They ended up in his office, though Willas couldn't remember sitting down behind his desk, nor did he notice who else joined him.

There was the two northmen, that was a given and they were impossible to ignore considering how out of place they seemed in the gilded keep dressed in their worn and tired armour. His brother - his last remaining brother - had followed him from the tent loyally, and had instantly moved to stand behind him without Willas having to ask. Oberyn had followed too, though Willas had only asked him to so he was out of the way of the bannermen's wrath, and given how his mother eyed him uneasily the moment he entered the office, the Dornish prince shrugged and took a seat outside the office. Why his mother was there he didn't know, and if he could've gotten his thoughts straight he would have asked her to leave, but he couldn't manage the words, and so she took a seat on one of the chairs by the empty hearth that was just to the side of the desk.

He didn't have the words for his mother, but he certainly managed to find them when Leonette entered carrying Uther. If he noticed his father's instant opposition to his presence, Uther didn't care, beaming at him and calling his name, fidgeting for Leonette to put him down, and once his feet were on the floor he was sprinting to Willas' side. Instinct made him lift the boy onto his lap, despite how wrong it felt to have him there, frustration and fear pricking underneath his skin. Not even the great brown direwolf who stalked into the room and curled up at his feet could settle his discomfort, not wanting his son to have any part in any sort of discussion, not if it was about war or the north. He was too little, too innocent, too hurt already. That was when he caught the two northerners staring at his son, wide-eyed.

"What?" Willas demanded protectively, unable to help the glare he wore.

"Apologies, my lord," one of them, the one he thought was the Master of Horse's son bowed his head. "It's just..."

"He's the image of his mother... and her lord father too," the second one explained, and again Willas was sure he had seen him in Winterfell too - was it Cayn, one of the guards, the one he'd seen comforting his wife after Bran fell from the tower? "We didn't mean no offence, my Lord."

Both men had left Winterfell before Uther had been born, he could hardly blame them for staring. It was not as if they could do anything to hurt any of them, not with Honour staring back at them, though her tail kept thumping onto the floor loudly as she watched them. He wondered if she remembered them, if she recognised them from being a pup, or if she just sensed that they were from home. Even so, even knowing he was protected physically, Willas turned to Leonette with a frown as she sat down next to his mother.

"Can't you take him away? He doesn't need to be here for this," Willas asked, hoping his mother or sister would sense how desperate he felt. If they did, they didn't acknowledge it, both of them shaking their heads. "Please."

"He's their prince, he should be here," Leonette said firmly with a shrug. "Besides, I want to hear what they have to say."

"As do I," his mother said, though looked at him apologetically before she turned her focus onto the two northerners. "You said you were part of Lord Eddard's guard who went south?"

"We were, my lady," Cayn nodded, and it was obvious that he was trying not to be caught staring at Uther again.

"Then how in Seven Hells did you survive?" it was Loras who asked the question they were all thinking, and Willas wondered if the vague guilt in his voice had anything to do with Renly and himself fleeing before it all kicked off in the capital.

"Lord Stark had sent us away before... well, before it all happened," Harwin explained, and his hesitance to say what had happened was obvious when Willas remembered his wife naming those who had been killed during the sacking of the Stark party; Harwin's father was among them. "He sent us to accompany Lord Beric Dondarion on a journey north to fulfil the King's justice to the Mountain after he attacked villages in the Riverlands. We were meant to return to the capital once it was dealt with, except-"

"Except it never got dealt with, the King died, a new King took his place, our families were killed and war was started," Cayn continued. "There was nothing to return south for, little family left in the north, so we remained, and the force that Lord Beric was armed with reformed into a Brotherhood Without Banners. He leads it himself with Thoros of Myr."

Thoros of Myr, with his flaming sword... Willas remembered Garlan loved that war story. Willas tried not to wince, though couldn't help but glance around to Loras, glad that his brother looked like he was recalling the exact same thing.

"Lord Thoros, being a Red Priest, has certain... abilities," Cayn explained, and Willas wondered why he hesitated and glanced at Leonette. "Aside from being a skilled fighter, he... I've seen it happen with my own eyes multiple times and still struggle to believe it, but he can bring back the dead. Everytime Lord Beric would fall, he would bring him back, and that only added fuel to their cause, that we were there to overthrow the Lannisters, to seek justice for what was done to our people. That's what led us to Riverrun."

"If we had known how things would have gone, we would have found the Starks, our swords should have been sworn to King Robb, as they had been to his father," Harwin explained, bowing his head a little as he spoke of the dead king. "We're sworn to his sister now, and only hope that such a thing makes up for our lack of duty during that time. It's on her command that we are here now."

Willas ignored how Leonette had snorted out a disbelieving laugh at their explanation of Lord Thoros' abilities, instead choosing to focus on their mention of Sansa. He felt an itch in him to reach for the flagon of wine on the opposite end of his desk, desperate to accompany his thought of his sweet little goodsister and the hand that fate had dealt her with the numbness of alcohol, but then he remembered Uther sat on his knee, and knew not to drink, not in front of him. He swallowed heavily, ran a hand through his curls, and took a deep breath.

"And how fares my goodsister Sansa?" he asked, forcing a smile, even when he saw them both frown at him confusedly. "I'll admit my surprise at her being Queen, especially when one of the last things my wife told me was that she had legitimised Jon Snow and Robb was to name him heir. Is he not well, is he... Why are you looking at me like that?"

Part way through speaking he'd noticed them frowning, looking between each other then back at him. When their eyes met, it was like the two northern men were conversing silently, trying to figure out the situation ahead of them without speaking to give away their confusion. Upon him calling them out, Harwin went pink, while Cayn's frown deepened.

"Forgive me, my lord, but Sansa Stark is not-" Cayn told him, drifting off uncertainly as Loras sighed.

"You said you had a gift for my nephew?" Loras interrupted, irritable and impatient. Perhaps he could hear Willas' heart thumping, or how his confusion was whirring in his head like a thunderstorm.

They both nodded, almost jerking as if they suddenly remembered why they were even in Highgarden. Willas could hardly blame them, when he hadn't even noticed that one of them was holding a scroll, while the other held a long parcel wrapped in cloth. Both of them held their deliveries carefully as if their lives depended on it, especially Catn, who held the cloth parcel. Even from under the wrappings, Willas could tell it wasn't a gift that was particularly age appropriate for his two year old, but he could hardly say that while the northerner was stepping forward and placing it on the desk in front of him. It clinked against the surface of the desk the way that only a sword would, and it instantly peaked Uther's curiosity as he squirmed on Willas' lap to be closer to the table's edge.

"For me?" He asked, looking between Willas and the two northerners.

"We'll see," Willas mused as he reached over and pulled back the cloth wrappings, unsure if he should feel amused or concerned with how Uther gasped in delight as the sword was revealed. "Definitely not for you. Not yet. Why would Sansa want my son to have this?"

The last question had been directed at the northerners, but he'd not looked at either of them in favour of studying the sword. It was beautiful, it was the sort of weapon any man would dream of, and the way the forged steel rippled to form the blade... it was Valyrian steel, that much was obvious, especially when Loras took it upon himself to move to the other side of the table, picking the sword up and brandishing it into the air. He couldn't help but smile at it in awe, clearly envious. House Tyrell didn't have a Valyrian steel sword, Willas wasn't sure if he'd ever actually touched one, and he almost wanted to shove his brother out of the way in favour of holding the weapon even if he knew his days of wielding swords were over. Even so, he felt the itch to touch it, and was relieved when Loras placed it down on the desk so Willas could look at it properly, even if he did have to quickly swipe Uther's hands away from touching the blade.

"Look at the hilt," Loras told him, still staring at the sword in absolute admiration.

Willas took his advice, studying the silver mount of the Valyrian steel. It was plain and simple, nowhere near as decorative as the sword he'd been given by his parents to match his brothers that was mounted on the wall of his private study, as that sword was embossed with an emerald and engraved with vines and thorns. The northern sword was typical to its region, not needing unnecessary decoration, aside from one single design; a wolf's head staring straight ahead, a rose resting upon the tip of its nose. The delicate artistry of the engraving was on the handle of the blade, so light that it was barely noticeable. Willas noticed it though, and knew exactly what it meant, as did Loras too, who met his brother's gaze with a raised eyebrow.

"Where did a half-extinct house find enough Valyrian steel to just start making gifts of it?" Loras asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Ice," Willas stated, the answer coming to him before either Northman could speak, though both of them nodded. "Reforged and reworked. I doubt Sansa was pleased or willing to see her father's sword repurposed. Why would she have it done? Giving my son a sword he won't be able to wield for at least another ten years isn't important enough to sacrifice thousands of years of history."

"It was not work done willingly," Cayn stated, but he was wearing a frown that deepened the longer he glanced between each of the Tyrells who watched him. "My Lord, I apologise, but I believe there's been some confusion as to who's sent us. None of this is anything to do with Princess Sansa. She's away in the north-"

"With Jon Stark?" Willas cut in, his own frown growing once more.

"Last we heard, he was dead," Harwin answered bluntly, though the impact of his words hardly settled as he continued, "We've been sent from Riverrun by the Queen of the North... Queen Eddmina."

There was a ringing in his ears that stopped him hearing his mother politely asking the northerners to repeat what they had said, the thundering thumping of his heart against his ribs echoing over the sound of their words. He didn't hear Leonette asking them to say it again either, didn't hear how Loras snapped and told them both to stop lying and shut up with their cruel joke, demanding to know whether they were sent by Lannisters, Boltons, or Freys.

"None of them, Ser," Harwin defended the two of them nervously, looking between each of the Tyrells. "I cannot speak for the Bolton's, the traitor's bastard still holds Winterfell, but the Lannisters and the Freys..."

"They're dead," Cayn cut in where his companion faltered, more steeled and stoic. "Lord Walder, all his sons, all poisoned or executed personally by the Queen herself. The remaining Lannisters our brothers all dealt with, except for Lord Tywin. It was the Queen's arrow through his eye for him."

"Give her a bow and Eddmina can do anything," Loras breathed out, recalling something their sister had said once a long time ago. Somehow Willas found the strength to turn and glare at his brother, though Loras ignored him in favour of continuing to stare down the northerners. "Even come back from the dead apparently. Are you sure you're not lying? We were told that she was dead. Are you sure it's not some imposter impersonating her or... If you're lying, I swear-"

"What would we have to gain from lying?" Cayn snapped defensively, showing a slither of northern fierceness. "The pair of us practically grew up in Winterfell, we know the Starks as well as our own family, do you think that any of us can be convinced by an imposter? We've known the Queen our whole lives, thought of her as a friend, do you think we'd be able to mistake anyone else for Eddmina Stark?"

"Mina?" Uther chimed in, frowning before he burst into a grin. "My mama! Is she coming home?"

It was his voice that snapped Willas out of his spiralling. He barely noticed how his son's words had made his mother and Leonette wince and Loras curse quietly, both northerners watching him as if he was something utterly remarkable. Until Uther had spoken, Willas had sunk into himself, focused only on keeping himself breathing, ignoring how his head felt as if he was shoved deep into the cold sea in the middle of a relentless storm, unable to string a competent thought together other than simply 'no, no, it's not true'. His heart wouldn't stop racing, his fingers had begun to nervously tap on his desk in an attempt to stop them forming furious fists, and he felt bile burning up his throat as a thousand curses and insults wanted to pour out of him without making any sense. He was so lost in trying to silence all his symptoms of shock and ensure his threatening temper didn't overtake him completely, he was surprised when Uther's voice managed to reach him, surprised that he felt his son fidgetting on his lap as he grabbed up at his face. Somehow through the spots that had overtaken his vision, he managed to see his son's glee, and it was that which made him act.

Gently, he shrugged Uther off his knee, not trusting himself to speak in case his voice shook in anger or despair, his jaw clenched tightly. How could they lie about his wife, say she was alive, right in front of her own son who was clearly so broken by her loss? How could they lie about such a thing in front of him when he was so little? It had to be a lie, of course it was a lie, because if what they had said was true, it would have come from his wife herself, because if she was truly alive, she would have been there. If she was alive, why wouldn't she have come herself, why would she have merely left them to fend for themselves in her absence, why would she ever leave Uther?

He needed to get Uther out of the room as quick as possible, before anything else was said that could hurt or upset him, before Willas well and truly lost control of his temper. As if she understood, Leonette stood and moved to Uther's side, reaching for his hand and attempting to coax him out of the study, but Uther quickly backed away, wrapping his arms back around his father's waist. Sensing his displeasure, Honour sulked out from underneath the table, sniffing at him and licking his cheek. When Leonette tried to take his hand again and work his fists free from the hem of Willas' shirt, Uther screamed and ducked under the table, the wolf following him. Willas cringed, wanting something to be easy for once in his life, the guilt for his son's stubbornness mixing with his boiling temper over the lies about his wife.

"Uther, darling," Lady Tyrell tried, her voice sounding a little more strained than Leonette's as she too got up, kneeling next to where Uther had hidden. "Come out from under there, please. Come on, your father has business to deal with-"

"No!" Uther rebelled, somehow worming his way from underneath the table and back to Willas' side, grabbing at him with every ounce of northern determination he had inherited from his mother. "I want to stay, I want to see my mama! Please, papa!"

Willas was struggling to deal with the lies the northerners had told himself, he wondered how much harder it would be to come to terms and understand it all with such a young view on the world and a limited articulation. His chest hurt, though not simply out of the nerves, but because he couldn't help but feel so incredibly sorry for his boy and all he'd already dealt with, what he would inevitably continue dealing with.

Somehow, like a miraculous being, his Dornish saviour appeared in the doorway. He caught Willas' eyes the moment he managed to tear them away from Uther, and when Oberyn raised his eyebrows in a silent question, Willas sighed, and nodded. That was all it took, and without a word Oberyn crossed the room, quickly scooping Uther into his arms, making a game out of it by tossing him onto his shoulders with promises of taking him to see the dragons, and though his son stubbornly tried to protest, he was out of the room and engrossed in whatever entirely age-inappropriate story Oberyn had begun to whisper to him as if they were age-old friends and it was not their first meeting. Maybe Willas would have been more nervous for his son to leave his side if not for Honour running after the pair of them, not even looking back as she stalked out of the room.

"Is that wise?" Lady Alerie asked, her voice hushed as she placed her hand on Willas' shoulder, giving it a loving squeeze as his head sank into his hands.

"I trust him with my life," Willas shrugged, struggling to speak through the lump in his throat.

With Uther gone, he had no choice but to acknowledge the northerners once more, them and their lies. Despite feeling as if his whole body was numb, he forced himself to stand, leaning heavily on his cane while his other hand formed a fist that rested on the surface of the desk, just next to where Loras had left the sword. Willas glanced at it for a moment, cursing it and all it's couriers had brought them, before he looked at the two northmen with cold fury.

"If you ever speak about my wife in front of my son again I'll kill you myself," Willas seethed. "How dare you say her name, how dare you come into our home and say such cruel lies."

"My lord, they are not lies," one of them tried, Willas didn't care to take note of which it was, not as his fist slammed onto the table so heavily it made his family jump.

"My wife was murdered, they cut her throat!" he snarled, not feeling an ounce of the usual crippling despair in place of the burning rage. He hardly felt his hand move to the drawer of the desk, hardly felt himself retrieve the small box his mother had told him about before he slammed it down onto the table. "I have her wedding ring here to prove it, the only thing those murdering traitors deemed to send me. They killed her, my brother, my father, her whole family, our friends, all of them. They are all dead, I have mourned them, I've planned how to avenge them, so don't you dare come here and tell me that I am stupid enough to mourn someone who is still breathing, someone who - if she was alive - would be right here, by my side, with our sons, where she belongs."

"Willas," Loras' voice was quiet, his hand gentle as he attempted to take his arm. Willas shrugged him off quickly, glaring at him before he looked back at the northerners.

"I don't know why you're here, why you thought bringing your lies here would be sensible, but - get off me," he had continued to rant, stopping only when his mother and brother tried to touch him again, not looking at either of them instead of staring at the stoic northerners. "Get out. Take your sword too, we don't want it, Uther doesn't want it, and if you breathe a word about him to whoever you serve-"

"We serve his mother," one of them spoke, their voice nothing more than a rebellious whisper, but it was enough.

"His mother is dead!" Willas practically screamed, unable to stop himself from grabbing the hilt of the sword with his free hand, pointing it at the two of them.

"No she isn't!" Leonette's voice screamed back.

That was enough to make Willas fall quiet, his words dying instantly as he looked to his goodsister. She had retreated back to the hearth, sat on the sofa once more. At some point one of the northerners must have given her the scroll they had held, and she sat clutching it in a shaking hand, her other hand pressed to her swollen belly protectively as she stared at the leter with tearful wide eyes. Suddenly Willas realised why both his mother and brother had tried to get him to shut up, realised that both of them had noticed Leonette reading and her subsequent horrified awe. He turned to look at her, feeling as if his whole body was overtaken by pins and needles, the ringing in his ears returning, and when she tore her gaze from the letter, through her unshed tears, she managed a nod. The sword clattered onto the desk noisily as Willas sank back into his seat quickly, dropping like a stone, unable to hold himself standing any longer.

"What does that letter say?" Loras asked, and Willas hated that his brother had the strength to move to Leonette's side when he felt as if he wouldn't be able to stand again, hating that his mother stood over him like a protective shadow that held his shoulders. "Leo, what does it say?"

"It says..." Leonette began, trailing off to look back at the letter before she looked at Willas, swallowing nervously as she shook her head. "Willas, they are not lying. She's alive. She's alive and so is..."

At that she broke down into tears, gasping for breath as she quickly sank into sobs, wrapping her arms around herself as she flung the letter towards Loras. He cast it aside, not caring for what it said in favour of hugging her close until her head was buried into his chest, his shirt barely muffling the bawls that escaped. Loras looked helpless as he glanced to their mother, who seemed torn between remaining with her eldest son who teetered on the edge of a breakdown, or her distraught gooddaughter. Willas shrugged gently, gesturing his mother towards Leonette, and she took the cue, rushing to Leonette's side as she stroked her hair, whispering some sort of comforting words to her, easing her into her own arms rather than Loras'.

The youngest Tyrell took that opportunity to retrieve the discarded letter. He read it quickly, eyes scanning the words rapidly, and as whatever it said sank in he paled, eyes narrowing and mouth falling agape. He glanced up to his brother for barely a second before the letter ended up screwed in his fist as he flew to his feet, storming over to the two northerners.

"Who the fuck wrote this?" Loras demanded, and Willas knew he'd only seen his brother that angry once before; when Renly Baratheon had died. "Who is this Lady Stoneheart?"

"I know that handwriting," Leonette managed to say through her cries, wiping at her tears with determination as she sat up, though it was obvious her strength wouldn't last long and she was desperate to dissolve back into tears. "I've seen it before, when Edda was writing home. Letters from Winterfell, not many, not as many that came from her brother, but enough to know... it's her mother's handwriting."

"What does the letter say?" Willas heard himself say, though hardly noticed himself speak, or how hollow his voice was; perhaps that's what despair and denial did.

Surely he would wake up soon enough. Surely the whole afternoon was just some strange dream brought on by too much alcohol and he would wake to find Uther in his bed thanks to some nightmare of his own, his wife's direwolf curled between them. He'd wake and everything would go back to their horrible normality. Instead, Loras began to read aloud.

'Lord Tyrell.

The Queen in the North forgets that the men who she commands to deliver this sword to you previously served myself, and so I command them to deliver this note to you. She does not know of this, nor does she have to, depending on how you wish to act in the days following the delivery. She does not want you to know this information, she had commanded for no word to be sent to Highgarden regarding her fate. I however, do not think she is being fair, and am in the unique position of being the only person with power over her; I am her mother, after all.

Your Lady wife is alive. Whether she is truly still your wife is up for much debate, given that she signed for an annulment, allowed Jaime Lannister to wrap his cloak around her and swear her fealty to him in the presence of a weirwood, but she is alive, while he is not. Your brother saw to her new husband's fate himself, beheaded him. Yes, your brother is very much alive too, though you have myself to thank for that, myself and the skills of a red priest. I long to inform you of other survivors, my son in particular, though I'm afraid that isn't possible. The Queen in the North and the Golden Stranger are alive, much changed from how you loved them and remembered them, but alive, as is your second child.

Riverrun is reclaimed, the Freys destroyed, the Lannisters scattered. The Queen's focus is now on the North, joining with her sister to help my sweet Sansa reclaim their home from the Boltons. Word is that the bastard is dead, though word is confusing, and I hope untrue; why should mine own sons perish while he is reborn like your brother? Either way, Winterfell's fate is in the air, and depends solely on a broken woman's will and a once-dead man's strength. If reclaimed, it's only heirs are girls - the gods do love their irony.

Whether you decide to do anything is your choice. Your once-wife would not appreciate any meddling I'm sure, not after believing herself to be abandoned by you. Your brother too thinks he has been forgotten, thinks he will be unloved if he ever returns. You can either choose to ignore this and continue on with your own plots, as I am sure a clever man like yourself has many, or you can prove every promise of love and loyalty you swore to the Queen, vows that you have thus far broken.

With regards, your once-goodmother, Lady Stoneheart.'

Willas stared at his brother the entire time he read the letter, finding listening to Loras' voice easier than listening to Leonette trying not to cry anymore, watching his brother easier than watching his mother as the words sunk in and horror dawned on her face. She was the first one to move when Loras was done, bolting to the window, her hand pressed over her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming, looking out of the glass as if the people mentioned in the letter would merely be outside for her to see. Willas wished he was capable of feeling enough to have such a reaction, for his own fight or flight to kick in to make him as angry as Loras and as restless as his mother. He wished he could cry like Leonette, but as he let out a long sigh, he realised he was empty. Numb, void of all feeling, he didn't feel capable of any sort of reaction.

Eventually, he pulled himself to his feet, grateful that his balance didn't waver as he slowly made his way around the desk. He had to be standing to ask the question that itched away at him, the only thing screaming in his messed mind. He had to seem as much like a lord as possible, had to act as strong as possible, because at least if the answer made him crumble then he knew he had tried his best to be strong.

"That letter says... it says... 'brother'," Lady Tyrell spoke before Willas had the chance, clutching the window ledge as she leant against the wall, as if she lacked the will to stand properly. "Is my son alive?"

"He wasn't," Cayn answered cautiously, glancing at Leonette with concern before he looked back at Lady Alerie. "But... Ser Garlan was alive the last time I saw him."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Loras spat furiously, throwing the crumpled letter to the floor, storming between Willas and the northerners. "Is my brother dead, or alive?"

"Your brother was killed at the wedding, over a dozen arrows to the back and chest before his former squire drove his dagger through his eye," Cayn continued, and though his words made his mother sink to the floor and Leonette let out a quiet whimper, Willas was glad for his bluntness. "They had tossed his body out to the marshes to rot. According to the Queen the Freys had delighted in telling her that fact while they had her imprisoned. He didn't get the chance to rot, not since the Brotherhood found him on a hunt for Lannisters. Lady Stoneheart, the lady that once was Lady Stark, commanded him to be brought back."

"You can't bring people back to life," Loras scoffed, rolling his eyes. His denial and anger was the fuel, making him the only Tyrell able to speak.

"I did say red priests have certain abilities, I said that Lord Thoros had brought back Lord Beric multiple times..." Cayn implied, glancing between the two Tyrell women before he looked at Loras. "Ser Garlan was dead. Now he's not."

"Then why isn't he here?" Leonette demanded, her voice thick through tears. "Why didn't he come home to me?"

"Forgive me, my lady, but I believe it is the same reason why the Queen insists on going north instead of coming here," Harwin spoke up, looking at the floor. "When no Tyrell forces marched north to avenge them, both Ser Garlan and Queen Eddmina were led to believe that both of them were not wanted home, that they were forgotten and... that you hated them."

"Of course they are wanted home!" It was Lady Alerie who took her turn with anger next, standing once more as she took her place between her two remaining sons, grasping both of them by their arms, her fingers gripping to them tightly. "You're telling me my boy thinks we wouldn't want him, that we don't love him?"

"I'm sure if he knew the situation..." Harwin muttered, managing a glance to Leonette that lingered on her stomach. He quickly looked away when she began to weep again. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

His brother was alive. Garlan. Dear, sweet, annoying, charming, witty, strong Garlan. Gallant Garlan, honourable yet irritating Garlan, Garlan the jester, Garlan the greatest Tyrell... he was alive. Willas wanted to be sick, wanted to rid himself of the self-hared that overtook him, because while he had been mourning and drowning himself in wine and work, his brother had suffered and thought himself forgotten. Gods, it was unforgivable.

Willas wanted to linger on Garlan, wanted to find fault in them and their words, wanted to find a loophole that pulled their tale apart so that he was not a monster who had let his little brother be alone in the world, but there was another thought nagging at him, one tht he couldn't ignore.

"The letter said second child..." he managed to say, even if he couldn't find the words to the second part of his sentence.

"Shortly after reclaiming Riverrun Queen Eddmina delivered a healthy babe," Cayn answered, and sensing how each of them seemed to hold their breath, he added, "A girl, my lord."

"A... a girl?" Willas repeated, dazed. He felt his mother grasp hold of his arm tightly, and somehow it was that which helped him keep his balance as his world fell apart. "What... what did my wife call her?"

"Lyarra, my lord," Cayn told him, glancing to Lady Tyrell. "Lyarra Alerie Rivers."

'Tyrell,' Willas wanted to scream.

His daughter's name was Tyrell, not Rivers. Why would they call his daughter a bastard name when his own was right there? His daughter... seven hells, he had a daughter, and he had a wife too. Though, was she his wife? What did the letter mean about annulments and Jaime Lannister, a wedding in the Godswood in front of her gods and... Good gods, it was too much, he wanted it to stop, wanted the world to stop spinning, wanted his chest to stop hurting, wanted his ears to stop ringing, wanted... he wanted his wife.

His mother was talking to the northerners once more, gently dismissing them with promises of rooms and whatever else they wished for before they returned to the north, but Willas wasn't listening. All he could think of was his wife, cloaked in another man's colours - Lannister colours. All he could think of was how desperate he had been to wed her again in front of her own gods that she devoted herself to, how he would have said whatever vows that religion required just to make her faith happy the way she had done for his, and how the Kingslayer had beaten him to it and taken his place. All he could imagine was his dear, lovely wife, pledged to someone else, called someone else's widow because his once-dead brother had killed her new husband. He thought of her, infinitely stoic and strong, going through labour alone for a child he had mourned, a child he had assumed to be Eddard and not Lyarra because of one of her dreams. If she was alive, if she had survived, what had she endured for months alone? What had the Freys and Lannisters put her through? What had she done just to keep herself alive, herself and their daughter?

Did she think he hated her? Did Garlan think that too? Did they hate him? Did they think he wasn't worthy of any of them as they trekked on their own quest in favour of returning home?

"Will, you need to sit down," Loras' tern voice called through his panicked haze. "Willas, look at me."

Loras' demand snapped him to, though he was still unable to think properly. When had he sat down next to Leonette? Had Loras forced him to sit, since his brother was knelt in front of him, staring at him as if he was seconds away from crumbling apart. His mother was pacing, Leonette's head was in her hands, while Loras seemed older than he ever had done.

"I can't breathe," he whispered against his will, shaking his head, reaching for his brother's hand. "Is this how she always felt?"

She. His wife. His Eddmina. His very-much alive Eddmina. Good gods.

"I need to go north," Leonette concluded as she stood, though she struggled to get to her feet at great speed, her hands cupping her back as she winced. "I need to find him."

Him. His brother. Garlan. Dead but now alive.

He'd wanted them both back, willed it every time he closed his eyes or faced any sort of reminder of them. Willas had wanted his family back constantly over the past six months, but now it was reality... What had he wished for, what had he done?

"Sit back down, Leo, please," Lady Alerie pleaded, though she continued to pace, her hands running through her long silver hair the way Willas often tugged at his own. "We need to be rational about all of this, we need to all calm down."

"Mother, that includes you," Loras called stonily, staring at her protectively until she ceased her pacing, sinking down into the seat next to Leonette. "Right. The letter was written by Lady Stark, so she's alive. It says that the Freys are all dead, as are Tywin and Jaime Lannister. Robb Stark's still dead, so that much was true at least, but Edda and Garlan... they're alive."

"Not your father, though," Lady Alerie whispered as if against her will, and without thought, Willas wrapped his arm around her shoulder, ignoring how his chest still stung as she sank into his arms.

"What do you think they did to her?" Willas asked before he could stop himself, glancing down to the crumpled letter on the floor. "She signed an annulment, she married Jaime Lannister by her gods, she... they imprisoned her, they..."

"She didn't get thrown out into a bog to rot, did she?" Leonette seethed, her fury only lasting seconds before she broke into tears once more. "Why didn't he come home? Does he not... does he not love us anymore?"

Willas' temper snapped once more. Regardless of how numb he felt, ignoring the pins and needles in his legs and how badly his knee ached, he got to his feet, and stormed over to the desk. He swept the sword off the table, barely wincing as it clattered to the floor, and without thought began to throw everything else off, not caring that he was muddling piles of paper or damaging books, hardly noticing how he shattered an entire collection of goblets as he launched them at the wall. He didn't notice how his mother was wincing or how Loras was shouting his name and demanding he see sense.

How in seven hells could he see sense? He'd mourned his wife, his child, his brother, his father, and so many others. He'd mourned them, yet the only one who was truly dead was his father, while the others were still alive yet had chosen not to rejoin him. Guilt surged through him for not acting, for not marching to avenge them and discover the truth, yet it was quickly replaced by betrayal. What had he done to make her hate him, to make her give herself over to the Lannisters, to Jaime of all people, and in front of her own gods no less? What had he done to his brother, the man he loved more than anyone else, for him to choose a band of anachists over his own family? His wife hid herself away in northern quests, keeping his daughter a secret, while his own brother kept himself in the dark to what was happening with his wife. Neither of them knew what they had all gone through in missing them, neither of them cared.

Willas only managed to stop himself destroying everything he could get his hands on when he found a small box in his hand that he was about to launch towards the open window, and realised it was his wife's wedding ring. Had they forced it off her cold finger the way he'd assumed, or had she put up resistance, or had she given it to the Freys willingly? Did she not want him anymore? He wanted her more than anything, but could he look at her, not knowing what she had gone through, knowing she had no clue what he had gone through either?

"Willas!" Loras snapped furiously, and he heard him at last. "Do you think that has helped anything?"

Willas glanced around the room and saw the wake of his destruction. He barely felt anything, even when he saw the damaged books and smashed glass. He almost managed guilt when he saw his mother's tears and Leonette's exhaustion, but then he remembered how they had spent months thinking that the three of them were all widowed, when in reality it was only Lady Alerie who had lost her spouse. Fury at the lies made him almost lose his balance, gripping his cane a little tighter, and he couldn't stomach looking at any of them.

"My boy, please," his mother held her hand out to him, and it looked as if her heart broke when he shook his head.

"No, no, she's..." Willas clenched his jaw, desperate not to shed any tears or waste his fury on more screaming. "She's not dead. He's not dead. Eddmina. Garlan. Neither of them are fucking dead. What... Why... I..."

"We need to go north," Leonette repeated, though her voice was void of emotion as she stared up at the ceiling. "We need-"

Willas didn't let her finish that thought, or perhaps she did finish speaking. In truth, he wasn't listening, not as he stormed out of the study, making sure to slam the door as he left.

***

How long he had sat in the kennels, he didn't know, but it was long enough to get through three wineskins and go through multiple spirals of despair, denial, rage, guilt, betrayal, and absolute depression.

Somewhere about halfway down the first wineskin, he'd begun crying, and only stopped when he got halfway through the second. He'd felt a fool to cry in front of his family, but collapsed onto a bale of hay surrounded by his hounds as they slept, he felt far more at ease to give in to his emotions.  Crying in front of his mother was out of the question, but his dogs were fine enough company. At least none of his dogs cried with him, or offered advice, or kept repeating the shocking news. Instead he could simply go over the news in his mind alone, and cope with it alone.

"Eddmina is alive," he whispered, finding it more helpful to wrap his mind around it all when he spoke it aloud. "Mina isn't dead, neither is Garlan. Father is still dead, I'm still Lord of Highgarden. I have a daughter. My wife married someone else. We have a daughter. My brother doesn't know he's going to be a father. My wife doesn't want to come home."

What a mess his life was. What a mess he was.

One of his dogs, possibly Monarch, had crept up to him, whinging as he placed his head into his lap. His hounds had grown a great deal, but they were nowhere near as large as Honour, nor as imposing. He loved the wolf, of course he did, but she was a direwolf, a creature from beyond the Wall, while his dogs he had bred and reared himself, and they were not as much of a reminder of his wife. He buried his hand into the fur of Monarch's neck, ruffling his fingers through the wiry fur, desperate to still his racing mind, hoping the affection to the animal would make him feel some sort of emotion. It was useless though, because as much of a comfort as it was be be joined by his dog, he felt void of everything. He let out a long sigh, taking another swig of his wine, before he let his eyes close as his head tipped back to rest against the wall.

He wanted to sleep, but sleeping meant seeing his wife, his alive wife. He didn't know if he would be able to handle that, knowing she was not a ghost hanging over him but the memory of a woman who was still living yet unreachable. Did she dream of him as he did of her? Did she long for him and yearn to be at his side the way he did? Of course she didn't, because surely if she did she would have found a way to send word about her survival, or she woud have found a way to come home to him.

Did she think about him at all? Did she think of Uther? Did Garlan think about Leonette, or their mother? Did either of them consider the grief and heartbreak they had caused?

The bitter stinging of betrayal he felt barely lasted a moment though, because whenever he did begin to settle in self-pity that the two people who he loved more than anything else hadn't cared to return, he was drowned by a wave of suffocating fear. What had they done to them? The Freys had thrown his brother out to rot in the rain, but what had ressurection warped his brother into, what had become of the sweet little boy who was his protective shadow? The Lannisters had made Eddmina marry one of them, but had it been forced, how had they convinced her into it, and what had they done with her for the rest of her imprisonment? Had they hurt her, his already fractured wife, broken by losses and torture? Imagining her scared and alone, surrounded by people who taunted and hurt her, locked away from the world and made into nothing more than a ghost, a name that could be used for power... It hurt more than imagining them cutting her throat.

Then there was his daughter too. Lyarra. He kept repeating the name aloud, each time feeling another sob rise up in his chest that he had to wash away with wine. How was she even alive? How had the Freys and Lannisters even allowed his wife to remain with child? Had she suffered alone to bring her into the world, had she been surrounded by only those who wanted to harm them both? Lyarra was a miracle, one he could hardly believe in, one he knew he worshipped already even if he was unsure if he would ever meet her, but he struggled to think of her without wanting to throw himself into the Mander and not return.

He felt an absolute fool. He felt as if he had convinced himself he had lost everything so had no choice but to fight to create a new world, while instead he should have been fighting to regain what he had lost. Absolute, bloody fool.

"You promised mother you would stop drinking," Loras' voice came from the doorway. At the sound of a newcomer, a few of the dogs got up, their tails wagging, but Monarch didn't get up, nor did Willas, who made eye contact with his brother as he took another long swig from the wineskin until it was empty. "You're being a selfish prick, you know that don't you?"

Willas flashed him a vulgar hand gesture, while Loras glared at him.

"Is that any way to speak to your liege lord, nephew?" another voice called before Willas could insult his brother properly, though their uncle Humphrey appeared in the doorway fashing the pair of them a smirk that was horrifically out of place given the two Tyrell's scowls.

Humphrey Hightower was their mother's youngest brother, and in truth closer in age to his eldest nephew than his elder sister. Like most of the Hightowers, Alerie and Humphrey did not perfectly see eye-to-eye, their sibling bond being one of annoyance and irritation, yet he had always been a good friend to the boys, even if that had meant being a bad influence in introducing them to wine and women.

Friendship or no, he was still the last person Willas wanted to see. He didn't want to see anyone, even his brother, but at least Loras understood the situation, while Humphrey surely needed catching up on the revelation of their losses. Willas cursed, reaching for his cane that he had discarded to the side, wanting to flee the scene once more, except as he looked to the floor he felt his vision spin, and knew he wouldn't be able to stand for long.

"So I couldn't help but overhear, becuse you Tyrells are nothing if not loud, but it seems you are not a widower after all," Humphrey concluded, entering the kennel and sitting on the haybale next to Willas, throwing his arm around him as if they were friends in a tavern, while Loras leant against the doorway, still scowling. "Care to tell me why you're drowning you sorrows and not celebrating?"

"Because he's an arrogant prick!" Loras snapped, arms folded across his chest. "This all affects more than just you, Willas. You really saw mother and Leonette and thought the first course of action would be to put yourself at risk again?"

"Shut up," Willas managed to croak out, knowing logically that Loras was right but refusing to give him that satisfaction. "My wife... my brother-"

"My brother too, Willas!" Loras snapped again. "Garlan was my brother too! Is. Garlan is my brother, Margaery's brother, mother's son, Leo's husband, do you think you're the only one who can't understand why he didn't come home? Yet, instead of destroying myself, I would rather do something productive about it!"

"And what do you suggest?" Willas muttered bitterly, knowing wih his whole being that Loras was right, that he was being careless and selfish, yet the part of him that was happy lingering in his despair wanted to be stubborn.

"You're the Hand to a Queen with three fucking dragons, what do you think you should do?" Loras pointed out, though his statement made his uncle chuckle. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"No, not at all," Ser Humphrey shrugged. "I just would exercise a little more caution with these dragons, and a little more distrust to these northerners."

"They are not lying," Willas sighed, his head falling into his hands.

"How do you know? You have not seen Garlan with your own eyes, or your lady wife," Humphrey reminded them both, and though Loras was still pink with frustration, Willas let out  tired sigh. "You have at least a dozen responsibilities right now. You have your family to think of, your son. A whole kingdom is looking to you, not to mention you crowned a Queen only days ago, and it will not be long before that usurpation reaches the ears of what few Lannisters remain. You have begun a war of your own, do you really think it is worth risking your already unstable station because of one letter and one sword?"

It was not just one letter and a sword though. It was his wife, it was his brother, it was his daughter. It was the family he'd destroyed himself over, it was the people he'd sworn to avenge or die trying. It was his heart and soul, and just knowing they were out there made him feel lost all over again. At least when they were dead he knew they were gone, he knew he could miss them, but with them still living, out there somewhere, still breathing yet still utterly unreachable, it made him feel more insane than any level of grief ever had before. How could he not want to run to the other side of the seven kingdoms, how could he not want to comb through every town and village, search every forest until he had them all home safe? It was what every instinct inside him was screaming to do, even with the betrayal and the furious disbelief, all he wanted was to find them.

All of that felt impossible to articulate, especially when merely thinking about saying their names made him want to cry again.

"You need-" loras began, but a calm look and a simple shake of their uncle's head had him fall silent.

"You are our Lord, what you say goes, but I would suggest you confirm this as truth before you make any rash decisions," Humphrey told him with a squeeze of his shoulder that reminded Willas of his grandfather.

"How can I confirm it though?" He asked, his voice strained, hating how helpless he felt. "What do I do?"

"You don't need to do anything, isn't that the wonderful part of being a Lord? Get someone else to do it for you," Humphrey said with a laugh and a shrug. Willas didn't have the energy to laugh, and hardly noticed when his uncle looked to Loras. "Do you know your goodsister well enough that you'd sniff out an imposter?"

"Of course I do, but I know my brother better," Loras snapped impatiently. "Are you saying I should go north?"

"Yes," Willas nodded, surprised at how quickly he'd settled with Humphrey's idea. "Please. Please, Loras. Uncle Humphrey's right, the moment I leave Daenerys' cause the enemies we've made will move in and... I cannot risk us losing more than we already have."

"But what if I don't want to leave home? Who will look after Highgarden with you and I gone?" Loras protested gently, sounding like a boy for the first time in ages. Willas couldn't stomach the guilt that his brother's worries and grief brought him.

"It is not as if your mother is incapable," Humphrey pointed out. "Besides, you have plenty of uncles. One of us can take over for you, though not myself, as I will be coming north with you."

"Are you sure?" Willas asked, instantly relieved when his uncle nodded, though he turned his focus to his brother once more. "Loras, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"No, you're right," Loras sighed, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked to the floor. "At least if I go it stops Leonette wanting to go north. I just... I wish we didn't have to do this. I wish none of this had ever happened."

Willas forgot his unsteadiness and his spinning head the moment he noticed Loras' facade falter. He'd used frustration as a shield, stubbornness as a guard, but in that brief second it had slipped, and Willas didn't see the angry, defensive knight. All he saw was his little brother, the little boy who'd chased after his elder two brothers wanting to be included in their every joke and jest, the boy who'd grown up striving to be the best and excelling where his eldest brother didn't. He saw the golden child youngest son, the one who was worshipped by his whole family for being so effortlessly talented at the pursuits men were expected to excel in. He saw the man who never acknowledged the whispers about him and his lifestyle, the man who his family accepted because he was theirs. He saw the man who'd suffered losing the love of his life, who simply wanted to hold his family together.

Willas had bolted to him before he could even think, and his arms were wrapped around him so bonecrushingly tight that Loras exhaled sharply and took a moment of shock to hug him back. Willas hadn't wanted his family to see him cry, so he tried with all his might to prevent the tears, especially when he felt his brother grip his shoulders as if his life depended on it. He took a deep breath, savouring the closeness, grateful to still have him, knowing that he would do anything to protect him. He had mourned one brother, he would not do it again.

"I'll go," Loras assured him after a moments silence punctuated only by their ragged breaths as they both fought against breaking down. "I'll bring them home."

"You're a good lad, you're a good man," Willas promised him, wondering just when his little brother had grown up. "Father would be so proud of you."

To his credit, Loras barely flinched at that, but he did remain in their embrace as if to ensure he didn't see the pain that remark had caused. When they did eventually part, Willas missed him, and not just for the emotional closeness but because he hadn't realised how much of his balance had relied upon him. He wanted to be embarrassed at how he almost stumbled, how unlordly it felt to have to steady himself against the grip of his cane, how foolish he felt when his uncle jumped to his feet and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Humphrey was pretending it was an embrace of their own, but Willas knew it was to stop him falling, and he cursed himself yet again for the wine, especially as his head spun once more.

He had to stop drinking, he knew. He had to stop drowning away his problems in wine and spirits. It was unproductive, it was unbecoming of a man of his station and position, but yet each time he came to that conclusion, each time he swore himself away, another curveball was thrown his way. He would stop drinking when the world stopped being so damned strange, he decided.

"You have had your moment to break down, now be a lord again," Humphrey instructed him, clapping his hand on his shoulder the way he always used to do, as if he was merely speaking to his nephew and not his Lord; Willas was glad of it.

Willas merely nodded at the words, but the gesture steeled him. No more crying, no more wallowing. There was work to be done, work that he would have to do whether his head spun from the news and the alcohol or not. He began to make a mental checklist as he made sure he was steady enough to step out of his uncle's grip, and only when he was sure that he wouldn't trip and make an even greater fool out of himself did he turn to bid his dogs farewell and head out of the kennels, nodding for both his brother and uncle to follow him. Loras matched his pace quickly, as did his uncle.

"I need to speak with the Queen, but first I need to speak to Uncle Garth, I want him to help my mother look after Highgarden while we are gone, Tyrell Garth, that is, not Hightower Garth, though I want to speak to him about mobilising whatever troops the bannermen have to offer, I'll need to speak with him about how best to organise the forces, leave enough men behind to guard the Reach while the rest can prepare to march at a moment's notice," Willas listed off, his words practically a stream of consciousness. "Loras, I need you to find a few good men to take with you, you're not going North just you and Uncle Humph, and then you'll need to speak to Byren about making all the necessary preparations to leave. Sailing would be quicker, but riding more inconspicuous, so the choice is yours just as long as you're safe and do nothing foolish. I'll see mother and Leonette too before I speak to Daenerys-"

"Speak to Leo tomorrow, she's been advised by the maester to rest," Loras cut in, shooting him a protective look that made Willas feel guilty; he was not the only one who had been deceived about widowhood. "As for mother, she's dealing with the northerners, getting as much information out of them as possible. Poor fools, knowing her she'll want every detail and I doubt they know when Garlan last sneezed."

"You know what else you will have to do, my lord?" his uncle asked, his eyebrow raised in a mixture of amusement and discomfort. "The littlest Lannister who's sworn himself to your queen. You're going to have to tell him that your dead brother killed his brother and your dead wife killed his father."

Willas let out a long, exhausted sigh, stopping in his tracks to pinch the bridge of his nose. He needed to focus, he needed to work, but his uncle's words made the reality of the situaion dawn on him all over again, except... he found himself laughing, almost hysterically. It made a stark difference to tears, a jarring change of emotions that he wasn't sure he cared for, but the absurdity of it all weighed down on him and he simply couldn't help it. He knew his brother and uncle were exchanging a concerned glance, but it did not stop him laughing.

Oh, good gods, what had his life become?

***

Word count: 10088

***