It was still dark outside, the stars still shimmering while the moon lit the camp, but Eddmina felt as if she had lived several lifetimes in the few hours she had spent in the war tent.

She wasn't tired, and it was a good job too, as sat across from her, Loras looked wide awake and desperate for her tale as he had requested. She was weighing up how best to start, what to include and what details to omit, staring down at the table as she contemplated it all. Eventually she decided the best way to start would be removing Robb's crown from her head, stretching her neck with her eyes closed as she placed it down in front of her. She would never get used to the weight of it, never get used to how bare she felt the moment it was free from her. She hadn't realised it had become a shield, a form of armour that protected her from people seeing her as anything other than a Queen, a queen unafraid of killing and vengeance.

She didn't want to be a Queen with Loras. She wanted to be herself, even if she didn't really know who she was anymore.

"I almost forgot," Loras cursed suddenly before she had the chance to speak. She watched him warily as he reached into the satchel resting on his waist, fishing out a small parcel wrapped in wax paper tied with string. He placed it onto the table, sliding it towards her. "My brother asked me to give you this."

Eddmina raised her eyebrow, suspicious of whatever it was that Willas wanted her to have but couldn't give to her himself. Going against her instincts, she rolled her eyes and sighed as she moved it closer and pulled at the string, allowing the wax paper to fall away and reveal a small lemon cake. It had seen better days, considering it had been in Loras' satchel for a two-week journey, but the sight of it still made her chew at her lip, desperate to fight off any sort of emotion.

She would not cry over a cake, she refused to cry over a cake.

"He said it's one of your favourites," Loras explained with a shrug, rolling his own eyes at the absurdity of his eldest brother. Eddmina was surprised by just how protective she felt, uncomfortable with the thought of Willas being mocked by his brother. "He told me to apologise that it's not a wheel of cheese but given the sugars it was the safer option to send."

"Right," she nodded, not looking anywhere but the cake, wary to touch it as if it was a piece of hot coal, not wanting to eat it in case it was poisoned or her eating it was taken as a sign of surrender.

She hadn't had anything sweet in months. In fact, she'd eaten very little in months. All in the camp had insisted on her having bigger rations since she had Lyarra to look after, and if not for her then she was sure the guilt of getting more food than everyone else would have drowned her. She looked at the small cake barely as big as her hand, and that guilt coursed through her once more. She wanted to break it into pieces, offer a slice to everyone even if the slices ended up the size of crumbs. It was not fair for her to have it alone. Her sister at least deserved it, but she realised with stinging sadness that the sister she was with was not the one who cared about lemon cakes.

Arya had never cared about lemon cakes, but Sansa did. Sansa loved them so much it was easy to forget that they also happened to be Eddmina's favourite too. She hadn't helped that forgetfulness at all throughout her life, because lemons were a rare thing in the north, making the cakes even rarer. On the odd occasion the cakes made their way onto the dinner table or in the kitchen, Eddmina would see how her sister's eyes lit up with delight, and would slide her own portion onto Sansa's plate. It made her sister happy, that was almost better than eating it herself; almost.

It wasn't until Highgarden that she allowed herself to indulge. In Highgarden she didn't have any little siblings to look after, she didn't have any brothers to chase after or sisters to make happy. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like, to simply look after her own desires and interests, to merely eat a cake because she wanted to. She'd almost forgotten what being looked after felt like, what it felt like for someone to look after her and her interests. Willas used to smile each time he saw her treating herself to foods she liked, he used to encourage her to eat then grin whenever she did so. Without him there to remind her, she'd barely realised how often she forgot to eat at all, let alone treat herself.

Willas used to encourage her to eat, yet he never came to rescue her from the Twins. The bitterness in her towards that abandonment made her want to throw the cake across the tent, because how could he simply send a sweet to her through his brother instead of saving her and think it made everything right? She clenched her jaw, thinking of how alone she had been, how discarded and forgotten she had felt, how hard she had struggled to stay alive. A lemon cake didn't make it all right, how could Willas even think it would?

Even so, she ate it. She wasn't sure why, whst made her make the decision to eat it all, if she was unknowingly wooed by the gesture for the kindness it was meant to carry, if she ate it out of spite, of if it was simply due to her stomach feeling like a hollow pit. The journey had made it stale, but Eddmina was sure she'd never eaten anything greater. She was sure she'd never eaten anything that reminded her she was alive. Perhaps that was what Willas had intended, and against her will she felt her lips turn up into a small smile.

It was an expression that quickly died when she caught Loras watching her, waiting expectantly for her promised tale. Whatrever slight joy the cake had brought withered, and Eddmina swallowed uncomfortably, knowing it was time for business.

"I don't know what you know, what you were told," she began, straightening her posture against the back of her seat. "I don't... I don't want to talk about the wedding, it's still..."

'Still fresh, still stings, I can still smell it and hear it and-'

'Stop,' she thought. She had crumbled once already, had given into her panic more than she cared to.

"What I will say is that I am incredibly sorry about your father," she shook her head, shaking the spiralling thoughts away. Loras clenched his jaw, desperate to control his own emotions. "I would trade places with a great many people we lost that day, but him... He sacrificed himself for Garlan and I, and Lyarra too by extension, and I will never forget that. He was a good man."

"I know," Loras said, swallowing back a lump in his throat as he nodded, stubbornly refusing to give into his emotions just like her. "They sent his body home while my brother was in Dorne. My mother was... she was as you would expect her to be, but not getting you and Garlan returned to us was the worst of it."

Gods, that hurt. Eddmina fought not to wince, but she couldn't help how her hands formed nervous fists, or how her throat began to sting. The issue with thinking so lowly of herself was assuming she would never be mourned or missed, so to know that a woman she respected more than most others had been so saddened by the thought of her not only dying but her body being disrespected... Eddmina didn't know what she was feeling, but realised with discomfort that it ached almost like feeling loved.

"I didn't give Lyarra your mother's name on a whim, I... I think very highly of her," Eddmina told Loras, working hard to keep her voice still and unshaken. "I never meant to hurt her or cause her any upset, I... During that wedding, I thought it would be easier to die than have to face her and tell her that both her husband and son died trying to protect me."

"She was more upset thinking that you and Garlan assumed you wouldn't be welcomed home," Loras said, and Eddmina struggled to meet his eye, struggled to face up to how hard he clearly found the whole situation but was having to put up a front. "What happened? What did they do to you? Your northerners told us about Garlan, about what the Freys did to him... to his body... but they only told us that you killed them all. When we travelled through the Riverlands looking for you, all anyone was talking about was how quiet it was now the Ghost of the Twins had stopped singing in her tower."

"I always thought I knew what it meant to be cold, I thought being northern and growing up in summer snows taught me all I needed to know, but... it was so cold, being a prisoner," Eddmina's voice sounded hollow as she began, unsure what to say but allowing the words to come as she felt them. "When they... when they took my Robb, after I killed Roose Bolton with that heavy bloody crown, they carried me down to the cells below and chained me up, just as we had done to so many other war prisoners. It was dark, it was cold and damp, and I think it would have been easier if they had just cut my throat. I screamed so much I think cutting my throat might have been less painful too, actually. They didn't feed me for days, didn't do anything but taunt me and threaten me, and when they did actually bring food it was..."

Flint. She hadn't let herself think of her beloved horse for so long, the beautiful creature that had carried her from being a teenager, the horse she had ridden to Highgarden and back, not to mention all through the war. She felt her eyes well up with tears as she recalled the taste, remembering how the Freys had snickered at her as she realised the meat was familiar to something she had eaten in Dorne and they were all humming Brave Danny Flint at her. She remembered how desperate she had been not to cry in front of them, especially when she had realised that if she refused to eat any more, she would endanger her child. Lyarra had kept her eating, but it was her own selfish fury that had her attack the Freys the moment she was done.

She shook her head, refusing to linger on the thought of Flint. If she did, she would be lost. She forced herself to be stoic once more, looking back at Loras to see his mournful curiosity. She had to keep going, he was owed that much.

"I don't know what Cayn and Harwin told you, about my... my habit of killing Freys," she continued. "I never knew I was doing it, I would simply black out in a rage and snap back to see their body in front of me. Sometimes, when I was in the cells, Edmure would tell me what they had done to anger me, but he mostly tried to tell me we would be okay, we would get out, the Tyrells or our Uncle Brynden or someone would come for us. I tried to remember his optimism when the women Freys convinced the men to move me to the tower when they discovered my condition and that I wouldn't be forced into drinking any tea that would change that, but the tower gave me a great view, and I could see quite clearly that no one was coming to save us. I was alone. I thought perhaps something had happened, that the Lannisters had you all killed too, but then... then Lord Tywin came and presented me with evidence that proved otherwise."

"Eddmina, I promise you, whatever he showed you was done just to buy us time," he explained, paler than usual. "You know what our grandmother is like, she and Margaery had plans for revenge. Any alliance to the Lannisters and the crown was simply lies to distract them while we found a way to overturn them."

"Perhaps I would have realised that, but months in isolation when the only voices you hear are either the ones in your head of your loved ones dying or their killers taunting you does quite a number on one's grasp on reality," Eddmina shrugged, trying to downplay just how badly her mind had been affected, just how dazed she had felt upon rejoining the world after being cut off completely for months. "Lord Tywin presented me with a letter apparently written by Willas to the High Septon, requesting an annulment. I should have recognised it as a forgery, but as I say, imprisonment isn't too good on ones wits, and I thought... well, he hadn't come for me."

"He would never-" Loras cut in, seething.

"What was I supposed to think?" she snapped, unable to stop herself, but she caught herself before she shouted anymore, taking a deep breath and calming herself. "He hadn't come for me, so him hating me enough for an annulment made sense, and with the threat of Lord Tywin having something done to hurt Uther-"

"We would never let anything like that happen to him!" Loras cut in again.

"How was I supposed to know? I wasn't there," she reminded him. "I signed the paper, and hated your brother for abandoning me. In truth it was the other way around, it was me who dissolved our marriage, it was me who made us no longer husband and wife, but I didn't know that. All I knew was that he was on the other side of the kingdoms, most likely hating me and hating the reminder of me in Uther, and to keep my children alive I went to the godswood and swore myself as the wife of..."

Jaime. Oh, gods, poor Jaime. He should have had the chance to turn good, still had so much growth yet to do. She'd never allowed herself to think about Garlan killing him, never thought about his severed head other than in her fleeting nightmares, but for a brief second she recalled every time he stood against his father for her, every time he held her hand or tried to make her feel safe. She remembered calling him 'Willas' in her sleep while he called her 'Cersei'. If things had been different, if they had had more time together...

No. She liked him somehow, but knew that no amount of time would ever make her truly love him. She would miss him, she would wish he hadn't died so soon, but she would never consider how she might have loved him.

Even so, she looked up at the canvas roof of the tent, wondering if it was rain she could hear pattering against the fabric or the crackling of a lantern outside. It had rained so heavily on their journey to the Twins, and she knew rain would slow them on their journey north. Her mind wandered to what a delay would mean, what taking a slower pace would do to their cause, but she knew it was just a distraction from thinking of Jaime, thinking about what he did for her.

"I want you to know that Ser Jaime never hurt me," she insisted. "He was a Lannister, he made terrible choices in life, but he never hurt me, especially in our marriage. For a long while, he was my only ally, as twisted as that sounds. The amount of times he stood against his father for me, or defended me against Freys... I didn't love him."

"I didn't expect you to," Loras looked surprised at how insistent she was with her last point.

"No, but I'm telling you anyway, because I expect you are going to go home and tell your brother all of this and he has been insecure about Jaime before," Eddmina shrugged. "Jaime was good to me, but he's dead now. How I feel about that doesn't matter, there's plenty of people I wish were not dead, he is just one of many, all that matters is that I never loved him, and no matter what I said to keep her alive, Lyarra is most certainly not his daughter. You can tell your brother that for certain, that no matter what he hears or imagines of my time as a Lannister captive, I never touched nor loved anyone the way I once did him."

"'Once'? What is that supposed to mean?" Loras' eyes narrowed, especially when he caught her wincing. He shook his head, his hands resting upon the table unconsciously curled into defensive fists. "No. No, don't you dare say that you fell out of love with the brother I have watched nearly destroy himself over missing you."

"It's complicated," she attempted to excuse herself, unsure if it was even the truth, but her eyes wouldn't meet his, instead settling on the table, watching as the hands she had placed on the wooden surface picked away at themselves, her cuticles and nailbeds beginning to bleed.

"No it's not," he insisted, accidentally making her feel a fool. "You're still his wife, he never signed that annulment! He would never set you aside, if you had seen the way he has been since losing you, you would know that. I lost two brothers at that wedding, it seemed."

"He never signed it, but I did," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It is not just him I betrayed but myself too. I ruined myself in front of mine own gods, but I didn't do it for myself. I would have rather died, I hope you know that."

"If you're ashamed then I doubt Willas will care, but more importantly, neither will Uther," Loras attempted to reassure, but there was stubborn desperation in his voice that made Eddmina's skin prickle a little, feeling like she was being pressured, forced to confront all she had avoided. "I don't know how much longer either one of them will cope without you, especially now they know you aren't dead. He won't care what you did to survive, just that you survived."

'I care,' she wanted to snarl. 'I care that I rotted in a cold tower alone, spending months festering hatred for him, selling my soul to keep our children alive. I care how soaked in blood my hands are, how much blood I still will have to spill to reclaim my home. I care that the woman he married feels like a stranger to me.'

Eddmina decided to say none of that, though. There was no way that Loras would understand, too close to Willas and what all the other Tyrells had been through to see how she felt or even comprehend why all she had been through made her so reluctant to even think of returning south. She so desperately wanted to fire a thousand questions at him about Uther, wanting to know everything about him and how he'd grown, but then he would tell her all the horrors of how he missed her and she knew her heart wouldn't take it from the guilt. She wanted more than anything to see him, but that would open up so many other complications that she couldn't bare facing.

She shook her head, attempting to think through how she could begin to explain it all, but before she had chance the tent opened again, and she turned to see Arya. Her little sister was stood in the opening, wrapped up in her fur cloak, one hand curled around the hilt of the thin little sword on her belt, while her other arm held Lyarra, still sleeping. Eddmina was quick to jump up from her seat and cross the tent, scooping her daughter into her own arms, relieved when she didn't wake.

For a brief moment as she looked at her daughter's face she saw her paternal resemblance, saw how, while Uther had always favoured her, Lyarra looked a Tyrell. There was plenty of Stark in her, her hair colour, her nose, but none of it mattered the moment she saw just how her hair curled. It always haunted over her, but after all Loras had said, it hurt a little more than usual. She shut her eyes, desperate to fight away how badly she missed her firstborn, how desperately she had loved their father. She made sure her back was turned to both Arya and Loras as a few reluctant tears slipped free.

By the time she'd wiped them away and turned back to the two of them, Arya was still clutching her sword, while Loras had stood too, watching the youngest Stark girl like she was a ghost.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, gentler than he'd spoken to both his brother and goodsister. "We shouldn't have left the capital without getting you and your sister out too."

If it bothered Arya, if she appreciated the sentiment of his regret, she didn't show it. Instead she looked him over once more, emotionless, before she edged closer to her sister.

"I needed to come find you but couldn't leave her in the tent," Arya explained, gesturing to Lyarra. "I was going to come and ask why Ser Garlan has stormed off into the woods with his sword but I think I know why now."

"The woods? And he always said I was the dramatic one," Loras scoffed, rolling his eyes. Eddmina couldn't help the glare that she shot his way, but that was when he properly noticed the baby she held. "Can I see her?"

Reluctantly, Eddmina nodded, though her feet didn't move, and so Loras had to come to her. Perhaps he noticed how protective she was, watching his every move, because even when he stood right in front of her, he didn't gesture to hold her or even touch her. Instead he merely looked at her, studying her every feature, and when he looked up to meet Eddmina's gaze, he was wearing a faint, saddened smile, his eyes shining.

"He would adore her, you know that, don't you?" he asked hushedly, as if he couldn't find the strength to speak any louder, let alone say his brother's name. "We all would."

Eddmina simply nodded. Her silence was due to not knowing what else to say, but Loras took that as invitation to keep pushing.

"Come home with us, all of you," he requested gently, sounding almost pleading. "Please. Garlan and Leonette can be a family, Uther and Lyarra can have both of their parents. None of us wanted any of this to happen, we can go back and pretend that none of it did."

It was a tempting offer. All her dreams of a huge family in the Reach sun could become reality, all the nights she'd tortured herself with visions of taking her children down to the Mander to enjoy each other's company could become more than visions. At one point, she had so desperately wanted nothing more than that, to just be what she had never imagined herself wanting to be. She had never once thought that she would enjoy being married, let alone having children, but once upon a time she had been made to feel safe enough to enjoy it, crave it.

Perhaps that was what she really wanted - to feel safe. It wasn't a feeling she was familiar with in the past few months, safety being solely down to her. She had protected herself, she had kept herself alive, she had strived to make everyone else around her feel as safe as she didn't. After all that had happened, she wasn't sure anyone could give her that, even Willas.

That was why she shook her head, and backed away from Loras before she could see his hurt disappointment. She couldn't stomach it, couldn't chance that her rejection would make him as frustrated as he had been with Garlan, so she bowed her head, muttered something quickly about finding Garlan and asking Arya to find suitable tents for their guests, and made a swift exit.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Lyarra softly as she trekked across camp towards the woods. "Your father would love you, I'm sure of it, but..."

But. But she was scared of facing all she had forced herself into hating, she wanted to avoid confronting who she had been before she became a queen and a killer. But she was too busy trying to reclaim her life as a Stark to even consider that she had been a Tyrell once too. But she couldn't comprehend trying to explain all she had been through to a man who had thought her a ghost yet hadn't come to avenge her. There was far too much running through her mind, far too many 'buts' to even begin to understand herself, let alone explain to Lyarra, who in truth didn't care about any of it. Lyarra didn't even know what the concept of a father was, let alone know she was being robbed of having the greatest one, and that thought stung far more than seeing how sad Loras was to be unsuccessful in convincing her to return.

She wanted to cry, but instead she sang, whispering a quiet song she was sure she'd come up with during her imprisonment. It had been a while since she'd fallen onto that coping mechanism, but as she walked through camp while everyone else slept and snored, she felt less alone. When she reached the line of trees and made her way through the shrubbery, she considered how at one point a direwolf would have shadowed her every move and made the dark night feel less daunting, but instead all she had was a sword on her belt that had been butchered from her ancestral weapon.

She should have been calling Garlan's name to locate him, but she couldn't bare for him to feel like she was tracking him down. Instead she listened out for him, and decided to follow the sound of a sword smashing into a tree. When she first heard it, it was a distant thumping, but the closer she got it sounded sharper, and each swing that whistled through the air and thunked into the tree was followed by a pained, frustrated grunt. With each swing, the grunts sounded more like sobs.

She caught sight of Garlan from a few feet away, though kept her distance as she lingered behind another tree, especially when she noticed a tree on the opposite side of the clearing was the hiding spot of his Uncle. Ser Humphrey watched Garlan swing his sword with increasing agony, as if he wanted to storm over and force the weapon out of his hand, but knew not to. When managed to tear his gaze from his nephew to spot her, she saw him shake his head sadly. Part of her wanted to do what Humphrey seemed incapable of doing, but when she saw Garlan's reddened cheeks and tightened jaw, saw how his sword was close to ruined but he didn't care, she knew he needed space.

Perhaps that was why she acted so out of character by edging around the clearing and making her way to the Hightower's hiding spot. Until she stood at his side, he didn't dare look away from Garlan, and even then he didn't look at her instead of glancing down at Lyarra. Despite it all, he cracked a faint smile.

"Looks just like her father," he commented lightly, before he looked back at Garlan. "He's a good lad. He deserved to find the news out better than he did."

He did deserve better, and she remembered a night in her tent during the first part of the war when Garlan had told him his and Leonette's most important secret. The pair of them had held back from having a family to protect Willas, to ensure no one looked at Garlan to be heir. He'd implied that had the war not started the pair of them would have begun trying to start a family of their own. Instead they had been separated, and in the few days they shared together before the wedding in the Twins, the very thing both of them wanted but never allowed for themselves happened. It happened, and then Garlan died. Leonette widowed, his child half-orphaned, and the remaining Tyrells had to come to terms with not only losing him but raising his child without him.

Eddmina knew what it felt like to see echoes of a lost loved one in a child. She'd seen her father constantly in Uther, and she saw Willas in Lyarra every time she looked at her. If Leonette had a child that resembled their father, if that child had forced her to confront her loss everyday of their lives, if every breath that child took reminded Leonette of how desperately Garlan had wanted to be a father but never got the chance... Her heart broke.

It didn't have to be that way, though. Garlan wasn't dead, or at least, he wasn't anymore. He was alive, and nothing was stopping him from going home. Nothing except for his own reservations.

Eddmina took a step forward, wanting to go to him, but felt a hand touch her arm. She flinched, jerking away, only to see Ser Humphrey still holding his hand out where it had rested on her, though he didn't look at her.

"Leave him be, my lady," he advised.

"I'm not your lady," she snapped quietly.

"My nephew is Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South, you are his wife, that makes you my lady," he explained quietly, though when he raised his eyebrow at her with a small smile he resembled all his Tyrell nephews.

"I'm not..." she was about to explain how she wasn't Lady Tyrell after all, but instead tightened her jaw. "I'm the Queen of the North, and that's my brother."

She said nothing else, ensuring that Humphey couldn't reach out to her again as she walked out into the clearing. Garlan hadn't noticed her presence, not even when she called his name, still too focused on slamming his sword into the tree. She stood and watched, knowing that if she wasn't holding Lyarra she would have knocked into him and forced the sword from his hand. It was unbearable to watch, flinching each time he cursed or cried, minding out of the way each time shards of wood went flying into the air, but the worst part was when he eventually gave into exhaustion and sank to his knees. Even then, even when he curled into himself and began to sob, he didn't let go of his sword. That was when Eddmina edged closer, and she carefully sat down at his side, cautious not to startle him or make him jump. She need not have worried so much, not since he couldn't hear anything over his cries, so deep and gutteral it was clear he wasn't truly with them.

She allowed him a few moments to cry, hoping he would calm himself, but when he didn't, she fought the urge to glance around to his uncle. He was her brother, he'd helped her away from the verge of disaster so many times, she owed it to him to be there, and so she readjusted her hold on Lyarra to touch him, her hand starting on his shoulder but slowly stroking around to the back of his neck, beconing him in close. It took him a while to realise she was there, but when he did, he took a deep breath, before sobbing deeper as he spun closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. His head buried itself onto her shoulder and he continued to cry, his whole body shaking like an earthquake. Unable to help her own tears, she did nothing but whisper faint reassurances as she stroked his back up and down.

"It stings," he whispered in between sobs, and she realised he'd removed his hand from her to touch his chest, his fingers tracing over his shirt on the spot where one of his many, many arrow wounds were. "I can't-"

She knew exactly what was happening to him, exactly how he felt. That was why she pulled away, and moved her hand to hold his face, forcing him to look at her. In the maness of his panic and despair, he'd thrown his eyepatch aside, and she made herself look at the wound that had killed him. He had been dead, but yet he was still there. There was a strange sort of strength she found from looking at that wound.

"Garlan Tyrell," she said firmly, so stern he jerked and looked her in the eyes. "Stop. Breathe."

He did as she told him. She repeated her instruction, and he did it once more.

"We are alive, we aren't in the Twins anymore, you aren't with the Brotherhood anymore," she reminded him, the way he had reminded her so many times. "You're alive. I'm right here with you. Take a deep breath."

It took a few moments, but eventually he stopped shaking. Even so, he looked mere seconds away from breaking down again.

"They all hate me, surely they all hate me," he croaked out, shaking his head. "How can't they, they... I'm going to be a father?"

"It seems so," she nodded, fighting back her own tears and instead forcing a small, sad smile. "You will be such a good father, too. Mine own children are spoilt with the greatest Uncle, I envy the child who gets to have you as a father."

"No, you don't, you're lying, you're..." he couldn't look at her, not as his eyes began to well with tears again. "How can I be a father when I'm a terrible excuse of a man, a terrible husband? I'm not like your father, or mine, or... I'm not like Willas."

Eddmina took a deep breath, desperately trying to follow her own advice to not spiral into panic. She glanced up to the sky, but the sight of the stars was a disaster for her plan of not thinking about Willas. It didn't help either when Lyara let out a small squeak, stirring awake and commanding attention. She released her hold on Garlan to sit back and focus on her daughter, but comforting her back to sleep only served as a reminder of the parent she was depriving her daughter of. She imagined seeing Willas holding their daughter the way he had so often held Uther, how no amount of sleepless nights or headache inducing tears had ever driven him to do anything other than smile patiently at their son.

He had adored Uther, and would adore Lyarra too. Oh gods, what was she doing without him?

"Willas being a father is effortless," Eddmina sighed, deciding honesty was the best course. "I, however, am not a natural parent. Don't try and correct me, don't make me out to be some perfect example of motherhood when we both know that isn't true. Lyarra and Uther could have a better mother, but they don't, they have me. I'm not good, but I love them, and sometimes, that is enough. I promise you, it doesn't matter just how scared you are, or how unprepared you feel, or all the other complications we currently have... You love Leonette, and you'll love your son or daughter. That is enough, nothing else matters."

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy for it. With Lyarra asleep once more, Eddmina reached out with her spare hand to cup his cheek, hating to see him so pained. He was the one who was always striving to make people laugh, he was the one who never had a care in the world about anything. He deserved only the best, and she wanted to burn the whole world down just for it being so harsh on him.

"Here is what you are going to do," she made sure her voice didn't shake, made sure she kept looking at him straight on, not daring to look at the stars again. "You are going to go home. You are going to go back to your wife, and be there for her the way you were for me. You are going to be a Tyrell again, and you're going to be a remarkable father. You are going to go home, and be happy."

"No, no, I can't, Edda, I can't leave you, I can't go back to Leonette," he instantly spiralled, his voice sounding tight as if he was struggling to breathe again. It broke her heart, but she forced her emotions away. "She must hate me, how could she want me back when I've been gone? How's she going to ever love me again when I look like this now?"

"She's going to love you because you're you, Garlan," Eddmina reassured. "You are more beautiful now than you ever were simply because you are alive."

"But what about you? What about the North?" he demanded weakly, sounding as if he was pleading to stay. Eddmina remained firm, not even wincing when he reached out and touched her shoulder with one hand while the other gently stroked across Lyarra's curled hair. "I cannot leave you, either of you."

"Yes you can," another voice called, and both of them jumped, jerking aside to see Loras approaching, their uncle running after him as if to ensure no further arguments occurred. "I'll stay with Edda, I'll help her North. Go home to your wife, Garlan."

"Loras," Garlan croaked out, stumbling to his feet. Eddmina thought he was going to argue, but then he fell into his brother's arms and began to sob again. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to-" Loras began, but was cut off by Garlan shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I've missed you. No one annoys me quite like you."

"And I hope no one ever will, annoying you is my job," Garlan sobbed out a laugh, clutching his little brother tighter than Eddmina had ever seen him. "I should have come home, I just... How could I expect you to want me back like this?"

"Arrogant fool," Loras cursed quietly with a laugh that sounded more like a sob; when Eddmina glanced at him, she saw his cheeks shining with tear tracks.

Suddenly she realised just how much she missed having a brother, a true brother. The loss of Bran and Rickon had ached through her constantly, and losing Robb was like losing a limb. Garlan was a good distration, but as she watched the two Tyrells embrace and whisper hushedly to each other about home and their family, Eddmin felt her stomach twist, remembering a time when she and her twin used to shadow each other. Sometimes they would nudge each other with their elbows, silent reassurance that the other was there, other times all it would take was a simple look and they would know exactly what the other needed or wanted to say. They had their differences, they had their clashes, but he was a part of her, and for how ever long she lived without him, she knew she would only feel like half of herself.

Neither Tyrell noticed when she rose to her feet and snuck off back into the trees to the direction of her tent. She loved them both, but as her heart felt like it was splitting in two in longing for her twin, she knew neither of them needed her or wanted her in that moment. Her breathing felt shaky as she tried to keep herself from crying, too overwhelmed by absolutely everything to think properly, though she noticed when she heard footsteps match her own. Every protective instinct in her screamed, every heightened nerve from having to fight for her life roared up, and she quickly readjusted her hold on Lyarra to pull out Robb's dagger from her belt, spinning to face her follower.

"Easy!" a southern accent called, and when her panic cleared she saw through the dark of the night her follower was Ser Humphrey, his eyes widened and his hands up in surrender. Even upon seeing him, she didn't immediately lower her guard or weapon. "Steady, my lady, I meant no harm!"

"Plenty of men have," she whispered, and only when she noticed him staring at her dagger did she lower it. "I thought you would have stayed with your nephews, Ser."

"There is little I can do for the pair of them right now," he said lightly with a shrug. "May we speak?"

"If you are going to try and convince me to return to the Reach, then I'm afraid you will be unsuccessful," she told him as she continued to walk. He had to jog to keep up. "Whatever you say, I cannot forsake the North. I have a kingdom to reclaim, a family to avenge. Regardless of what you think I should be doing-"

"Forgive me, your grace, but I think you are doing exactly the right thing," Ser Humphrey interrupted. She had become unused to people cutting in, everyone waiting on her every word as Queen, and part of her liked it, feeling as if she was being treated as normal for once. "Do you recall when you and my nephew visited Old Town on your way home from visiting that wayward Dornish harlot Prince he calls a friend? The evening you were whisked away by Denyse and Leyla to have dinner while Willas and I went off into town?"

"I remember your sisters telling you not to lead Willas astray, and I remember him telling his aunts that there was nothing you could encourage him to do that the Prince of Dorne hadn't already had him do, if not worse," she couldn't help the small smile that grew, even if it quickly turned bittersweet. "Your sisters were very kind to me that night. All your sisters are very kind."

"They're all menaces, but that's besides the point," he let out a small laugh, one that sounded like Lady Tyrell's. "That night in a tavern Willas heard a bard playing a song, and he had drank enough wine to give him the confidence of a king. He stood up, bid the bard be quiet, as he announced to everyone in that room that his beautiful lady wife had the greatest singing voice anyone could dream to hear, and when I managed to convince him to sit back down and told the bard to continue singing some song Willas said was nowhere near as compelling as Brave Danny Flint, he spouted pure poetry about just how much he loved you."

They were in Old Town only four months after they married. Looking back she was almost certain she had just fallen pregnant, but at the time their marriage was new and still felt unsteady. They were still getting to know each other properly, even if they were passionate and lovestruck, they were still trying to get used to each other, and even though she was smitten, the thought of saying the word 'love' was inconcievable. To think he had been stood in a tavern surrounded by strangers who surely knew he was the heir to their kingdom, proclaiming himself madly in love... it made her stop in her tracks, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"He gave me a great many reasons as to why he loved you, one or two of them being a little too intimate to repeat in the company of a lady, but the main reason he cited was how strong you were," he continued as if he didn't notice her emotional turmoil. "He told me that you knew your own mind, knew who you were and your place in the world."

"Are you sure he was talking about me?" she couldn't help but roll her eyes, feeling the complete opposite of that description.

"He told me about a girl who didn't think too highly of herself to help the servants of her home who she knew by name, a girl who didn't oppose to anything asked of her, who got on with duty unflinchingly, who would one day be the greatest Lady the Reach had ever seen - though that was when he then told me how great of a Lady my sister his mother is," Humphrey listed, letting out another laugh. "He told me about how you could shoot a bullseye from any distance, could swing a sword better than some men, and could beat anyone in a game of wits. He told me about a girl who was adored by everyone who lived in Winterfell, a girl who never realised just how loved she is. He said that... My lady, are you well?"

Eddmina nodded with furious determination, adjusting her hold on Lyarra so she could wipe her eyes with the palm of her hand. She hated herself for the tears, hated how her chest stung with the need to cry properly, hated how her whole being yearned to be with the man he was talking about.

"Just... I'm fine, just get to the point," she practically snapped.

"Willas told me he loved you because you are beautiful, but mostly because you are formidable," Humphey continued, though sounded less sure of himself now he had seen her emotions. "He liked you because when you spoke, you were worth listening to. He liked you because he knew you were someone worthy of respect, worth paying attention to, worth following wherever you said. This, this war and your cause to get your home back, it is the exact sort of thing that made him fall in love with you. He told me that one of the greatest joys he could ever experience, other than one day getting to make a family with you, would be to see the world get to know just how worthy of respect you are. He said he would relish any chance he could get to see you show the world who you could be, and for you to understand how strong you are. He was incredibly drunk, I worked very hard to sober him up before we returned to the High Tower lest my father or my sisters see the state he was in or he told you all of that and scared you off."

"Willas could never scare me," Eddmina replied without thinking, her voice breathless.

"You can say that now, but had he come bursting into your bedchamber screaming all of that at you, I don't think any amount of northern fortitude could keep you from thinking he was anything but a terror," Humphrey pointed out, still chuckling, though his laughter was saddened. "I love the bones of that lad, but he can be... unconventional when he wishes to be."

Eddmina knew that better than most people.

'When all of this is over, I will go to Old Town and climb the High Tower just to scream from the rafters how much I love you! You're the very reason I was made to exist, Mina,' she remembered him pledging once.

Eddmina glanced down at Lyarra, and let out a small sigh. Willas would adore his daughter, but he had loved her once too. He had loved her so deeply, repeatedly telling her so at any occasion. She hadn't let herself think about his devotions too often, just in case it made her miss him even more than she already did, but with Humphrey's story she couldn't help but think about him properly, recalling every time he had kissed her, or stroked her hair, or pledged his love to her. She felt the urge to cry again, but bit her lip sharply, and forced herself to turn to Humphrey properly.

"What's the point of this?" she asked, firmer and sharper than she intended.

"My point is, many will tell you to go home, to return to your husband, but I can't help but think that to do so would go against who you are," Humphrey explained. "It was my suggestion that Loras and I come here to confirm that you were both alive, and though it was my intention to bring you both home... You have a great deal more important things to deal with than being Lady of Highgarden, and the Willas who drunkenly told me just how strong his new wife is should respect that."

"It's not as if I do not want to see him, or... I want more than anything to find him and Uther," she confessed, struggling over her son's name as she felt her skin prickle, not enjoying being so open and honest with someone she was not overly close with. "I have a duty to my home and my family, to my brother's memory. Like you say, I'm sure Willas would respect that."

"He will, I will make sure of it when Garlan and I return to Highgarden," Humphrey nodded. "Of course he will understand, what with him being Hand to his dragon queen and staging his own rebellion-"

"He's... I'm sorry, I knew he was sworn to the last Targaryen, but he's crowned her queen?" Eddmina frowned, realising she knew so little of what her husband had been up to.

"Crowned her in the Starry Sept, no less," Humphrey announced, almost proudly, though shook his head in disbelief at his nephew's boldness. "He thought it the best option, what with the King dying and - Seven Hells, your grace, didn't you know?"

Eddmina could hear him talking, explaining the full situation to her, telling the tale of what had happened in the south. Apparently King Joffrey was dead, poisoned before his wedding to Margaery Tyrell, choking on his own blood. Apparently Willas had heard of his death and flew on dragonback with Daenerys Stormborn, the last living Targaryen who was in possession of three dragons, and had her crowned the way the conquerors had been. Apparently Willas was plotting how to remove the remaining Lannisters and get Daenerys onto the throne of her ancestors, and all the lords of the Reach were in agreement with his cause. Eddmina could hear Humphrey explaining it all, but there was a ringing in her ears from the shock.

Joffrey was dead, and she hadn't known. Joffrey was dead, and surely Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime hadn't known either. The boy king who had commanded her father be killed and found pleasure in torturing her sister, the boy who had most likely laughed just like Walder Frey when he found out what his grandfather had plotted at that wedding... Dead.

Soon it wasn't the ringing in her ears stopping her from hearing Humphrey properly, but the sound of her own laughter. She felt guilty when her laughs woke Lyarra, but as she shushed her daughter back to sleep it was through howls of glee. Joffrey was dead, and it was too sweet a thought to make her even think about being calm. It changed everything.

'I must tell Arya,' she thought. 'She will be furious she will have to take his name of her list without killing him herself.'

***

The Reach, two weeks later.

The afternoon Oberyn had taken care of Uther was quickly one Willas regretted when it became a daily occurance for his son to constantly asked to see his Uncle Ryn; he couldn't manage his full name, but considering he called Leonette 'Leo', it was fitting. It was rather handy, it meant Willas could get on with all necessary preparations and work affairs undisturbed, but the peace of being able to get on with meetings with his bannermen and planning next moves with Daenerys was paid for by Uther often returning to his chambers filthy, giddy, and more wild than ever.

"I do not care if he is your friend, if that prince teaches my grandson another curse word then I will kill him myself," his mother vowed furiously one afternoon when Oberyn apologetically returned Uther back to his father with his vocabulary accidentally extended. "I'll push a horse on top of him and see how he likes it."

Each time they returned to the keep Oberyn would carry Uther upon his shoulders, and only put him down when they got to the doorway of Willas' study, when Uther would run at him and dive into his lap, grinning as he recounted tales of adventure, his hair a birds nest and his face and clothes streaked with mud. Each adventure was different: Oberyn had taken him into the woods and had taught him how to climb trees, or he had taken him to the shallows of the river to teach him to swim, or he had taken him to the dragons. Willas had learnt to laugh at the tales his son returned with, while his mother remained terrified. The only times he was bothered when his boy returned was when he came back singing some Dornish song Oberyn had been singing on their walk.

'He sounds like her,' he'd realised with horrified guilt when Uther stumbled his way through a verse of 'The Dornishman's Wife'. 'He sings just like his mother, who he doesn't know is still alive, who doesn't know just how much of a wreck we all are without her.'

Loras and Humphrey had left the very next morning after they discovered the news, accompanied by the two northerners and three trusted Hightower soldiers who had been sworn to secrecy. Until they returned, or sent word about what they found in the north, Willas saw no point in discussing the matter with Uther, and so he hid the sword they had brought for him in his study, and never brought up that afternoon, silently hoping that Uther would forget about it completely. Oberyn provided him with enough distractions, after all, and even though come nighttime he still refused to sleep and often became tearful, Uther never mentioned the northerners, or his mother.

Willas was glad for that. He thought of his wife enough without their son bringing her up.

His wife. His alive wife, the mother of not just Uther but Lyarra too. The matter of their daughter still stung, and he spent most nights out on the balcony of his room looking off in the direction of the north, wondering where they were, wondering what they were doing, wondering what his daughter looked like. He liked the name; strong and northern, yet beautiful too. He would have let his wife choose anyway even if he had been there, that had been the deal the first time around, after all. He liked his daughter's name, though every time he considered how her middle name was his mother's, he couldn't help but curse. He knew his mother saw it as flattery, but Willas saw it as a sign of her absence, a reminder that Lyarra was far from home and was yet to even meet the grandmother she was named for. He wasn't sure what was more painful, assuming the babe had died at the wedding, or knowing she was out there somewhere while he was unsure if he would even get the privilege of meeting her.

Uther didn't know about his mother, or his little sister, nor did he know why he hadn't seen his Aunt Leo. The news of Garlan had brought on a whole new wave of inconsolable grief, as each time she tried to talk about her missing husband she broke down into tears, and she refused to even look at Uther out of guilt for insisting that he be present in that meeting. It was not like her, usually so formidable and joyful, and on the advice of the maester she was told to rest, confined to her chambers where she spent most of the time either in bed or sat by the window looking out as if expecting to see Garlan riding across the fields at any moment. Willas tried to visit her, attempted to take her mind off the matter, but it proved impossible whenever Leonette would merely bring up another part of the damned letter.

"Have you thought about how that letter essentially calls you an oathbreaker for not marching up there to avenge them or reclaim Edda?" Leonette had pointed out bluntly one morning when he visited just after breakfast before he began his day of planning and meetings, staring at him blankly from her position in her window seat.

"I have," Willas answered, staring at the floor, fighting the urge in him to scream.

"That makes Garlan an oathbreaker too," Leonette had muttered darkly, though her lip trembled. "For not coming home. For abandoning me, for abandoning our child. Stupid man. I want him home."

"That's what Loras is trying to do," Willas managed to speak before he had to dismiss himself, still unsure if he was relieved his brother was alive, or furious that he remained absent. "Loras and Uncle Humph are going to bring them all home."

"Stupid fool," Leonette cursed, and he hadn't been sure if it was directed at him or Garlan.

He couldn't talk about Garlan, at all, especially not with his mother. Leonette was one matter, but his mother wept any time his name was mentioned. Willas preferred Leonette's bitter anger and despair to his mother's unshaken grief, and part of him preferred when his brother was still thought to be dead. At least then he was comforting his mother through a loss and not the thought of her middle son thinking they all hated him. It was a strange grief, to think he didn't want to come home at all, to think he had chosen not to return rather than simply being unable to. Whenever he saw his mother's tears over her missing middle son, Willas understood Leonette's anger. If he didn't long to have Garlan home so badly, he knew he would hit him just for hurting their mother so badly.

Perhaps that was why Daenerys' company became more of a refuge than ever before. When he was with her, plotting their war, planning how they were going to reclaim the iron throne and get her atop it, nothing else mattered. Daenerys had asked very few questions in regards to what news the northerners had brought that day, and she was only told the basics that truly mattered. The rest of her party didn't particularly care for details, and so few were given, except to Tyrion Lannister. He had been informed properly about his brother, and his father, and just who had killed them, and to his credit he remained stoic and polite, though when Daenerys suggested he go ahead with a few others to Dragonstone, he was quite obviously relieved to leave the company of the Tyrells.

"His father was responsible for what happened at that wedding," Willas had muttered after Tyrion had been told, after he left the study determined to seem unbothered. "I'm not sorry for his loss, nor am I truly sorry about Ser Jaime. They were Lannisters, if we want our cause to succeed they would have had to die anyway, and if he wants to be on your side then he would have had to endure their losses regardless."

"He once told me his brother was the only relative he cared for," Daenerys had answered him, sounding like she was recalling her own brother, sounding like she was wondering what it felt like to have a brother one could really, truly love and trust. "At least his family allegiances are severed."

It was just like her to see a positive to the situation. One of the many reasons why Willas liked her was her optimism, her way of looking at the world, and how trustworthy she could be. While the two of them made preparations for their next moves, several members of her party left for Dragonstone, leaving to fortify the island ready for her arrival. Her inner circle remained, but Tyrion left on a ship with a hundred Dothraki and two hundred Unsullied, with the plan that the rest would sail the week after once the Reach's forces had been organised.

Willas tried not to think about the other ally waiting for them on Dragonstone, tried to ignore the fact that Daenerys had sent the Greyjoys sworn to her to the island to keep them out of the way of her Hand's temper. Instead he focused on the fact his sister and grandmother were there, and that thought alone kept him going. It was hard enough planning to leave home again, especially when home was such turmoil, but knowing Theon would be on Dragonstone waiting for him... Willas focused on Margaery and his grandmother, and decided to worry about Theon when he eventually had to confront him.

The day before they intended to leave, they cancelled council for the day. Daenerys wanted to spend time with her dragons before taking them on such a long cross-country flight, and Willas had plenty to do with his own bannermen. With the help of his uncles, he had managed to mobilise the Reach's forces, forming a decent enough army that was ready to march at a moment's notice, while also ensuring they had enough of a military presence throughout the kingdom to prevent any invasions or sieges. He spent the day before leaving for Dragonstone watching them drill with swords, watching them practice combat, though when he came across his uncle leading archery practice, he went cold and had to return to the keep, heading straight for his study where he could pour himself a stiff measure of rum and drown out the thoughts of the best archer he had ever seen.

That was where he found his mother, stood behind his desk, looking over the notes he had left out.

"Good day," he called, though she didn't look up.

He proceeded to cross the room to where his steward usually left a drinks tray, though the crystal decanter usually filled with amber spirit was empty. Byren was an excellent steward, and he usually did his duties without being asked, especially his duty of ensuring that his lord always had plenty to drink. For the decanter to be empty was unusual, and Willas couldn't help but pick it up to inspect it, checking for any cracks where the alcohol might have leaked out.

"I poured it out of the window," his mother told him bluntly, still not looking up at him even when Willas spun to face her. "Had that not been crystal and not an heirloom from gods-know how many generations ago, I would have thrown it out of the window completely."

"Right," Willas nodded, setting the decanter down so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "Care to explain why?"

"I think you know why, my boy," she replied simply, looking at him at last as she stood up properly. He hated how her eyes were reddened. "I'm afraid it's you who's going to be explaining things, because just this morning Uther told me excitedly how he's going to the Dragon's Stone, and how he's going to ride there on a dragon."

Willas felt his face burn as he realised his two year old son really couldn't be trusted to keep secrets.

"Do you want to explain to me why you intend on taking my grandson away from his home to a potential war zone?" she continued, her voice still calm, though Willas knew it was an act. "As if he has not already been through enough, you want to take him back to the frontlines of war. As if we have not been through enough, as if enough of us are not already far from home. Your father gone, your brothers and sister so far away, your grandmother off making plots surely, you... you going back to a dragon's war. As if that is not enough, you want Uther to go too? When is it enough, my Lord?"

"Don't call me Lord, mother," Willas' voice croaked out, the only thing he could manage to say as he fought his guilt and tried to think of how best to explain it all.

"That is what you are, Willas," his mother pointed out exasperatedly. "You are Lord Tyrell, no matter how badly you hate it or wish that you are not, but you'll not use your dislike of your new station to stir up my sympathy for you enough to forget what you are doing."

"What I am doing is exactly what we all discussed, what we agreed I would do," he pointed out exasperatedly, remembering the day in his bedchamber when his family plotted their revenge. "The best next step for Queen Daenerys is to take Dragonstone. It's the ancestral seat of house Targaryen, from long before they even called themselves conquerors, and it is one step away from King's Landing-"

"Exactly, tell me what part of any of that makes that miserable island the perfect place to take my grandson?" His mother snapped, more frustrated than he'd heard her for a long time. He had almost forgotten his dodgy temper was a Hightower trait, that his hot-headed nature had been passed down by his usually mild-mannered mother. "Tell me why. Give me one good reason behind that decision."

"Because he's my son," he said sharply, sharper than he intended. To her credit, she didn't flinch, and instead stood taller. "When I came back from Dorne, Leo told me that he thought I was gone for good. I don't want him thinking that, I don't want him feeling abandoned by me and everyone else in his life."

"But you are taking him into danger," his mother insisted. "Are you going to take Bertie too?"

If anything, that stung more than what she said about Uther being in danger. The implication that he would not only endanger his son but Robb's too, that he would risk the life of the last piece of his goodbrother, hurt.

Talisa had left little over a month ago, just after Loras and his Uncle had gone north, and in that time Willas had tried to give whatever attention he could to his nephew, no matter how difficult he found seeing Stark echoes in him. He was still so young, but he was a lively little thing, and he reminded him of Uther at that age, and seeing the two of them together was nothing but bittersweet. That was mostly because Willas had told him Bertie was his cousin so it had brought on a whole wave of questions about where his Uncle Robb was, and he was surprised he remembered Jeyne enough to ask about her and why neither she or Robb were around to look after Bertie. Not that he cared or was jealous that there was another child living in Highgarden, quite the opposite as he seemed to thrive with having a younger relative, which irked Willas whenever he considered that his son had a little sister halfway across the country that he could dote on and obsess over as well as a little cousin.

Just like he felt with Uther, he couldn't look at Bertie without seeing his parents, especially his father. There was so much Stark in the pair of them, but there was something so undeniable about Bertie that was Robb, whether it was his auburn hair, or his smile, or the way he played with Uther. Honour knew it too, regarding him the way she did the other little half-Stark, as if she knew he was connected to Robb, connected to her own brother Greywind. The only difference between Uther and Bertie was that the latter seemed to be constantly cheery, as if nothing was amiss, while the former quite clearly knew that something was missing from their lives; a parent, to be specific.

It was that which had made him decide to take Uther with him to Dragonstone, wanting him as close as possible, not wanting him to feel the loss of another parent. Bertie barely noticed that his mother had left him, nor did he care that he didn't have a father, and there were plenty of people in Highgarden to look after him and love him. Uther, however, was different, and clearly needed him regardless of where he was or where the brewing war called him to be. Willas knew it was dangerous, and selfish, and he knew he deserved his mother's anger, but he couldn't think of any other solution.

Suddenly he knew exactly how his wife had felt whenever she'd had to take their son along to council meetings, or when she'd wrapped him to her chest when she had to ride with her brother. He'd watched her do it, marvelled at her and fallen deeper in love with each day he watched her be so formidable, but he'd never realised just how fracturing it felt to be caught between family and duty, severed into two halves that were constanty battling for superiority. He wondered if as Queen she was finding it an easier juggle, if she took their daughter along to council, if she let men call Lyarra a princess the way she had never allowed them to call Uther a prince, if she had found some sort of peace in herself and who she was despite all that had happened.

"Bertie stays here," Willas said bluntly, his voice clipped and quick, desperate to say something that would tear his mind from his wife. "He's not a prince or a lord, he's just a boy, like his mother wanted. Uther is my son, my heir, but he's a northern prince too."

"Making him an excellent target for whatever enemies you acquire on your quest to get the Targaryen girl on the throne!" his mother reminded him, and he winced against his will, but was quick to recover.

"The Targaryen girl has a name, it is Queen Daenerys, and I think you'll find that everywhere is dangerous," Willas spoke calmly, taking the opportunity to walk around his desk and slip into his seat, hoping his mother didn't notice his tired grimace as he propped his cane against the edge of the table. "Do you know how many times his life has already been threatened? Nowhere is truly safe for him, just like the rest of us, but his life isn't just some trinket I mildly care for. I would have Dany burn the world for him with her dragons, I'd join her on dragonback myself if anyone even thought of hurting him."

"Dany, is it?" his mother let out a small sigh that sounded like an exhausted laugh. He raised a questioning eyebrow, an expression his mother answered with a sad smile as she stepped closer, daring to stroke her hand across his face, cradling his jaw in her palm as she studied him. She was much calmer than she had been, especially when she continued, "My boy, you do realise what you're doing, don't you? You've called a woman by a shortened nickname before, that woman fell in love with you too."

"What are you talking about?" Willas jerked away, feeling as if he'd just been shoved into a pile of ice. "I don't love Daenerys! Not beyond what a Hand should feel for his monarch, anyway!"

The thought of loving someone else, even looking at some other woman that wasn't his wife... He remembered the Dornish girl he'd kissed, the girl who'd touched him and who he would have most likely taken to bed were he not haunted by his wife. How could anyone compare? How could anyone even think him capable of loving anyone else?

"I didn't say you loved her," his mother reasoned, still looking at him with mildly frustrated sympathy. "I haven't had the honour of spending a great deal of time with her, I'll admit, however when I have seen her, she had looked nowhere else but at you. Her fascination clearly drives that sad excuse of a man your aunt was married to mad."

"Mother-" he began, sighing as he sank his head into his hands.

He didn't even know how to begin unpacking what she was suggesting, his mind a swamp of complicated bogs that he was unwilling to wade through, especially since she had poured his rum away. Luckily, he didn't have to, because a knock came at the door, and before he had the chance his mother took it upon herself to open the door, allowing the visitor in. When Willas found the strength to lift his head and look up he saw Byren, face flushed and gaping for breath, as if he had just run laps around the whole kingdom. He fell into a sloppy bow, one that was entirely unnecessary and made Willas sigh, vowing silently to take the lad out of the keep for a drink at some point to break the ice and make him see him as something other than a terrifying figure of authority to cower over.

"What is it?" Willas asked, not realising how tired he was until he caught his words slurring ever so slightly.

"Apologies for interupting, my Lord, my Lady," he excused himself, his words hurried as he nodded to both of them, respectful to a fault. "It's just... I thought you ought to know... There's people at the gates wanting to get into the keep. I know you said security is to be kept at a maximum, my Lord, but... But it's your uncle, and your brother-"

'And my wife and daughter,' Willas allowed himself to think, shooting to his feet so quickly his knee seared with an ache that he barely felt over his heart skipping a beat.

"Have them admitted into the keep immediately," he ordered quickly. "Tell Loras that I-"

"My Lord!" Byren interupted, but didn't give himself time to look mortified for speaking over his Lord for long as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have been more specific. I'm sorry, but it isn't Ser Loras who's at the gates, it's Ser Garlan."

He hadn't finished speaking the name before Lady Tyrell let out a sound that mixed between a gasp and a sob, and he barely had the chance to move out of the way before she dashed past him, faster than a hare being chased by a whippet.

Willas wasn't sure when the last time he saw his mother run was. Then again, he wasn't sure the last time he ran either, but he did.

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