By the time that Willas got to the room that had become Bertie's nursery - only one room down from Uther's - a herd of guards had gotten there too. It seemed as though whatever conflict had happened had ground swiftly to a halt before they had even arrived, hence the guards standing around uncertainly, not quite sure of what to do with themselves, though one of them was attempting to wrestle Garlan off the floor, where he-

Gods, was that a man beneath his brother? Willas could barely tell, considering Garlan had pummelled his face to a red mess.

He barely noticed the rest of the scene, how much of a state the rest of the room was in, because his brother's fists were red, coated in blood, and Garlan didn't seem to care, not in favour of punching the man again before his hands wrapped around his throat.

"Let him go," Willas told the guard trying to force Garlan away quietly, and though he followed the instruction, it was only done reluctantly. Once he was away, Willas clenched his jaw and looked at his brother. "Garlan. Stop."

He didn't. Willas was sure it was the first time his brother didn't heed his authority.

He took that opportunity to glance around the rest of the room, his heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through him like a storm. The room was a mess, furniture and belongings strewn across the floor, making a struggle obvious. In the corner of the room, one of the nursemaids his mother had hired to look after Bertie was curled against the wall, sobbing in fear, and Willas didn't blame her, because at her feet was the body of a man missing his throat, his blood as crimson as his shirt. On the opposite side of the room, Oberyn was pinning another man against the wall, a dainty little dagger pointed at the exact spot of his jugular, his face a breath away from his captive as he was whsipering interogations at him. Willas couldn't hear what he was saying, but it must have been intense because the man was crying just as much as the maid.

The last thing he noticed was Honour still grumbling and licking her bloodstained muzzle as she was curled up in the grand-sized cradle, her great furry brown body wrapped around Bertie as he slept as if nothing was happening. Eddmina had once told him that Robb was a heavy sleeper, that she and Jon used to take great delight in seeing what could wake him up. It turned out that not even a murder attempt could wake his son, and Willas was glad of it, not wanting yet another traumatised child in his care. He met Honour's topaz gaze, remembering watching her tear the throat out of a man who had threatened his own son, the man who had scarred his wife's cheek and given her the look of a warrior. Just as he had done then, he nodded a thanks to the wolf, holding his hand out steadily as he approached. Only when she ceased her grumbling did he reach out and ruffle the fur between her ears.

"Good girl," he told her quietly, leaning close and pushing a kiss to the top of her head, not caring when she licked up at him, staining his cheek with blood.

For a brief moment, he felt useless, having come to the scene too late, and was utterly overwhelmed by the sense that he had to do something even if he had no idea what to do. While ever he was petting Honour, the rest of the room didn't matter, but that wasn't very lordly of him, not when his castle had just been infiltrated and his family threatened. It was sickening enough to know his nephew had been the initial target, but the room next doors was Uther's and had he not been occupied...

That thought alone was enough to make him snap to attention, clenching his jaw as he gave Honour's head one last scratch as he glanced down at Bertie. When he was sleeping, he looked like his father, and the reminder of Robb was further fuel to his brewing temper. He took a deep breath as he turned and re-surveyed the room, and his eyes landed on the maid first, still weeping even though she had fallen silent. Dealing with her first was the easiest option, so Willas moved to stand in front of her, offering her a hand to stand, though when she did, she was trembling.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, working hard to keep his voice gentle even though he could still hear choked pleas for mercy as Garlan pummelled the intruder's face continuously. Her answer was nothing but a terrified shake of her head, her hand still trembling in his. "What's your name?"

"Lyna, if it pleases, my lord," she replied meekly, unable to look at him.

Was he truly that terrifying that she would rather stare at bloodstained floorboards than meet his gaze? It was only when she did at last dare to glance up at him for barely more than a second that he noticed the bruising at her neck. It matched the bruises he'd seen his wife wear when she'd had a blade held to her throat.

"It does, and you've nothing more to fear," he reassured her, though was unsure if it was working as he gestured towards one of the guards who was stood looking like he didn't know what to do. "One of these guards are going to take you back to your own chambers and have someone come see to you, but first, if you wouldn't mind... what happened here?"

"I... I don't know, I was seeing to little lord Robbert, and then these three men came in," her voice was a fearful shudder, especially when she glanced around at what had become of the three men. "They... they said they were looking for... forgive me, my lord, I didn't tell them where the prince was, but they called him... they called him the 'son of the northern whore', they said they had been sent to..."

"Let him speak for himself," Oberyn's voice called coldly, and Willas turned to look at his Dornish prince, still pinning the weeping attacker to the wall. He heard the maid let out a sigh of relief and a hushed thanks to the Seven that she no longer had to speak as all focus shifted to Oberyn and his prisoner, who he jeered by adding more pressure to his neck. "Go on, tell the Lord of Highgarden what you have just told me."

"Dornish bastard," the man hissed with bitter fury, though his voice became a sob when Oberyn twisted the knife Willas hadn't even seen be pressed into his shoulder. Even in pain, Willas recognised the man's western accent. "What's the blood of some filthy northern halfbreed matter compared to the losses house Lannister has suffered? We were given orders, should something happen to our Lord, or his heir, or to the king, come straight to Highgarden and ensure the mad ghost of the Twins understands that Lannisters pay their debts."

"Kill him," a cold voice called, and it was the first time Garlan had spoken properly throughout the whole ordeal.

Willas looked at his brother, and felt as if, for a split second, he was looking at a stranger. Garlan could be fierce, and brutal in battle, but he was not one for cold-blooded violence. Even those who had hurt his loved ones were not dealt such cruel fury. Willas saw the blood staining his fists, saw the man beneath him still desperately gasping for breath despite his entire face being a mangled mess, and Willas knew the man was going to die. He would die, and Garlan hadn't even drawn his sword. What had the Twins done to him, what had death and the Brotherhood done to him?

"No," Willas snapped.

If anyone was to die for the attack - and he was certain both surviving men would suffer painful ends - it would be from his sentence. Whatever had happened to Garlan, whatever he had endured or suffered to make him what he had become, Willas would not allow it to completely take him over. He was Lord of Highgarden, it was his son and nephew who had been threatened, it was his responsibility.

Oberyn looked to him, and with a single nod, released his hold of his captive only to grab him by the scruff of his neck and toss him towards the guards. Two of them had to hold the man upright, while Oberyn took a step closer to Garlan, who jerked away before he could even be touched. If it bothered Oberyn he didn't let it show, especially when Willas moved to his side, and without hesitating, grabbed his brother's arm and forced him up. Garlan was usually so much stronger than him, the fact he could lift him away with no resistance worried him, but no more than the glazed look in his eye as if he was seeing somewhere else, all the colour drained from his face. As he held his arm in a vice-grip, Willas felt his brother shake a little.

"Kill them," Garlan repeated, but the ice had gone from his voice, and he sounded like his little brother again. "Please, Willas. All she did, all she endured and suffered just to keep Uther safe, you can't... don't let them get away with it."

She. His wife. His Eddmina. Garlan's words were laced with the unspoken, and it haunted Willas, his fearful curiosity drowning the burning fury he felt for the attackers. Part of him was jealous that Garlan knew what his wife had been put through, jealous that he had seen her since the wedding that had torn them all apart, but mostly he felt as if he wanted to scream, because suddenly he knew that whatever had happened to her, she had endured it to keep their children safe. After everything she had been through, even if she was on the other side of the kingdoms, he owed it to her to do the same for their family.

"Take them to the cells," he told the guards as another two lifted Garlan's victim from the floor, the man coughing and spluttering up blood. "I'll come see to them myself when I have dealt with everything else. Have Lyna taken care of, and ensure that the rest of the castle is locked down and secured. If any more intruders are found they are to be brought straight to me. Double the guard around the family quarters, send an extra man up to my mother and goodsister's room, and have more maids brought down here to see to the blood and my nephew."

"Some of the maids are scared of the wolf, my lord," one guard dared to state. Oberyn was the only one to answer as he snorted out a laugh.

"Tell them to get a grip," a new voice called in bored frustration, and they all turned to see Lady Tyrell stood in the doorway, looking at the intruders with disgust before she looked at her middle son with poorly-hidden fury. "You promised me that if I left you, you would go and see Leonette. I left you outside her door, you promised me you would go in and see her."

"It's a good job I didn't, isn't it?" Garlan gestured around the room, but their mother was glaring at him with disappointed fury. Somehow he didn't crack under that, and remained stubborn. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't subject her to looking at the monster her husband has become, so I took a walk and thought to find Uther."

"You would see your nephew before your own wife?" Willas asked, desperate to speak before his mother had the chance to show her temper.

"Considering I promised Edda I would look in on him as soon as I got here, yes," Garlan nodded, then sighed as he rolled his eye. "Don't point out the ironies. I know there are plenty, so perhaps focus on how good Honour is at protecting Starklings, but even she couldn't fend off three Lannister cronies alone. Without me-"

He didn't get chance to finish, not as their mother crossed the room, hissing dissmissing commands at the guards who did as she bid immediately, carrying the prisoners away as another guard helped Lyna out. Her commands did not extend to Oberyn, but the Dornish Prince shot Willas a glance as he stalked off after the guards, and with a nod, Willas hoped he understood the silent plea for him to continue interogating them. There was very little time to verbalise his wishes though, because with only Tyrell's in the room, their mother stood inches away from Garlan, and Willas knew he could read a thousand dictionaries and still be unable to describe the complexities of grief and anger that played across her face as she regarded her second son.

"I adore the bones of you, my dearest boy," she began, but the kind words and the gentle way she reached out to touch the lapels of his dirtied and worn shirt were echoed by a cut to her voice. She looked him up and down, and by the time she looked him in his eye, her own were brimming with furious unshed tears. "What you have been through, what they subjected to you, I cannot imagine, but I never thought anything in this world could make you so cold to avoid your own wife, who has mourned you to the brink of her own destruction while carrying a piece of you inside her."

"Mother," Willas spoke gently, reaching out to take her shoulder, but she shrugged him away forcefully. Either she hadn't noticed the way Garlan's face had begun to crumple and the way he seemed to choke on air, or she didn't care.

"Don't you dare excuse him for this, how would you feel if Eddmina and Lyarra were here but she refused to see you?" She hissed. Willas' jaw clenched unconsciously, and he looked down to the floor, making her let out a bitter yet victorious laugh. "Exactly."

"I can't do it," Garlan whispered, so quiet both of them nearly missed it. "I can't... she won't want to see me, not like this, I'm not the man she married anymore-"

"You selfish fool," she shook her head in cold disbelief. "I love you, but you are a damned fool. The man you were when you married her was barely a man at all, and I would be disappointed if you were the exact same as you were at ten-and-five. Your father was somewhat athletic when I wed him, do you think I wished to write to the septons for an annulment just because he grew portly over the years?"

"That's different," Garlan shrugged, but the mention of their father made him tense, his eye darting to the door as if planning to flee. "Father isn't... father wasn't... he stayed dead. He doesn't have to live like this, like some kind of undead monster."

"Do you know what I would give for mine own spouse to return home to me?" She snapped. "I would not care how scarred he is, I would not care how many eyes or apendages he lacks, just as long as he was home. You come all this way then refuse to go and see her, and in doing so you make a mockery of those vows you swore to her, and you make a mockery of whatever sacrifices your father made to keep you alive. You misunderstand how dearly we all love you if you think you could return and any of us would think you a monster."

Something in Garlan broke then, worse than ever before. Willas watched as his brother struggled to breathe again, then crumbled. Willas was more than used to losing his balance and having one of his brothers catch him, but for the roles to be reversed, for it to be him to grab hold of Garlan and stop his knees crashing to the floor, Willas' own heart threatened to break but he refused. To break himself would be selfish, and so he tightened his grip on his brother, and pulled him closer as Garlan began to weep. He refused to show how much it bothered him that his knightly little brother seemed more like a child than he had done in years, but as he held him close, he glanced over at his mother, hoping she would see his pain and apologise or help, even if Willas didn't want her to see how desperate he was for that to be the case.

Instead, she shook her head, and stepped around her sons and walked towards Bertie's cradle. Honour watched her but didn't murmur as she scooped Bertie up into her arms, careful not to wake him, glancing at him lovingly as if he was her own grandchild, and somehow Willas managed not to think about the granddaughter she had on the other side of the kingdoms or Bertie's actual grandmother who didn't even know he existed. Garlan sobbing onto him was a great distraction of course, so he barely minded when his mother carried Bertie over to the door, Honour leaping out of the cradle to bound after her, though she lingered by Willas for a moment, nudging her head into his side.

"I'm having the boys in my chambers until you can guarantee the safety of the keep again, I know you have enough duties to attend to for all of that but let your men and your uncles see to that, you have a duty to your brother but most importantly your goodsister," Lady Alerie instructed him, adjusting her hold of Bertie so she could stroke Honour's neck. "Sort your brother out, and take him to his wife."

With that she was gone, and didn't bother looking back. Willas wanted to call for her, wanted to curse her for abandoning them both, but how could he be angry when he knew she was right, when she was for once saying exactly how she felt? She had spent so long looking after her children and helping them navigate their grief, not saying what she wanted or discussing how she felt so to protect the rest of the family. It was almost jarring to hear her talk so plainly, to discuss missing their father so openly when he so often felt like an unspoken ghost hovering over them all. She was often so gentle with her children, so understanding to their wishes and needs that the way she had spoken was unlike her, yet Willas was glad for it.

Coddling any of them was not an option anymore, not with another war brewing, not with the reality of their situation settling in. What good would it do Garlan to allow him to wallow in his nerves over his wife, and what good would it do Leonette to let her continue grieving bitterly when her husband was actually home? It was good to hear her talk plainly, to command them as if they were boys and she was their sole authority. Her speaking like that made Willas feel a little more normal, a little less like a lord who felt so out of place in his own skin and his own home.

It was clear that whatever horrors Garlan had faced in life and death did not compare to the knowledge that he had disappointed his mother, for he cried for a little while longer, inconsolable. Whether it was their mother's anger, the thought of Leonette, the mention of their father, or all three combined, Willas wasn't sure what had broken him in particular, but he continued to hold him, focusing on his brother and not the intrusive smell of blood and death permiating the room.

"Come on," he encouraged him gently after a while, giving his shoulder a little shake when his tears had fallen silent. "Come back to my rooms."

If Garlan protested, he didn't have the strength to properly oppose. He allowed Willas to lead him away, down the corridor to his own chambers. There had been a few perks to becoming Lord, one of them being the renovations made to his suites to make it suitable for his new station, and the addition of a bathing chamber might have been his favourite change were it not for the constant thought of how much he used to enjoy sharing a bath with his wife and how much she would like the new bathing pool so that they no longer had to cram into a tub together. Eddmina was far from his thoughts as he led Garlan into the room, however, seating his brother on a stool as the servants worked in prepping the water.

"Not that you smell, but when was the last time you had a proper wash?" Willas asked, hoping to make a joke out of it and keep his voice light, but concern edged in against his will, especially when he noticed how his brother wrapped his arms around his body nervously as he hunched over.

"Riverrun," he said quietly. "Not the first time, obviously, but the second, just before we left again. Edda insisted on it but... I don't think she knew how much I hated it, having to look at what I look like now."

"You are still the third-best looking Tyrell, following after Margie and then Loras," Willas attempted to joke, and felt relief when Garlan laughed, even if it did sound hollow. "It doesn't matter to any of us, you know. We're just glad to have you."

"When were you going to tell me that Robb Stark has a son?" he asked bluntly, seemingly out of nowhere enough that Willas flinched, especially when Garlan sat up. "I loved him. He could be a fool and he was often in way over his head with the whole war, but I loved him. Would you have just kept that boy a secret and not sent word of his existence north?"

"Would you have kept your second life a secret forever? What of my wife surviving, and my daughter too?" Willas shot back, instantly regretting the tension in his voice and the way his jaw clenched. Garlan winced. "I'm sure there is plenty of circumstances like that which we can throw back and forth, I'm sure there is plenty we each need to know but don't yet want to surrender. Perhaps we should start talking properly?"

Willas started his tale, telling him every last detail of the months he had missed, not shying away from the parts that made him want to scream or weep, not shielding him from anything. He told him of his depression, his determination to hide it from the rest of the family to have his space and pretend he was fine, his struggles with wanting to drown it all away in spirits. He told him of his dance with oblivion, how he so desperately wanted the world to release him to be with his wife but couldn't leave Uther, and how the family eventually settled on revenge. He told him about Dorne, about Oberyn and his family, Daenerys and her dragons, and despite it all, there was only one detail Garlan focused on.

"You kissed a Dornishwoman in a tavern?" Garlan practically snarled, looking almost disgusted.

"Aye, I did," Willas nodded calmly, letting his own shame show. "I was drunk, I regretted it, and she hit me."

"You deserved that," Garlan decided, and Willas nodded in agreement.

He continued his tale, telling him about Daenerys' advisors, and how they had been joined by Greyjoys and Lannisters. The mention of both Theon and Tyrion made Garlan uneasy, clenching his fists repetitively, and when Willas told him about how he beat Theon, Garlan laughed as if it was the world's funniest jest. He rolled his eyes and smiled when he told him about Daenerys making him Hand, and laughed again when he told him about the corronation in the Starry Sept.

"Always one for the dramatics," he commented.

As Willas spoke, Garlan listened keenly, but the further he got into the tale, his brother slowly began to remove his layers of clothing. His thick leather jacket was the first to go, then his overshirt that was practically worn to threads, then the undershirt that was such a poor fit Willas assumed it had once belonged to someone else. With his top exposed, Willas couldn't help but see the brutal scars lacing his body, some of them so deep and dark he wanted to stroke them and ask if they still hurt, while others were faded and were mere white stains on his once sunstreaked skin that had since turned grey. Some of the scars were bigger than others, but the majority of them were clearly made by arrows, gracing his shoulders and chests like flecks of paint, though each of them differed. Some were neater, thin little lines that had been stitched and cared for, while it looked as if others had been torn right out of him and left to fester and flare into harsher stains. Willas tried not to let his brother see him look, but he caught him anyway, looking down at the smattering of scars across his skin ashamedly.

"The smaller ones the Brotherhood managed to treat and make look a little nicer, but the rest had already healed up by the time they found me from when the Freys tore the arrows out to reuse them," Garlan explained, his voice thin and tired as he gestured between the differing scars. "No point taking care to not damage a dead man any further."

"How..." he began, then instantly regretted it when Garlan's remaining eye glazed over with ghosts.

"They were firing down at us from the galleries," Garlan said, voice hollow. "A few hit me straight away but I thought we could still get out. I thought it was a misunderstanding, until... Until Father. He told me to get Edda and myself out, to get ourselves back home, so... So we got to the doors, and I made sure she used me as a shield. I regret a great many things, especially from that night, and I never feel any real sense of pride, but your wife didn't get a single arrow wound. That is something, I suppose."

"More than something," Willas managed to croak, regarding his brother solemnly as he realised the weight of the debt he owed. "Thank you. Thank you for looking after them both."

"What I did wasn't enough," Garlan protested. "I didn't get her out, I didn't save her from the Freys and what they did to her, or what Tywin Lannister that almighty bastard wanted her for. I didn't save father, I didn't save Robb. I heard about Jeyne throwing herself into the river and felt nothing. I was surrounded that night by all our friends and heard them all die, and though I died with them I didn't really, and I have to live with knowing I'm here, but not Smalljon, or Wendel, or Robin and Lucas, or even fierce little Dacey Mormont. She was my favourite northerner, you know. She was my favourite to spar with, she used to make me laugh with that daft dry wit all the northerners have and the cold way she would joke without even realising it, not to mention how protective she was over the Starks, and they killed her with an axe to the chest. Soldier or no, what sort of man buries an axe in the chest of a lady?"

"A dead man, I'm assuming," Willas summarised, letting the horrors settle in his mind.

"Edda saw to him herself," Garlan told him, and though he still sounded tired and haunted there was a hint of pride in his voice.

The mention of his wife made Willas' skin prickle, desperate to hear about her yet desperate not to hear of the horrors she had been subjected to. Surely he would die of shame hearing it all, because he had done nothing to save her. Guilt would surely suffocate him, because while he had assumed her dead and set himself on a course of vengeance far from home, she was actually very much alive and waiting for him.

Thankfully, Garlan paused his own tale in favour of stripping away the rest of his clothes. His lower half was less scarred, much to his relief, and the moment his clothes were all thrown into a filthy pile he lowered himself down into the sunken tub, the water enveloping him into a mist of steam. He hissed at the heat, but made no other protests as he sank down, leaning back against the wall of the pool. Willas noticed how he only lowered down to his chin, and how he didn't remove his eyepatch.

"It's your turn now," Willas told him, leaning closer to him on his stool, watching as his brother scrubbed blood and grime away from his hands, the clouded, oiled water quickly changing to a faded brown colour as he cleaned himself. "Tell me what you can, but if it is too hard-"

"I will tell you everything, but you must swear to me that there is one part you cannot tell mother, or any of our more devout relatives?" Garlan began insistently. Only when Willas nodded did he continue, "It was cold, being dead. Cold and... empty. All that talk of seven heavens and harps, with the gods waiting to greet you into a kingdom of peace... Not my experience. I don't know about anyone else, anyone who actually stays where their killers send them, but for me, there was nothing. It was cold, it was dark, and all I remember was just lying there waiting. I don't know for what, I couldn't hear anything but ringing, and I couldn't feel anything either. It actually took me a couple of days to properly feel my fingers again after they brought me back, but when it was all dark, I felt nothing. Sometimes when I try to go to sleep and I'm in darkness again I panic that it will swallow me, properly this time. Sometimes it keeps me up at night thinking about all the sermons we had to sit through as boys, all the talk from Septons about the heavens, how mother and all the other Hightowers believe it all and... it's just a lie. There was none of that, it was just dark.

"Then it was like a candle was lit, but the candle was under me, burning me, roasting me. Its a strange blur, like trying to remember the night before when you've consumed a lot of wine, but I know it hurt just as much as the arrows. I wasn't as good at languages as you, but when the ringing in my ears stopped I knew I could hear someone chanting in Valyrian, and there was a thudding too. It took me a while to realise the thudding was my heart, but by then the burning was all over and someone was saying my name and telling me everything was alright and... Well, it wasn't. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see properly, and all I knew was that everyone I loved was most likely dead. I don't think Lord Thoros had thought it would work because they hadn't bothered to tend to any of my wounds, so even though whatever spells they used worked in healing their damage they still hurt and looked ugly and... my eye. They had to stitch it up without anything to dull the pain, and while they did it, they caught me up on everything I had missed.

"Robb dead. Most of the northerners dead or held prisoner. Riverrun under siege. Edda... they told me she was dead, because that's what everyone had thought, even if all the smallfolk whispered about being able to hear her ghost screaming and singing. I held father in my arms while he died, but thinking I hadn't been able to save your wife was what hurt more than death itself, because how could I ever return home to you knowing how terribly I had failed in keeping her safe? I was brought back to life with chronic pain and self-hatred in my heart, and knowing your wife was dead because of my failure sealed the deal. I couldn't come home, couldn't look at you or Uther and know what I had done, and I took one look at myself in the mirror and knew that with all my failures and looking half-a-corpse, whatever love my own wife had for me would surely die too. So I committed my sword to the Brotherhood, let them call me that stupid fucking nickname 'the golden stranger' because it didn't hurt as much as my actual name, and I killed whatever Lannister or Frey or Bolton I could get my hands on."

As he spoke, he was scrubbing himself with soap and cloth, and Willas couldn't tell if he was grimacing because of his story, or if his wounds hurt as the soap cleaned away weeks worth of grime. He'd not noticed how tight he had clenched his jaw until Garlan had paused, and as he let out a shaky breath he noticed he'd been holding it in in a desperate attempt not to cry.

"I don't know how many I killed," Garlan admitted, his voice sounding small. "Before that, I'd kept count. I'd killed thirty-four men directly, all in battle, all of them having threatened me or someone else I loved. More might have died from injuries, but there were thirty four men who'd died at my sword before the wedding and now... I didn't care. I didn't mind doing it. They had taken the ones I loved away, and if it wasn't them then they were surely connected to the true killers. I went along with whatever plots the Brotherhood, didn't care that it was my goodsister's warped mother who gave the commands, because even if death changed me grief has made her unrecognisable. I killed as many men that I could get my hands on, and soon it was no longer thirty-four but... gods, even if I try, I can't figure out how many I've killed. Edda is the same."

The thought of his brother as a murderer didn't sting as much as he thought it would, but prhaps it was the bitter need for revenge in his heart that made him not care. The mention of Eddmina, however, made him lean closer, frowning as he tried to imagine her as a killer. She had fought in defence before, done things in the name of the war and her family, but killing... It was odd, but he found a sense of relief inside. At least she was alive. At least she had fought.

"She killed Roose Bolton," Willas recalled, and noticed Garlan's bitterly victorious grimace. "And some of the Freys too, I heard."

"Some is an understatement," Garlan let out a small laugh until he saw Willas' horror. "She did what she had to do to survive. That might not make her the most ladylike or-"

"If you think I care about her being a perfect lady then whatever spells brought you back made you forget why I loved her in the first place," Willas snapped defensively, sitting up straighter. "When did you find out she was alive?"

"Mere hours before I found her again, just before I killed Jaime Lannister to get to her," Garlan explained, lowering himself in the pool so the water lapped against his neck, the tips of his oiled hair soaking. "It is her story to tell, her tale to live with, but... Tywin Lannister told her to sign an annulment already marked with your signature so that she could marry Ser Jaime. He told her to do it or he would send someone south to kill Uther, so she did it, and didn't notice the signature meant to be yours was a fake, and he made them swear vows in front of a weirwood. He had her convince the surviving northerners to surrender and bend the knee, showed her the swords that had come from the remains of Ice, and instructed her to convince her Uncle to surrender too, or one of those swords would be sent after Uther. Everything she did was for him, and later for Lyarra, even dishonouring her religion and her name, just to keep those children safe, yet she dares think she is a terrible parent."

His wife, a Lannister. His wife, being made into another man's wife. A surge of bitterness rolled through him, especially when he remembered when his foolish jealousy had taken over once and he had questioned her friendship with the Kingslayer. Jaime Lannister was handsome, more handsome than Willas could ever hope to be, and at the time it had seemed like a fair question, but the thought of asking such a thing when she had given herself to him willingly just to protect their children, when she had sworn herself his wife to her own gods so their children might have a chance of survival. She had not known the vows for their wedding, she had grinned brightly when Willas had suggested they remarry before her gods, and for the thought of the Lannisters stealing everything from her and then desecrating her religion and the bond she held to her gods, he wanted them dead all over again.

The old gods were more than just gods to her. They were home. They were Winterfell, her family, her father, her ancestors. He remembered all the times she took Uther to the Winterfell weirwood as if it could make up for most of her family being absent to meet him. He remembered telling her his plans to restore the neglected godswood local to Highgarden so she could have somewhere to pray, remembered how she had beamed and tried not to cry as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his face all over as she whispered a thousand thanks. A weirwood was more than the gods, it was everything she had been taught. It was her, and in her most desperate moments when she had already lost so much, they took that from her.

Garlan clearly noticed how Willas seethed, for he let out a noise like he was clearing his throat, and when Willas dared look at his brother again he was glad to see his fury mirrored. Willas knew there were worse horrors his wife and brother had been subjected to, knew they had seen and experienced far worse crimes, but the news of her second wedding was enough for him to know every kill they inflicted was worth it. He knew his usurpation and plot to get Daenerys on the throne was worth it. For what they had done to his wife and her faith, he could surely do nothing that would right that wrong.

"The Lannisters had taken her to Riverrun, convinced her to get Brynden to surrender, but they didn't know the plans the two of them had cooked up," Garlan continued eventually, though Willas' focus had dwindled in his anger. "Not that any of it actually went to plan. Edda certainly didn't count on Arya being there, or the Freys killing Edmure, or... or me reappearing just after she and her sister had killed the last of the Freys. I don't know whether it was exhaustion from the whole situation, or the shock of seeing her sister and I alive, or if it was simply her time but Lyarra was born, and I am so sorry because I know it should have been you there instead of me, but seeing her arrive made me feel somewhat alive for the first time in a long time. Not even an hour later someone informed us that Lord Tywin had been captured and Eddmina presented herself to the northerners and put an arrow through that damned man's skull. They put Robb's crown on her head, rusted from the river and still stained with Bolton blood."

That was a sight he wished he'd seen. His wife, victorious, a crowned queen. He wondered how she felt, knowing how desperate she had been to avoid inheriting any Stark power when she had always been certain that it was Robb's, yet it had fallen to her anyway. He wondered if she felt as out of place as a Queen as he did a Lord. He wondered if he was meant to envy her. Most men outranked their wives, never had to experience their wives having more power or holding a higher title, and he knew if most men did experience such a thing then surely resentment would fester. Was he meant to covet his wife's crown? Willas couldn't imagine that, he couldn't imagine doing anything but kneeling before her or removing the crown from her head and kissing her brow, whispering to her how devoted he intends to be to his 'queen'.

"She didn't want to be Queen," Willas managed to speak, feeling more lonely and lost than he had for a while.

"She still doesn't, yet the North declared it her title, and she is nothing if not dutiful," Garlan shrugged, cupping water in his hands and throwing it onto the top of his head; he still did not remove the patch from his eye. It took him a moment to notice Willas staring, but he did and knew his focus was on his worst wound. "The brotherhood made me some cloth patch for it, Lord Beric wore one similar. It was an ugly thing, fitting for such a wound, but it did the job in covering it up. Even so, Edda insisted on making me something proper before I left. I knew she was a good seamstress and good at crafting but... she has such a good heart. I think she would think me stupid for such a comment, but despite it all, she's still so good. She would argue and say she is anything but, she's as comfortable in calling herself a monster as I am, and she is not the woman you said goodbye to, but she is still herself deep down."

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and draw her close, to kiss every scar or mark on her body, to run his hands through her hair and call her 'his queen', to savour every second with her that he had foolishly let pass him by before. He wanted to rest his head on her chest and listen to her heartbeat until it was the only sound he knew, he wanted to feel her fingers knot in his curls the way they had once done, he wanted to hear her say his name. Whatever had happened to her, whatever men had done to her, he wanted them dead for it, but more importantly he wanted to tell her that it didn't matter, that he loved her, adored her, wanted her.

She was a queen, yet had taken time out from plots and plans of reclaimation and revenge to make something for his brother. If Garlan hated himself and thought himself a monster, then surely a cloth sash that looked as ugly as he felt didn't help matters, but a patch made by someone simply because they loved him, with care and effort going into the making of it so he might feel a little better about his new reality seemed like the kindest thing anyone could do. If Willas didn't already love her, then the knowledge that Eddmina had found the time to try and help Garlan in such a way would have made him fall in love all over again, deeper and stronger than ever before.

"Will you take it off so I can see it better?" Willas asked cautiously, careful with his choice of words, not looking at the patch when he saw Garlan swallow nervously. "You were the first person to see my knee. I don't remember much of all that, but I remember you standing next to me when the maesters removed the bandages and the ice and I remember you calling me an idiot when I said it was ugly."

"Aye, you were an idiot, you were lucky to be alive," Garlan rolled his eye with a scoff before he caught Willas' raised eyebrow, pointing out the irony. He scowled nervously for a moment before he reached up with both hands and tore the leather patch away from his face, tossing it over to Willas who caught it one-handedly. "Fine. Here. Look."

Willas knew he wasn't just talking about the patch, but he let him have a moment, let him take the opportunity to splash water over his face and rub his fist against the site where his eye once was, while he examined the leather patch. It was obvious to him who had made it, and he stroked the small intricate stitches with his thumb, recalling the way some of the fingers on her left hand were slightly callused from a lifetime of sewing. In dark thread over the main disk she had sewn two blooming roses, but the thread was so black they were hardly noticeable over the leather. A representation of who he is, yet subtle enough not to stand out. It was a fine piece of work, and so much better than some worn cloth.

Only when he was sure he had looked at every single stitch and imagined the work put into placing them there did Willas glance up to his brother, making sure he did not show his feelings to his wound, trying to not let out a small sigh of surprise at what he saw. At first glance, it looked as if he was permanently winking, merely keeping his right eye closed while the left remained open. It was only as he looked longer that he saw it was obvious there was nothing beneath the eyelids, especially as the stitches that pulled them closed had begun to sag inwards. There was a sliced scar running vertically across the eye, marking where the Frey's dagger had gone in and done the job of delivering the killing blow, and he realised that Eddmina had made the patch large enough to hide that scar too. Just like Willas' own chronic injury, one look at it proved exactly why Garlan still suffered the pain of it.

"I have seen worse," Willas remarked, knowing it was what his brother would want him to say; no sympathy, no pity.

"At least you still see," Garlan shot, and the pair of them looked at each other for a moment before they began to laugh. "It's ugly. I'm ugly."

"Say it again and I'll thump you," Willas threatened, and despite Garlan still smling faintly he could see he found the topic deeply uncomfortable. It would be easier to discuss something else, so he continued with, "So you decided to run from your wife and ended up in my nephew's room as someone was trying to kill him."

"My nephew too, I bled with Robb on the battlefield and died beside him, whatever son he has is as much my nephew as yours." Garlan pointed out protectively. "I didn't feel ready to see her, I thought she would turn me away, and I didn't want her to call me a fool if I looked at her and began to cry."

"You cried on your wedding anniversary when she wore a green-and-gold gown," Willas remarked bluntly, sighing. "She may be cross with you, she might throw something at you, but you have to remember that she's spent the better part of a year grieving you and planning how to raise your child without you. She loves you still, but-"

"But I broke her heart and now I need to face those consequences," Garlan finished for him, watching as Willas nodded. "I'm sorry. I know you said I shouldn't be, but I am. I'm sorry, and thank you for looking after her. I know it wasn't easy, especially if she's... Whatever child she has would have been lucky because I know you would have looked after them so well, better than I surely can."

"Nettie's my sister, of course I'd look after her, and your child is lucky to have a man like you as a father, especially now," Willas reassured him. "It's not easy for anyone, you're not the only man to be terrified by the prospect of fatherhood, even if it has come so suddenly to you."

"Perhaps I'd have been alright at it before, but..." Garlan began, rubbing his hands across his face as he moved towards the edge of the bath. Willas reached over to the short table where the servants had left the towels, unfurling one and throwing it towards his brother. It made him jump, and he barely caught it in time. "I'm not the man I was."

"No, but you're still you," Willas told him. "That's more than enough for me, so it'll be enough for Leonette and enough for your son or daughter."

***

Garlan hadn't spoken of any more reservations as he towelled himself dry, nor did he protest when Willas helped him dress in clean clothing. The dark green velvet doublet was his own, but practically buried him, though with a belt and better fitting trousers it did not look so bad. He'd shaved too, neatening his beard back to what it had been prior to the wedding, and he'd asked for one of the grooms to trim his hair too. It was striking how handsome he looked, even if he looked uncertain and kept fiddling with the leather strap of his patch, and he looked a far cry from the man who had walked into the gates of Highgarden hours before.

Even so, when he was dressed, ready, and looking like a model Tyrell, as the two of them began to make their way down the corridors of the family suites towards Leonette's room, Willas noticed Garlan's fists clenching and unclenching. Willas didn't know how to alleviate his brother's nerves, didn't know what else he could do or say that could help, so he merely clapped his hand onto his shoulder, squeezing it three times.

"Will you see Maester Lomys at some point?" Willas asked, through his question made his brother frown. "He might be able to give you something for your headaches."

"Just like he gives you things for your knee," Garlan pointed out. "Poppy's milk that you refuse to take because it muddles your head. There's naught he can offer me, I'm sure."

"Talk to him anyway, because you either go voluntarily or mother will end up forcing you to go," Willas told him, and Garlan cursed under his breath, but the sigh sounded almost like a laugh. "Gods, did I refuse to be helped too?"

"If I am as self-pitying as you were in the early days then you have every permission to hit me," Garlan shrugged, then gasped when Willas flicked the back of his ear sharply.

He was almost laughing when he reached the doors to Leonette's rooms. They had been his rooms once too, but Willas had tried so hard to stop thinking about his brother over the months of his absence that it felt like an effort to remember that. There were two guards stood by the door who bowed their heads at the men, and without knocking opened up the door. That was when Garlan took a step back, resistant in Willas' grasp on his shoulder, relucant fear on his face once more. When Willas looked at him, he was shaking his head over and over.

By then, however, the door was open, and it was too late for him to back out or run, because one glance into the room and Willas saw his goodsister sat in her usual window seat. The afternnon sun seaped into the room through the open shutters, and though she was a silhouette, Willas saw she wasn't dressed for the day, still in her white nightdress and wrapped up in a robe that had once been Garlan's. Her head was to the side resting on her knees, and though one arm hugged her legs her other hand was stroking over her swollen belly. Willas was more than used to the melancholic sight, but it took Garlan's breath away, and Willas felt his brother sag in his hold a little.

"She's so beautiful," Garlan whispered, despite being unable to even see her face.

His voice was barely louder than a breath, but she had heard it, heard him. It was obvious from the way she flinched, but other than that, she made no movement. Willas remembered arriving in Riverrun from the Stormlands and how Eddmina didn't turn to look at him lest it wasn't him and her heart broke, and he wondered if the same self-preservation had kicked in with his brother's wife.

"Leonette," Willas called, wanting so badly for her to look at him, look at them. "Leonette, look who is here."

"I know who's here," she shrugged, still not looking. "I've heard Lannister men have snuck in and attacked. Good job your Dornish Prince had Uther far away."

There was a little bitterness there, and Willas considered that she was still guilty and regretful for insisting on Uther attend the meeting with the northerners. Willas had forgotten all about his son's tears that day, how he had delighted at the possibility of his mother returning to him only for his upset to grow when she didn't appear and he was ushered away. Uther cried so often over his mother that it felt like just another moment of his son's grief, but for Leonette who until then had been so perfect in looking after him and keeping him safe and content for the most part, it haunted her, possibly just as much as the information they had found out in that meeting.

"He wants to see you, he misses his aunty Leo, but I'm not talking about Uther or Lannisters or..." Willas explained, trailing off as he glanced at his brother, but Garlan's mouth had dropped open and his remaining eye was shining with unshed tears. "Look at me, Leonette. Don't make me call rank and order you as a Lord."

She scoffed, knowing he was bluffing, but looked anyway. She lifted her head and turned, but didn't move otherwise, and though it had been him to address her, she didn't look at Willas, her eyes instead landing on Garlan. She stared, her head cocking to one side as she looked her husband up and down. Willas wasn't sure what he had expected, but her blank face, void of any emotion, was not it. It was like she had gone through so many different emotions over the six months of his absence that anything at all was simply impossible. Willas watched as she turned back to the window, barely even reacting.

"Get out," she spoke so softly Willas wasn't even sure she'd spoken at first. He only knew she had said those words because Garlan had flinched. "Go away."

"Leonette..." Garlan called hesitantly, speaking properly for the first time since arriving, taking a step forward that Willas didn't have to encourage. "I love you."

"You were dead," she said quietly, without looking. "They threw you into a bog."

"I know, I remember," Garlan replied with a tense nod. "I'm home now, though."

"That is good of you," she scoffed, still not looking. "You leave me as a widow, leave me without even knowing I am with child, then when you somehow come back to life you decide to parade around like some gallant knight from a song-"

"There's nothing gallant about the Brotherhood, and if you looked properly at me you'd see there's nothing gallant left," Garlan snapped, then paled, shaking his head. "I didn't die on purpose. Up to my last breath, I fought to get Edda and I to those doors. With what little fight I had in me while the Frey's turned me into an overgrown pincushion I tried to break those doors down. I died with your name on my lips."

"And now you're back," she let out a shaken sigh. "It is a good job I did not throw myself into the Mander like Robb Stark's little widow, isn't it? That would have been for naught, clearly."

"Leo..." Garlan tried again, daring to take another step into the room. As the floorboard creaked, her head snapped around to look at him. "I didn't know how to come back."

"You get on a horse and ride south until you smell roses," she replied shortly with a roll of her eyes. Willas bit back a laugh.

"It was that sort of wit that made me fall in love with you," Garlan said, amazement lighting up his eyes. "I forget a lot from before. I was told that when coming back you sometimes come back less than before with memories missing. I forgot what colour the bricks of the castle are, and what perfume Margie used to fleece me into buying for her, and what father's laugh sounded like, but that... I remember that. I remembered that I love you, that from the moment I met you I wanted nothing more than to make you my wife and spend the rest of our days making each other laugh, but I didn't know... I didn't think you would want me like this."

Leonette looked him up and down again, shifting in her seat a little to face him better. Apart from that, she made no move to leave her seat, even when Garlan took another step forward. The courage he'd shown in countless tourneys and battles was scattered, and he was no longer the knight but instead resembled the young boy that approached her at a ball with an outstretched hand and a request for a dance.

"I'm not the man you married, or the man you fell in love with," he continued, his voice only trembling ever so slightly as he feigned confidence. "That man died and rotted in a bog, and this man was scared that you would turn him away back to that bog. I tried to tell myself that I could live without you, that you would be better off without me, but I've come to realise that I do not care. I do not care if you're better without me, because I don't want to live whatever this second life is without you. So, if you'll have me-"

Garlan cut himself off when he noticed Leonette grimace, both hands cupping the lower part of her stomach. Any reluctance or hesitance was gone as he dashed across the room to her, frowning and whispering a dozen questions of concern, one of his hands flying to her shoulder while the other moved to hold her face and make her look at him. f the sudden contact bothered her, she didn't show it, nor did she speak for a moment, her eyes closed as she battled whatever emotional turmoil brewed inside, looking as if she wanted to weep.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice shaken and proving she was anything but. "I'm fine, you fool, she just kicked me, that's all."

It took Garlan a moment to react, frozen in position. His only movement was to turn and look at his brother, who took a step back and held his hand in the air with a shrug. Willas watched as Garlan's stunned concern persisted, watched as he flinched when his wife cursed under her breath and took one of his hands sharply, placing it on her stomach and guiding it into the right place. Willas remembered doing the same thing to his wife, remembered Eddmina flooding him with questions about whether he could feel the movement, but it was obvious by the way Garlan's eyes widenened that Leonette didn't need to ask him such questions.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever before Willas realised Garlan had dipped his head to hide his tears, or that Leonette had placed her other hand on top of his. Her frustration had thawed enough for her to gaze up at him, almost mnaging a smile through her own brewing tears.

"My darling," Garlan whispered eventually. "You said she. It's a she?"

"Possibly, possibly not, but it felt cruel to call them an 'it'," she explained pointedly with a crooked eyebrow, though she let out a small laugh as one hand left his and reached up to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "I do not care either way. Do you?"

"No, gods, no," Garlan shook his head with determination. "I love you."

"I should hope so, husband," Leonette told him seriously, before letting out a small sob. "You are a fool, and a madman, but by the Seven, I love you too."

Willas couldn't listen anymore, couldn't bare to intrude on their reunion for a moment longer. Neither even noticed that he was still there, so he took another step back, catching one last glimpse of Garlan falling into her arms and burying his head into her chest as the pair of the wept. He stepped away, out of the room, and nodded to the guards. He didn't stop to see if they closed the doors, too focused on getting away.

As pleased as he was, he wanted a drink. He wanted to hug his own wife, to tell her he loved her and meet his daughter for the first time, but yet she was still so far away. He felt damned near desperate for a drink, his throat itching for the numbing sensation that only wine or rum could provide, clenching his fist aound the hilt of his cane as he walked as if straining his knuckles could distract him. He wanted his wife, but without her he wanted to drown away missing her in alcohol.

That was a fool's errand, however, and he caught himself before he made it to the wine cellars. There was too much to do to fall into drunken stupor. He had prisoners to question, a son and nephew to look after, and he owed Daenerys a council and a throne. Only when all of that was seen to could he drink, Willas decided.

***
Word count: 10494

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