him and make them hurt, if she was looking at his injuries and wondering just how he was alive. She must have reached the same conclusion as him, that none of it mattered, because with a small sob she flung herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pushed a dozen kisses to his cheeks, squeezing him tighter than ever before.

"My beautiful boy," she whispered in between sobs. Her face was buried in the crook of his shoulder, muffling her words further, but Willas quite clearly heard her say, "You're home now, you're safe. I'm never letting anyone hurt you again."

"Mother..." Garlan's voice was a pained whisper as he hesitated hugging her back properly, awkward and unsure. Willas knew him well enough to know he was trying to withhold a breakdown. "I'm alright, I promise."

"What did they do to you?" She gasped out, withdrawing from him just enough to hold his face in both hands, studying every detail of him. Only when her hands drifted to the leather strap of his patch did he flinch. "Can I-"

"No," he shook his head, protective of himself, though looked in agony to do so. "It's not... I'm not... You don't want to see it. It's ugly."

"Nothing about you could ever come close to being ugly," his mother vowed, her voice trembling with emotion, but she withdrew her hands all the same, stroking them down his face and back to his shoulders. Garlan winced again. "You're the sweetest sight I've ever seen."

She had said the same to Willas once too, before his tourney injuries healed and his knee still looked a mangled mess. Despair, shame, and self-pity had stopped him believing her, but when it came to Garlan he knew her words were true. Garlan had been there when she'd said it, sat at his bedside as he had done for the majority of the time he was confined to bed rest, and as if he too was remembering it, Garlan tore his gaze from their mother and looked at his elder brother properly.

Willas caught how he swallowed nervously, his knuckles flexing as he tightened his grip on his sword, as if his hands were desperate for something to do to distract himself. He withdrew slightly from their mother, though not completely as one of her hands remained clasped to his shoulder protectively, her gaze fixed on him even if her two sons were staring at each other, waiting to see who would break first. It was obvious both wanted to run to the other, obvious that both had many tears to shed as they held each other, but Willas wasn't sure if he could move without falling over, and Garlan looked as if he wanted to flee the other way. He didn't blame him, he couldn't imagine how overwhelming it all was, to not only be alive but to return back home, and so Willas recalled exactly how he would deal with a skittish animal, knowing to take things at his pace.

Just like he had done with spooked or nervous horses, he held his hand out, and flashed him a fleeting yet reassuring smile. Garlan glanced down from his face to his hand, and dared to take a step forward. Their mother followed, and continued to follow with each cautious step he took, until he was through the gates and officially in the castle grounds, home at long last for real. Once he was through the boundary, Willas couldn't help but crack a grin, desperate to hide how much he wanted to cry, and he expected his brother to snap back to who he had been, expected him to run at him and throw his arms around him, ruffling his hair and calling him some daft childhood nickname. Garlan did none of that, simply because the man who would have done that was clearly altered, and Willas tried to remember that when horror overtook him at the sight of his brother getting down to one knee, bowing his head respectfully.

No. The bannermen kneeling was odd, his family calling him a lord was uncomfortable, but Garlan... His once-dead brother kneeling, instantly deferring to him as a subject before greeting him as a brother was the worst thing he had endured since stepping into his father's position. Bile churned up in his throat, his head spun dizzily, and all he could think to do was shake his head and look up to the sky.

"Get up," he muttered, his voice thick and shaken. "Please, stop it, get up."

"My sword is yours, my lord, if you'll have me," Garlan said anyway, his words sounding rehearsed. Willas wondered as he heard his mother let out a small sob from behind the back of her hand just how long Garlan had been planning how to greet his brother.

"If I'll have you?" Willas exclaimed in disbelieving frustration, letting out a short, bitter laugh. "Of course I'll fucking have you, you thick skulled fool-"

"Willas!" their mother snapped furiously, wrapping a protective hand around Garlan's shoulder.

"No, he's right, I am rather thick-skulled, the Frey's found that out too when they drove a knife through it," Garlan attempted to joke, but it backfired as he himself winced when their mother let out a horrified sob and Willas clenched his jaw to fight his fury, seeing spots as he considered all he wanted to do to those who'd hurt him and took him away from them. As if feeling the awkwardness, Garlan rose to his feet, and nodded at Willas. "I'm sorry for any pain or grief I have caused. It wasn't my intention."

"It was not your fault," their mother reassured, still holding him, as if removing her hands from him would make him cease to exist again.

"Well it was when I was riding around the Riverlands terrorising Lannisters and Freys," Garlan shrugged, as if it was a casual topic of conversation, but Willas saw the shadows in his eye and knew it was not the full story, knew that there were plenty of dark memories that he was not allowing them to be privy to. "I couldn't... I didn't... I wasn't comfortable returning home so soon after what happened at the wedding... what happened to me. I didn't know who I was. I still don't, truly-"

"It's a good job that I know then, isn't it?" Willas cut in, unable to keep quiet anymore, not when his whole being itched to wrap him into a tight embrace. "You're my brother."

Any notion of letting Garlan come to him was instantly forgotten, as Willas bolted to him, closing the remaining space btween them so quick that Garlan flinched. Willas wondered what trauma had caused that, but didn't waste anymore time worrying, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could. It was then that an involuntary gasp came out, as if his body couldn't physically believe what he was doing, who he was hugging, and that gasp quickly disolved into weeping, burying his face into the crook of his neck just as their mother had done. Garlan remained stiff for a moment, but soon broke free of whatever nervous reservations held him in a vice grip and wrapped his arms around Willas, his hands stroking his back as if in some form of comfort through his cries. That was wrong, that was backwards, Willas was the eldest, he was the one who hadn't been through hell, it should have been him comforting Garlan. It took him a moment to realise that in his self-pity, he hadn't noticed Garlan shaking too, trembling the way only a crying man did.

He had hugged his brother many times over their lives, yet no embrace had ever been as sweet.

"I'm sorry," Garlan murmured into him, not lifting his head from Willas' shoulder as if he was unable to dare and look up at the world, at his brother's face. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop, don't, it's alright," Willas shook his head, moving his hand up from his back to grip the back of his head, stroking his fingers through his hair that so badly needed a wash. "I'm sorry. I should have come looking for you, I should have ploughed through the whole Riverlands looking for you, I should have killed every single Frey that even looked at you."

"You should," Garlan couldn't help but agree, and though his failure stung, Willas knew he preferred it to Garlan lying. "You had your reasons, I'm sure. You had our family to look after, you had Highgarden, it was not as if... Father..."

Willas felt his brother still for a moment, as if the mention of their lost father had made him stop breathing. Willas fought off his own grief to squeeze him closer, and when Garlan tore his head up to look at him, the sheer guilt and despair etched on his face was enough to make Willas stop breathing too.

"He's at rest, we buried him just before Loras left, we couldn't put it off any longer," Willas explained, recalling the miserable affair of his father's funeral where he felt more grief over all the family who weren't in attendance than the loss of his parent. "I can take you there if you would like to see the grave?"

Garlan looked horrified, his face paling even more, if that were possible. He shook his head repeatedly, stepping back a little, but Willas refused to let him go, and he didn't withdraw his own hands. It looked as if he was not truly there, his remaining eye glazed over with memories, and that was when Willas remembered what their mother had said over their father's death, a knife to the belly, and he remembered that Garlan had obviously seen it. It wasn't as if he had simply been in the room as it happened, he had most likely been stood next to him and seen it happen, and died himself only moments later. If it were he, Willas knew he would feel a drowning guilt that he was still standing while their father was gone and buried. He let his hand move down from the back of his head to the crook of his neck, squeezing him reassuringly.

"He... I... It was my fault, he took that knife for me, and for..." he began, still shaking his head, but he steeled himself almost instantly with a quick glance to their mother, as if unable to talk about it or show weakness in front of her. "I'm glad he's home."

That was when the sound of someone clearing their throat came, bursting their emotionally-wraught bubble, and Willas glanced around his brother to see the rest of Garlan's travelling party. It was Ser Humphrey who was leading the small group, watching the reunion with a tearful smile, and knowing he was the one to get her son home safe, Lady Alerie threw herself at her brother, embracing him closely as she whispered a thousand 'thank you's. They were not the sort of siblings who hugged often, not the sort who showed any sort of affection or emotion higher than annoyance, but given the situation, neither Willas or Garlan cared to point it out.

Humphrey had taken a handful of guards with him, who all stood behind him loyally, but he had also taken Loras. Their younger brother was nowhere to be seen, and with sinking dread Willas noticed that it was only Garlan, Uncle Humph, and three guards who returned. They had not gone just to retrieve Garlan but...

Eddmina. Lyarra.

Where were they? Where was Loras?

Panic rose up in him against his will, his breath catching in his throat again as he looked between his uncle and his brother, waiting for one of them to offer up some sort of explanation. Somehow, at the same time, their mother had also reached the same conclusion, and she parted from her brother with a concerned scowl.

"You've returned one son, but where are my other children?" she demanded, and though Willas kept a hold of Garlan, he nodded along, glad she was the one speaking, not trusting his nervous temper. "Where's Loras? Where's-"

"My wife," Willas finished for her, not able to stomach hearing her name aloud. "My wife and daughter, where are they?"

"Alive and well," Humphrey answered, raising both hands in a reassuring gesure, as if wanting to still the tempers of his sister and nephew. "Loras is with them, he's taken Garlan's place in guarding her and he promises to send word when they reach Winterfell. My lord, you would be remarkably proud of the pair of them, especially the Princess Lyarra, she looks a great deal-"

"I don't give seven shits what she looks like, I want her here, I want them both home!" Willas snapped.

"She looks like you," Garlan replied stubbornly, and he didn't even flinch when Willas glared at him. "There's a lot of Edda in her, but she's a Tyrell through and through, even if she's technically a Rivers."

"That might not be particularly helpful right now, dear one," their mother muttered quietly, patting Garlan's shoulder gently before she turned back to her own brother. "Winterfell is currently held by the Boltons. Are you saying that-"

"That the Queen in the North intends to take back her home," Garlan answered loyally. Willas wondered just what his brother and his wife had experienced together. He turned to Willas properly, looking more serious than he'd ever seen him. "We should go somewhere proper to talk, somewhere more private. There's plenty you will want to know about the northern war."

"Do you intend to hide away in a study somewhere and discuss battles and figures?" their mother asked, matching his seriousness as she stared at him with a raised eyebrow. Suddenly Willas felt like a boy again, recieving the look from his mother he had gotten on the rare ocassion he tried to skip one of his lessons. "Garlan, my darling, you have more important things to discuss, with someone far more important."

Willas knew instantly who she referring to, and apparently so did Garlan, who looked even paler if it were possible, the little colour in his face instantly draining as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped agape. Willas felt his hand begin to tremble, quickly darting from his brother to grip his sword once more. He looked as if he was about to shake his head and run to the gates, and Willas knew he was not the only one who noticed as their Uncle took a step in his path, subtly blocking his escape route. He wasn't sure if Garlan noticed Humphrey's sabotage, because instead he turned around and glanced at the castle, gazing up in the direction of where his own living quarters were. He took a step away from his brother again, and shook his head.

"I don't think I can, I can't... she can't..." he stumbled, and it was a side to him that Willas had never truly seen. He'd seen him nervous, he'd seen him scared, but never had Willas seen him fall into both so deeply. "I cannot see her, not like this."

Any sorrowful relief of seeing her lost second son returned to her drained from their mother's face as she instead scowled sternly, setting her jaw tightly as she took a step to Garlan. Any sympathy she had for his nerves about coming home was put to one side, because no matter how much she loved him, she had spent months watching Leonette mourn and suffer his loss, and she would not let him shirk his duty to her, no matter how scared he was. He tried to take a step away, but she didn't relent, looping her arm through his. He clearly wasn't as bulky or strong has he had been prior to death, because Willas had never seen their mother be able to overpower him, yet she did, pulling him firmly in the direction of the castle. Wordlessly, Willas watched them, his heart sinking as his brother looked at him desperately, willing him to help or get him out of the situation he desperately didn't want to be forced into. All Willas could do was shake his head.

He would have done anything to have his own wife be at the gates. For Garlan to resist, for him to be reluctant to see his wife even after returning home against all the odds... Willas struggled to sympathise.

He intended to follow, just in case his mother needed back up, but they were barely through an archway leading into the keep before he felt his uncle grasp his shoulder, and he was pulling him into an embrace, offering him one of his typical jolly laughs. Willas wished he could find such joy, wanting nothing more than a large goblet of wine, an possibly another one after that.

"You well, my lord?" Humphrey asked him, but laughed quietly again. "I believe I know that answer will be a negative."

"Thank you for bringing him home," Willas said, his voice tight and controlled. "It is a shame you couldn't bring them all home."

"Right now your wife's home is that camp of hers," Humphrey said, and though his voice was gentle it still infuriated him. "What would you have had me do? Tie her to the back of our horses and drag her back here? Force her hand into leaving the north to fend for itself when she has so many lives depending on her?"

Willas scowled, clenching his fist around the head of his cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Bitterly, he knew his Uncle had a point, but selfishly, he did not care. Could he truly make himself care more about the north when he wanted her so badly? Was the north more important than him, than Uther?

"It took me barely a minute of seeing her to know she is a formidable Queen," Humphrey continued, and jealousy coursed through Willas; Eddmina was his wife, he should have been the one to see her be a good queen. "If she dropped everything to return to you, if she left a cause she cares for and that relies upon her, just to look after her own interests, that would not be her, would it?"

He had a point there, too. Willas sighed, running a hand through his curls, remembering all the times he had seen Eddmina put herself last in favour of looking after everyone around her. He should have known getting her home would not have been smooth sailing, not while people needed her. He simply wished that she knew just how much he needed her.

"But she was... she was alright?" Willas asked, his hand still knotted in his hair. Humphrey let out a sigh of a laugh, clapping his shoulder again. "Lyarra?"

"I offered to bring the babe back with us, told her that a war camp isn't a particularly safe place to raise any child let alone a daughter, but by the Seven, she's quite a fierce wolf of a woman your wife," Humphrey told him, and despite it all, Willas cracked a small, proud smile. "You will love her when you meet her."

'If I get to meet her,' Willas wanted to curse, knowing how much of the unknown still dwelled between then and their eventual reunion. 'Besides, I love her already.'

"I have something for you," Humphrey said then, rummaging in the satchel he wore slung across his chest. "From the Queen in the North."

Willas felt his heart thud in his chest, recalling a gift of his own he had sent for his wife. The cake had been a stupid idea, but he hadn't been able to help it, knowing how much she had craved sweets in her pregnancy, and thinking of her imprisoned and suffering through the ordeal with barely enough to survive had driven him to near madness. He knew what she was like, knew that even as a free woman she would not be eating nearly enough if it meant keeping everyone else fed, and so he had given into his indulgence of sending the cake along, even if it made him look a fool. He had expected nothing in return, except perhaps his wife herself to come home, but then Humphrey pulled out a small parcel tied in string.

He didn't want to unwrap it, just has he hadn't wanted to read the letter he had found from her in Dorne, but he took a deep breath and pulled at the string. The parcel unravelled, the cotton fabric unwrapping to reveal a small wooden figure woven with string and sticks. It was an art form he recognised, knowing them as the figurines usually made for wreaths of the Seven by mothers for their children, though it was a little difficult to decipher who the figure was. It was bulky and looked as if it was holding a sword, and so he thought it could have been the Warrior until he realised the strands of string tied around the waist were meant to be a skirt and the sword was meant to be a harp, making it the Maiden. It was incredibly well made, even if it was tricky to tell who it was, and Willas knew who had made it, making it even more precious.

"She told me that on the way to the Twins she had her mother teach her wreathmaking, she wanted to make one for your boy, but she didn't get much further than this one," Humphey explained, his words making Willas' stomach churn, knowing exactly why she didn't get any further. "Is it the Smith?"

"No," Willas laughed, shaking his head, stroking his thumb over the little wooden face. "I didn't think she would care for these sorts of things, they aren't her gods."

"You should look at the cloth, it is not just wrappings," Humphrey told him, nodding a the small cotton sheet Willas still held. "She told me she worked on this too on the way to that gods-forsaken wedding, she thought the Freys would have destroyed it when they had the northern camp around their keeps burnt, but one of her bannermen found it n her old carriage and kept it safe. I'm sure you'll agree it is much finer work than whichever god she made."

Of course Willas agreed. He had always loved her sewing, he'd found great interest in studying her embroidery and watching her work. It was one of the few typically female pursuits that she truly enjoyed and hadn't just been forced into like her much-hated dancing lessons, and she had excelled at it. Most of her dresses had been self-made, as had most of Uther's clothes, and though she didn't make many of Willas' clothes she often set herself to the task of personalising his shirts for him, hence why he had so many with silver roses or golden wolves stitched onto the cuffs of his sleeves.He would know her sewing anywhere, which was why his breath caught in his throat as he studied the small tapestry he help out in front of himself.

It was unfinished, but that didn't make it any less beautiful, or heartbreaking. She had outlined a border around the edge of the fabric, running wolves and thorned rose vines, but in the cente there was three figures and a great brown wolf. Most of the detailing was in the wolf, though her eyes were unfinished, and the hair of the three figures, and Willas realised it was due to her lack of supplies, only truly having brown thread to work with, though she must have had some grey too, because the lady with the long brown braid draped over her shoulder was wearing a long grey gown, Stark grey, and the little boy with brown curls holding her hand was also in grey. the man at their side with a protective hand on her shoulder had matching brown curls, but his shirt was simply outlined, as if she was waiting to finish it when she had some more colours. He knew she was waiting to have access to green thread, because he knew she had sewn them. Himself, Honour, Uther, and Eddmina. Their family.

On the way to the worse thing that had ever happened to her, on the way to the destruction of all she loved, she had been thinking of them enough to create such art. She had been thinking of their son enough that his absence made her devote herself to work reserved only for those who followed the Seven. She had been thinking of them, just as much as they had thought of her. Willas couldn't help but raise the cloth to his face, pushig a soft kiss to the embroidered lady.

"You are better speaking to Garlan, he had more time with her, but it is obvious to me that she has endured a great deal, and though she might be much changed, some part of her still loves you dearly," Humphrey informed him, his voice uncharacteristically serious, though Willas didn't look at him in favour of studying the embroidery, imagining his wife frowning in focus, cursing when she missed a stitch or accidentally caught her finger with the needle; she'd done it several times in front of him, and had always rolled her eyes and called him a soft southerner whenever he insisted on kissing the wounds on her fingers. "We told her how you feel, I told her all you are doing with your dragon queen, and she sends her regards. Giver her time, let her reclaim her own seat, and then reach out again. Loras will keep them safe, and I've never known devotion like those northerners have for the Stark girls."

"When you say girls..." Willas began, tearing his frown up from the embroidery to finally look at his uncle, his words stirring curiosity deep in him, something not quite making sense. "You mean Mina and Lyarra? Or... Was Sansa there too?"

"Not Sansa, no, the other one, Arya, is it?" Humphrey told him, chuckling at the instant surprise and delight that lit up across Willas' face. "I don't know what you're so pleased about, she threatened to skewer me with that dainty little sword of hers when I suggested she also come south with us to enjoy the safety of Highgarden."

Willas clapped his hand on his chest as he let out a laugh that rivaled the one he'd done when he heard of Joffrey's fate. Arya, alive and fierce as ever. She had been nothing more than a child the first time they met, but from his first introduction to Winterfell and the Starks, he'd felt the youngest lady's gaze on him, constantly watching him warily, especially when the betrothal was announced. She'd watched him just as keenly during their wedding, and the feast that followed, and for the remainder of the time the Starks were in Highgarden she stuck close to her eldest sister like a protective shadow, even if Eddmina always saw it as her job to protect her sisters and not the other way around. Arya only really warmed up to him when he visited Winterfell for the second time, most likely because she saw that her elder sister trusted him, and it had been her who'd bluntly asked about the joust. Not even his wife had possessed the courage to ask him about that day, to ask him how his bad leg had come to be, and the sheer boldness of it was what made Willas understand just why his wife's little sister was so adored by her family.

It was easy to love her, easy to feel that sense of brotherly pride towards her. Sansa was a perfect lady who had wanted fairytales, loving her was like loving the day and the sunshine it brought, but loving Arya was like loving the night, and all the adventures it could bring. It was easy for Willas to understand why his wife cared so deeply for her siblings, especially her sisters, and he'd understood her grief for them when they had both been thought lost. Sansa's return had been a sweet relief, but tinged with the sorrow that she was alone, that she wasn't shadowed by her wild little sister. As Willas let out another small laugh, he couldn't help but wonder just how his wife had reacted to seeing Arya again, how after so many losses and enduring so much having her sister again must have felt like a salvation.

He couldn't expect Humphrey to understand all of that, not if Arya had threatened him, and so Willas basked in his relief alone, merely grinning and wrapping his own arm around his Uncle's shoulders as the two of them made their way back into the keep. Humphrey gave him every little detail of their journey, how they had rode all day and all night, how they snuck into his wife's camp, how she ruled so fiercely yet was till so clearly respected. Willas tried to question him about who was there, which banners had survived, but all Humphrey had to offer on that front was sigils, not knowing any of their names. It was a relief to hear he had seen a bear, and a crossed chain, and given how the leiges had been with Robb, he knew his wife was in safe hands.

They decided to meet for supper so they could talk properly once Humphrey had rested and gotten clean, and so parted ways just before the staircase that led up to the guest chambers. Once alone, Willas let out a small sigh, rubbing his hand across his brow and considered the very real possibility that he wanted to hide in his office and cry, but he didn't have long to linger on that, as he felt something thud into him, a small body colliding into his good leg, small but mighty arms wrapping around him with an excited squeal. Instantly he dropped all expressions of turmoil and put on a smile, hoping his eyes didn't betray what was going on in his mind as he looked down to see his son beaming up at him. Where Uther was, Honour wasn't far behind, chasing after him and only stopping when she reached Willas' side. As if she knew he needed it, she pushed her snout into his hand, nuzzling her face into him.

"Hello, lad," Willas greeted, glad when his voice didn't shake as he reached down and ruffled his hair. He wondered if Lyarra's hair was as dark, if it curled the same way, if she had his eyes too, if... "What great adventures have you been up to today then?"

"Dragons!" Uther squealed instead of a proper reply, though it was not a cry of fear or horror, but pure excitement.

With a small laugh, Willas turned and lowered himself to sit on one of the steps, pulling Uther up onto his lap. Honour hopped up onto the step next to them, pushing her nose against his ear before she licked at the side of his face. While one hand kept Uther on his lap, his other arm looped around the wolf, wondering if Eddmina missed her.

"Which one is your favourite?" Willas asked, hoping that whatever he would say would distract him from everything else happening.

"The green one!" Uther grinned, stating it as if it was obvious; a typical Tyrell. "Honour doesn't like them."

"Honour doesn't like anything that might hurt you," Willas told him lightly, though Uther didn't notice the sheer truth to Willas' words as he fidgeted towards the wolf, reaching out to scratch her head. Willas carefully kept hold of Uther so he didn't put too much weight on his bad knee, though he couldn't help but lean down and push a kiss to the top of his head. "I have a gift for you, my boy."

He hadn't been intending on giving Uther the little wooden figure, mostly because he had no clue how to explain it. How could he tell him his mother made it, his mother who was alive but still so far away with no intention to return home anytime soon, and it had been brought to him by his Uncle Garlan, who was also alive despite having not been for a short while? That was too much for Willas to wrap his head around, and he was five-and-twenty years older than Uther, so he could hardly expect his son to understand it all.

Even so, as he held him on his lap, talking about dragons, he thought of what Eddmina would think to the pair of them and what they were doing in her absence. He doubted she would be pleased that he was allowing their boy to play near dragons, but then again, he was hardly pleased that - despite all the valid reasons - she was still not with them, and neither was Lyarra. That was why, with the tapestry still folded safely in his shirt pocket, he took the little wooden figure out, and handed it to Uther, who gasped in delight, then immediately frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, holding it up and prodding at it gently.

If wolves could frown then Willas was sure Honour would be mimicking Uther's expression, especially as she leant closer, sniffing at the figurine. She looked at it for barely a moment before her tail began thudding down on the step below as she threw her head back and let out a low howl. Willas felt an ache in his chest as he scratched behind her ear.

"It's... well, it's one of the Seven gods," Willas began hesitantly, though his son laughed as if that was absurd.

"But the gods are trees, papa," Uther said matter-of-factly, making Willas laugh, his head falling into his hands.

"Yes, right you are, I suppose," Willas shrugged, deciding not to argue when he wasn't actually wrong. "It was made by someone special, so it's very precious, so you need to be careful with it."

"Might I guess who that special someone is?" a voice called, and Willas looked up to see Oberyn approaching, sauntering down the hall as if he owned it.

"You can, but when he's not around," Willas said quietly, nodding down at Uther, and the nod he gave Oberyn all but confirmed who they were talking about. "Might I ask the next time you're looking after him you don't let him run away from you?"

"What can I say, he is fast when he wants to be," Oberyn shrugged, then frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Willas attempted to lie, but all it took was Oberyn raising one eyebrow to break him, and so he dropped his voice to add, "My brother's home, but she's not."

Oberyn looked as if he wanted to say something, but then more footsteps came down the corridor, and they both turned to see Daenerys approaching, for once without her guards and only with her confidant Missandei. He wondered if she liked that, if the safety of Highgarden that meant she could walk with only a friend was something she enjoyed after a lifetime of running and fighting to survive, but he didn't dare ask, because the sight of her in a gown of her house colours with her hair bound up in several braids made him remember what his mother had said.

She was beautiful. She was strikingly beautiful, so much so that all the history books that described how enchanting the Valyrians and the Targaryens of the past had been made complete sense. All the historians he had once thought dramatic were suddenly vastly understated, because she was beautiful. Yet, one look at her silver braids, and all Willas wanted to see instead was one braid the colour of oak. Purple eyes were stunning, yet so were eyes the colour of the Dornish sea. Daenerys was fire, but he wanted ice.

Just because he felt that way, however, didn't stop his mother being right, because he caught how she smiled upon seeing him, saw how a faint pink tinge rose in her cheeks, noticed how Missandei smirked as if recalling a secret conversation she and her queen had shared in the dead of night when it was just the two of them. A sinking sensation stirred in his stomach, even as he gently lifted Uther off him so he could rise to his feet and bow his head respectfully, because no matter how much he adored her as a monarch, no matter how desperately he wanted to help her and see her sit the iron throne, he couldn't love her in any other way than he already did. She was his queen, nothing else, and that was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Thankfully, it seemed as if she didn't want to have it either, because instead of looking at him for longer than a second, she glanced to the direwolf at his side. An uncommon pet for anyone to have, especially in the south, but considering she had three dragons, he doubted she was phased.

"Lord Tyrell, I was wondering if we might call for a council after all," she addressed him after what felt like forever. "I wish to bring forward our departure, we're taking things too slowly, I fear, and I'm concerned the Lannisters may be planning something that could catch us out."

Leave early? Willas knew they would be going soon, but... Galan had only just gotten home. Instinct made him want to shake his head, wanting to run and hide with his brother the way they used to as boys when unpleasant relatives or banners came calling and they didn't care to socialise. Despite it all, Willas nodded, leaning down to take hold of Uther's hand, sqeezing it three times as he considered all that he needed to do before they left.

"Right, of course," Willas' voice was tight as he ran through everything in his mind. "We can go to the tent, or my study, or-"

It was only out of the corner of his eye that he noticed Honour's heckles rise. She sniffed the air for a second, letting out a low growl that echoed among their group, reminding Willas of wartime. It was the noise she used to make whenever she was around anyone she didn't trust, her lips peeling away from her fangs, and with confused dread, Willas glanced around him. Everyone that was there he had full faith in, they were all safe, they were all people he had complete confidence in. He released Uther's hand to reach out and pet her, hoping to reassure her, remembering how skittish she had been in the early days of Eddmina's absence. She had snapped and howled constantly at nothing, she had avoided him and hid from everyone else, growling at nothing in particular yet never once letting Uther out of her sight, and it was only upon finding out her mistress was alive that Willas considered that perhaps the wolf could sense what was happening to Eddmina despite being so far away.

Perhaps the same was happening, he realised with dread, wondering what was happening to his wife. Before his mind had the chance to linger on that, however, she let out another howl, and took off down the hall. Somehow, he knew that whatever had made her skittish and unnerved in the months before was different, and somehow, he knew that something was happening, but not miles and miles away; within their very keep.

In the distance, he heard a scream, then swords. Without a word or even a glance, Oberyn stalked off, following the wolf's footsteps, his hand on his belt that featured multiple knives. Willas wanted to follow, but how could he, when Uther reached up and grabbed his hand?

"Papa?" he asked concernedly, staring up at him with wide eyes. Willas wondered if his son could ever remember Honour at her fiercest, or if he was that used to her only grumbling if people went near him that he forgot she was a direwolf. "Where-"

"Lord Tyrell!" the voice of several guards came down the corridor, their footsteps thundering.

Willas steeled himself, still holding Uther's hand as he took a step in front of him, shielding him from the guards who approached. He barely noticed how Daenerys watched him with worry, barely paid her any mind at all because the moment the words 'intruder', 'attack', and 'private chambers' came out the first guard's mouth, Willas felt cold duty wash over him. He gave Uther's hand three more squeezes, then looked at Daenerys.

"Council will have to wait," he told her firmly, before turning his focus to the nearest guard. "Stay with Prince Uther, keep him safe or else."

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