Dorne was as stiflingly hot as ever, even if his ship did arrive into the dock in the early evening, and Willas was glad for the seabreeze he wouldn't have gotten had he had his way and travelled by horseback.

It was his grandmother who'd told him to sail, stating that it was quicker, and easier to hide himself and his intentions. He knew though that she had been in cahoots with his mother, who was so determined for him to not strain his leg and make his knee worse than it already was, because as much as she tried not to, his grandmother had glanced to his cane when giving him his travel instructions. Normally it would have bothered him, even a few weeks prior it would have had his temper on a knife's edge, but he'd decided to let it go. There was enough on his mind without adding stubborn pride and resentment for an old injury into the mix.

Uther, for one, had barely left his thoughts. He'd so desperately wanted to take his son with him to Dorne. He might be little, but Willas wanted him to experience as much of the world as he could, as many cultures as possible. Life was not always long, one should strive to thrive in any opportunity. Thst had been his logic anyway, but then he saw the fear in his mother's eyes when he mentioned taking Uther to Dorne. He saw the tears she tried not to shed, saw the way she tried not to let him see her hands shake, saw how she quietly dismissed herself from his office to spend time with her grandson as if she wanted to practice saying goodbye, and he knew his logic didn't matter. Separating from his son was agony, but his mother needed him too.

He missed Uther desperately, and felt a similar way about Honour too. The direwolf had been acknowledging him a little more in the days leading up to his journey, to the point that the night before he left for the docks the wolf was curled up in bed with him. It had reminded him of all the nights he had shared with his wife in Winterfell, or in their war tent, or in Riverrun, where her wolf had bedded down between them, and it made him think that Honour's arrival into their lives had been the addition to make them a true family. He supposed that they would never be a true family again, but then he supposed that was why he had left them both for Dorne.

It had taken a week to iron out details. He wrote notes in code to Oberyn to inform him of his visit, he wrote to the Wall in the hopes that it would reach Jon or Sansa, he made sure everything was right and in place for him to go, and of course, he had to see his sister and Grandmother off to the capitol. He'd refused for Loras to go with them, stating he needed to stay home and look after their mother who could not be abandoned by all her children, and though it threw him into a fit of frustration, he accepted it, and waved them off at the docks without a grumble. They were seeing them off to danger, but none of them could really be upset. They were going for revenge, after all.

Willas was in Dorne for revenge too, something he spent a great deal thinking about when he travelled from the docks by carriage to Sunspear. It was only a short journey and one he was far more used to enduring on horseback, but at least the carriage meant he had time to think, time to prepare for what he was to face, and time to figure out what it was that he wanted. He wanted to see his old friends, see if they could make him feel a little more alive, and he wanted to see the guests Oberyn had written about vaguely. He had no clue who they could be, but if they brought the opportunity of setting the wrongs his family had endured right, then he was more than content with meeting anyone. By the time he arrived, his mind was set on the potentials of revenge, and he almost had to remind himself of the nature of his visit when he felt a rare surge of joy upon getting out of the carriage and seeing the welcoming party awaiting him at the gates of Sunspear.

Oberyn had not come himself, but he had sent some of his beloved Sand Snakes, and they were escorted by their elder cousin, who beamed at him and practically knocked him off his feet she ran to embrace him so quickly. In the split second that she hugged him, Willas recalled the letter he recieved once from Oberyn detailing how his eldest daughters and Arianne had fled Dorne so that Arianne could run away to Highgarden, and had he not caught them and foiled their plans, his niece was hellbent on seducing him and making herself Lady of the Reach. She was an attractive woman, dark-eyed with sunkissed skin, though she was fairly short with her head barely reaching his shoulders as she had to stand on tip-toe to hold him. She was attractive, and would have made a beautiful wife. A clever one too, and funny. She would be a prize for any man.

Yet, no more of a prize than the wife he had ended up with, the wife he had lost.

He quickly tried to rid those thoughts from his mind, desperate not to have his mind plagued by ghosts when he had more important things to be dealing with. For one, he had to deal with an influx of young Dornish girls crying his name with glee, ambushing him in embraces. If the Reach and Dorne were enemies of the ages, the next generation certainly didn't care about historic grudges.

"I thought we may never see you again, my lord!" Arianne exclaimed as she linked her arm through his, leading him into the keep, through the entry gates and into the courtyard that shone in the evening golden hour of sunshine, her cousins in tow. "When you didn't answer my Uncle's letter we thought you may have forgotten us."

"How could I ever forget such charming ladies, and such a fellow as dastardly as your uncle?" he went along with the joke, though it still felt hard for him to smile. "I trust you're all well?"

"Very well," Tyene chimed in, dashing to walk on his other side, grinning like a sweet little thing; Willas knew she was anything but, Oberyn had taught her too well with poisons for her to be sweet.

They all had their beauty, and their dangers. Tyene was a master of poisons, and deception, while Willas knew beautiful Nymeria who followed after them had at least a dozen blades concealed about her person and was as vengeful as she was elegant. Obara was a little less subtle in her warrior nature, but the fact she was so physically strong and unflinching in her nature was attractive in a way different to the rest of her sisters. Willas liked that about them all, he had liked it right from the first time he met them. Oberyn had raised his daughters to be warriors, survivors. He'd raised them to be individuals who had no fear of what was thought of them, and Willas had always admired that. He'd thought that was the way he would have liked to raise daughters too, would he one day be lucky enough to have one. He supposed that was a dream he could let go of, even if it stung.

The girls chatted away to him about anything and everything, though he could tell by the way that they kept ocassionally exchanging glances that they were not telling him something. They had a secret, and he assumed it was something to do with the guests that Oberyn had mentioned, but Willas was hardly going to interogate them to confess. Or, he wasn't going to interogate all of them, because he was outnumbered massively and had learnt not to cross the Sand Snakes; even the little ones. Instead, when they had shown him to his rooms and they began to make their excuses to leave him, he waited until the three Sands had begun to depart before he grasped hold of Arianne's wrist, making her stay.

"What is all of this about?" he hissed to her with a frown, making sure to keep his voice low. "Why am I here?"

"Because you love my Uncle and want to see him?" she answered with a teasing raised eyebrow. Willas shook his head, continuing to frown, silently begging her for the truth. Arianne had never been one to lie to him, far too fond to keep up facades, so she sighed, and stepped closer with her voice quietened. "Did you not see how quickly they left? How eager they were to go?"

"I thought perhaps they hated my beard too," Willas shrugged.

"It does make you look northern," Arianne replied, and Willas wasn't sure if it was a joking insult of a compliment. "No, unfortunately as much as they love you, you are not the most exciting guest to grace Dorne currently."

"Then who is, and why does your Uncle think they will be of interest to me?" he asked, and he could tell she had already said far too much by the way she glanced behind her to check no one else was around.

"Because they hate the Lannisters almost as much as you do, but for different reasons," Arianne confessed, as vague as Oberyn's letter. "I am sorry, by the way, for your losses. Uncle Oberyn told us not to speak of them straight away, just in case it was still too... Well, doesn't matter now. You know how he still gets enraged whenever anyone mentions my Aunt, or the Lannisters too for that matter. I think he enjoys the fact that the hatred might be mutual with you now."

Lannisters had been behind the death of Oberyn's sister, and her children. Lannisters had been behind the death of Willas' brother, and father, and... He had gotten to the point of being able to think of the former two losses, but the latter losses still had to go unspoken and unthought of, being far too agonising. Oberyn was right though, because when he did dare to consider the losses, he burnt with rage. It was like a desperation to make someone hurt, make them pay, make them feel the exact same that he did but worse just so he could feel better about himself. It was just like Oberyn to enjoy that newfound similarity between the two of them.

Yet, if he was so keen to have him in his home and share their pains, then where was he?

As if she understood exactly where his thoughts had gone, Arianne reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. He realised then that his jaw was clenched, so he sighed, forcing himself to relax as he ran his hand across his forehead.

"They are guests who command a great deal of attention, especially now she has properly arrived," Arianne explained. "It was just envoys at first when Uncle Oberyn wrote to you, but now their full party is here and... Well, we've all been told not to tell you. Oberyn wants that pleasure himself."

"When have you ever followed instruction?" Willas raised his eyebrow, hoping to tease the information out of her. Her gaze hardened, though she rolled her eyes, not truly angry with him. "Tell me, Princess. I did not leave my home and my family in the hands of my mother and little brother to come here for vague words and mystery guests who remain hidden. I was under the impression that it was an alliance that would benefit me."

"It will, I swear it to you, but as of now..." Arianne told him, still holding his chin as her thumb stroked over his skin affectionately. She pulled away, standing up straighter as she regained herself as host. "My Uncle told me to tell you to freshen up, and get ready for the evening. He will come and collect you at sunset, and knowing him, will spirit you off onto some sort of adventure. All your questions can be posed to him then, my Lord."

She left him with a curtsy that felt mildly sarcastic, but he paid no mind because his head was spinning with unanswered questions, and upon entering his guest chamber he felt dizzy with nostalgia. It was the room he always had whenever he visited Dorne, the one with a big open patio that offered a view of the sea where the setting sun shimmered off the waters surface and made the whole room glow orange. It was the room with the most air, perfect for a Dornish outsider unaccustomed to the heat, and as he found out on his last visit, perfect for a northerner who'd barely travelled out of her own kingdom and was unused to any sunshine whatsoever.

His wife had marvelled at the view, falling in love with the sea and the beauty it held. She had worn a smile that was wry and hidden, as if she didn't want people to know how excited she was to be experiencing such things, but her happiness had taken over into a full grin the moment he took hold of her and kissed her out on the patio where the evening sun shone on them, warming their blushing faces. She'd dressed in an airy grey gown, one so unlike anything she'd ever imagined wearing, one without sleeves and a low neck. For a Winterfell girl, it was beyond imagination to wear something so exposing and not shielding from the weather. It was probably why she got sunburnt, but even then with reddened cheeks and peeling patches of skin that he'd noticed his own guards and some of the Dornish surpressing laughs or grimaces at, she was the most beautiful woman he could ever dream of. She was more beautiful each night when he rid her of the gown and met her in bed, the pair of them giddy from freedom and youth, and lovedrunk on the spouse they hadn't even said 'love' to.

He said the word then, whispering it as if her ghost had followed him. Of course she had, she seemed to haunt his every move. What would she think to his trip? Would she praise it and see it as a move for vengeance for her life and honour, or would she see it as him escaping and running away? Would she think he had just fled south to his wild friends, abandoning their son and all his responsibilities to drink, and gamble, and find some pretty Dornish girl to spend his nights with? She had never cared when he mentioned old exploits, when his brother teased him for Dornish adventures from years before, but they had all been before he was a married man, and she had known that and respected it. She had known he saw no woman but her, known he loved only her even if they were so often in disbelief over the fact they loved each other, but now she was gone, left him for the heavens a widower, would she expect him to withhold the vows? He intended to, wanting no one but her, but would she hate him and imagine that he would be getting up to no good?

Gods it was an awful thing to be so haunted. He wondered if Leonette felt the same, if her every move was done in consideration of her late spouse. He wondered if she lay awake at night, imagining what her husband would say about everything, if she spent her days wandering in a daze imagining he was still physically there because his emotional presence hung over her like a ten-tonne weight. Just before he'd left for Dorne Leonette had asked him quietly if he knew if what names his brother had liked, if he had ever mentioned storybook characters or historic heroes that he liked, and Willas had known he wasn't alone in his longing for guidance. He wished she had been able to travel with him so that neither of them had to feel so alone yet constantly so observed.

Oberyn appeared in his room while he was still getting changed, an unceremonious arrival without so much as a knock on the door. Willas was shirtless, though he had at least put on trousers, thinner and looser than ones he'd wear at home, but still black; he had no desire to wear anything but black. Had it been anyone else he would have cursed them out of the room, but Oberyn had seen him in one of his lowest moments, holding him down on the maester's table when they all thought he was on the brink of death. Compared to that, why did it matter if he saw him half-dressed?

He sauntered into the room, confident as ever, regarding him with a look up and down. Though he'd worn a dry, almost cocky smirk when he arrived, it faded the closer he got to him. Willas was used to that when people took too close a look at him and saw his state of neglect, how skinny he had gotten, the fact he was still a little bruised from sleeping anywhere but his bed at home, how he had still not gotten around to shaving or trimming his beard because even though he'd combed it, it had gotten into a bit of a state the longer it grew; it was longer than he intended it to be even if it was only a couple inches down from his chin. He was better than he had been before his bout of bedrest, but even so, there was a lot of damage to fix, a lot of healing to be done, and he wasn't quite sure if he was ready for it all.

"Terrible host, you are, abandoning your guest," Willas remarked instead of proper greeting, smirking.

"I gave you a great welcoming party to greet you," Oberyn shrugged as he continued to approach. He did not stop, even when he was inches away from him, reaching out so both hands could cup his face. "The girls said you seemed well enough but did not look like a Lord, more like a man who'd been lost in a battle."

"Where is the lie? Though, we both know very well I've fought no battles," Willas told him with a raised eyebrow, glad when Oberyn didn't break eye contact. He never did, it was why he liked him so much; Oberyn was one of the only men he knew who never, ever looked down at  Willas' leg, or his cane. "Your other guests, did you ambush them in the nude too?"

"You are not naked, you prude," Oberyn rolled his eyes, slapping his cheeks gently before he stepped away, throwing his shirt at him as he went to go and recline on the bed behind them. "I have seen you more bare before. You did not oppose then, though you were in your wild days of rebellion."

"Exactly, I'm a Lord now, Warden of a Kingdom, you owe me a little more respect," Willas said dryly, pulling the shirt over his head and fastening the ties quickly, not thinking about the woman who used to do it for him.

"And I am a Prince, where is my respect?" Oberyn asked, though he said it with a wink, and the moment Willas was dressed, he jumped to his feet, more energetic in his forties than most men in their teens. "Come, we should go and celebrate your arrival. I have an evening around the town planned for us, as life is short so let us drink and laugh our problems away until tomorrow when we can face them with war and revenge."

"So telling me you wanted to introduce me to your new daughter was a ploy to get me out to the Dornish taverns again?" Willas sighed, managing a small laugh when Oberyn feigned offence. "I expected nothing less. I'm trying not to drink, so I doubt I will be decent company."

"You are always decent company, my Lord," Oberyn said, and though the title was a joke he meant the rest sincerely. "Besides, Dyana is sleeping, and Ellaria is more than happy for the two of us to entertain ourselves before we have to get to our business of revenge."

There was no refusing, no coming up with excuses. Willas knew that well enough, and he also knew that despite the mourning mood he still felt deep down in him, a night of adventurous exploits was what he needed. It frustrated him how guilty he felt for it, but he was still alive, even if loss and mourning made him think otherwise. He was still living, and he was desperate to forget the ghosts hanging over him. A night of fun with Oberyn would be the perfect escape, and then come the morrow he could remember all the harsh realities that faced him as they began their plots.

That was why he didn't protest to venturing out of the keep of Sunspear, even when his own guards looked reluctant at the plan. Not that their opinion mattered, since Oberyn shirked the need for any sort of guard. The Prince was skilled enough to protect himself from any sort of danger, and despite putting Willas' life on the line once, there was no one he trusted more. Well, perhaps one man, but he had been taken from him four months before, and he was one of the reasons why he was so desperate to have an adventure and forget his pains briefly.

"Tell me about your son," Oberyn asked in the first tavern they visited, as if he knew it was the perfect conversation starter, one that didn't bring too much sorrow or anger.

He had found them a table in the corner of the room, secluded from everyone else paying custom. No one was paying them any mind anyway, not since there was a pack of beautiful, scantily clad women dancing on a stage accompanied by a band. Even so, they kept to themselves, with hoods disguising their faces. It worked better for Willas who was an outsider, but for Oberyn who must have frequented the place often, the server brought over what must have been his regular order, placing a platter of olives between the two of them alongside a little glass bottle filed with clear liquid that was most definitely not water with two shot glasses.

Willas hadn't wanted to drink. He'd promised his mother he wouldn't get led astray no matter how the Red Viper of Dorne charmed him. He'd promised his grandmother he would keep focus and remember that he was visiting for the sole purpose of alliances. Yet, one thought of Uther and how far from home he was made him reach for the little bottle, pouring out a measure for each of them, knocking the alcohol down his throat before he could think twice. It burned as it went down, but it was a nice burn, one that distracted him from the ache of homesickness and anxiety. Oberyn watched him closely, but downed his own shot, and rather than say anything he poured them both another one.

"He is one of the greatest things to ever happen to me," Willas answered shortly after throwing back another shot. "He's a clever little thing, stubborn too. I didn't realise such a small thing could have such a strong will. He looks like his mother."

"Does that bother you?" Oberyn asked, already pouring out another shot and waving the server over to bring more, knowing he had posed a difficult question.

"I think it will bother me more if Leonette's child looks like their father," Willas answered truthfully, hating himself for the thought that tortured him. "It bothers me that Leonette's babe and Uther will live their whole lives being looked at and compared to parents they don't remember. It bothers me that Garlan would have loved to have been a father, and my father had always wanted grandchildren, and now..."

"I do not know what it means to be a widower, but losing parents is a difficult thing, and losing a sibling..." Oberyn spoke, his voice lined with life experience that reminded Willas that he was older by over ten years and had lived a far more adventurous life. "That grief never leaves you, nor does the anger when they are taken from you unjustly. If Elia or Ser Garlan had died of a flu or of old age then it would hurt, yes, but for them to have been murdered... It makes one want to become a murderer yourself, doesn't it?"

"It made me shut down," Willas shook his head, not sure where his honesty was coming from. "I'd never even considered that I may have to live without him. The last thing I told him was that I would see him in three weeks time, but when those weeks passed and a letter came in their place informing us of the betrayal... The messenger who delivered it called me 'My Lord' and I  laughed and tried to correct him until I noticed he was dressed in black. The next thing I remember was that my mother was screaming, and Leonette had collapsed, and... would you mind if I finished off that bottle?"

Oberyn shook his head, pushing it over to him, but not even the whole liquor portion could still the buzz in his mind. He thought he had gotten better at thinking about it all, he thought he was well enough to discuss it and speak their names, but he hadn't even come close to grasping it all. He screwed his eyes shut, wishing he was not so far from home, wishing he hadn't agreed to his family's plan, wishing he had been firm and told his wife she was not to go to that bloody wedding.

Willas felt a hand on his, and when he dared open his eyes he saw Oberyn staring at him. He'd seen that look in his eyes once before, the day of the joust, the moment he was holding him down for the maester to rebreak his leg. The memory sickened him, but nowhere near as much as it once had, not since he had faced greater horrors. Willas sighed, trying to force a smile as if to fake seeming fine for his friend, but if there was one person he didn't need to pretend to, it was Prince Oberyn.

"I would do unspeakable things if it meant bringing my sister back," the prince told him. "I would do them without flinching, without thought, even if it meant casting my soul in the deepest of the seven hells. I know you would do the same for your brother, and your father, and your wife. We need not speak of her, I know it will hurt, but you should know I thought very highly of her."

"She thought you'd hate her," Willas shrugged, surprised he could speak of her given how his throat tightened at the thought. Oberyn looked surprised by that, to the point he let out a small laugh. "Her aunt. Lyanna Stark was the woman your sister's husband abducted, and abandoned your sister for. She was worried about coming to Dorne as a Stark."

"I hold no grudge to her or her aunt," Oberyn shrugged, and Willas was infinitely grateful that his friend did not say his wife's name. "Prince Rhaegar himself, the Mountain, and the Lannisters however... Well, there is nothing I can do to the Prince, but the other two..."

They had not gone out to speak of vengeance or of their losses, but that was where they had naturally drifted to, and Willas was almost relieved for it. It was nice to speak to someone who understood, who could relate, yet was not part of his family. It was nice to see a smiliar agony of loss scar another person, to see he was not so alone in carrying the burden of grief. At that, he poured them each another shot from their third bottle of liquor, and raised his own glass in the air as a salute.

"To the Lannisters," Oberyn spoke as a toast. "Who we will take great pleasure in destroying."

Another three bottles of liqour were downed in that tavern, though the conversation drifted from their pains to anything and everything else. When they tired of the band in that tavern they ventured to another, and then another one a few hours after, and possibly another once the stars were shining and there was nothing but the moon lighting their way, but by that point Willas' mind was hazed drunkenly. It was different to when he drank his sorrows away at home though, because with Oberyn he was laughing, really, truly laughing. He wasn't even sure why, perhaps his Dornish friend had told some terrible joke, perhaps Willas had made some dry remark that had set his friend off with contageous laughter, or perhaps the two of them were both just so drunk neither cared what had caused the amusement.

They eventually settled into another tavern, one with another band, yet they were playing more sombre music than the others, and there were beautiful girls circling around the room, making eyes at every man who possessed enough money to buy a drink. They were scantily clad, even considering the high temperatures of the Dornish climate, all of them showing  great deal of skin in thin floaty dresses that left very little to the imagination. It was not long before Willas returned to the table he and Oberyn had settled at after visiting the privy to find his friend with a woman sat upon his lap, a mass of dark curls upon her head and a bright smile upon her face. It made Willas laugh and roll his eyes, and he settled back down into his seat regardless, paying no mind to what his friend was doing in favour of watching the band, barely noticing how he could not see straight.

It took him a while to notice that a woman was looking at him, even longer to notice that she was smiling at him. In fact, he didn't see her until she was stood right in front of him, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. He still paid her no mind, glancing around her to see the band, but eventually she tired of that and grabbed his chin, guiding him to look at her. Tall, willowy, long straight hair cascading down her back in a waterfall, in a golden slip dress that hid nothing at all, she was beautiful, and she was looking at him expectantly.

"You're not from around here, are you, ser?" she asked him, her voice light and welcoming, her hand still on his face though he barely felt it.

"What gave that away?" Willas retorted, laughing at his own attempt of a joke. He glanced to Oberyn to see if his friend shared his amusement, but his friend was far too busy to notice. "I'm not interested, thank you. I'm married-"

'No, I'm not,' his thoughts quickly corrected him, feeling like a stab to the gut, feeling as if he was crushed under his horse all over again. 'I'm married only to a ghost. Oh, gods, my darling, I'm sorry.'

He didn't want any other woman looking at him except for his wife, and since she would never look at him again... Willas reached for his cane and attempted to rise, but then he heard the song that the band was playing, heard the words and the tune, and he remembered only two months ago when his grandmother had caught word of a band of bards playing the same song in a tavern local to Highgarden. She'd had them all thrown into the prison cells in her fury at the song, and Willas had refused to acknowledge it.

"With two arrows in him the king crawled to his feet, while his sister she pleaded for the lord to subside, but he'd taken their word and to break it meant no right to life," the bard sang mournfully. "Lord Bolton approached with a thrust to Robb's heart, he gave him the Lannister Lion's regards, and the king's sister wept for his last words had called her to him."

There was no escape anymore though. Willas had tried to avoid the song, especially after hearing the argument between Loras and his grandmother. His brother had thought it a cruel song, but a cruel move to imprison the singers, while his grandmother thought it not harsh enough.

"They sing of the late lady of Highgarden, do you think she is worthy of this disrespect even if she never got to rule this keep?" their grandmother had snapped, unknowing that Willas had been out in the hallway accidentally eavesdropping. "You let your brother hear that song and see what it will do to him. You let him hear them sing about how those traitors murdered her, then you can presume to tell me if I was harsh!"

"It's an awful song," Loras had agreed, sounding exhausted and frustrated, older than his years. "But-"

"But nothing, boy," she had cut him off mercilessly. "Those singers are lucky I'm not having their tongues cut. First they sing of her, what will stop them singing about your father, and your brother? I'll not stand for it, not with our new Lord already in a state."

Willas had fled at that, not wanting to listen anymore, refusing to acknowledge the fact he was in a state. He carried on as usual, allowing his grandmother whatever anger she wanted, but decided he would hear no part in it, and would refuse to hear the song too. In Dorne however, in the tavern with the band mere feet away, he had no choice. He didn't want to listen. He wanted to plug his fingers in his ears and scream if it meant drowning the song out. He wanted to run as far as possible, all the way back to Highgarden if he had to and it meant not listening to the song. He wanted to do so many things, yet he wasn't quick enough.

"There was nothing she felt cutting Lord Bolton's throat and she felt nothing more when they slashed her own," the bard continued to sing, unknowing of who his audience was, and how it was breaking Willas' heart all over again.

Willas' head spun. They'd cut his wife's throat. They made her watch as all her loved ones died, and then they killed her last, her and their son. It made him want to weep, but it made him burn more. They cut her throat, the very place he had kissed countless times. They'd probably grabbed her hair, roughed her around, beat her, and then cut her throat. His wife. His Eddmina. The love of his life.

"The North will remember, she thought, and they'll have all your skins," The bard sang, and Willas clenched his jaw. "And the timbers groaned, now the wolves lie below. Oh, the King in the North, if he'd known how a red wedding goes."

Willas wanted to storm to the stage and pull each one of the band down and let them know what sort of pain he felt. He wanted them to tell him exactly who wrote such a cruel song so he could go and hurt that person too. He'd not listened properly to the early verses, what if they had sang about his father, or his brother, or his lady goodmother? All the others too, all the other northerners he had never allowed himself to think about, what had happened to them? Dacey Mormont had to be dead too, because there was no way that girl would have allowed herself to live while Robb and Eddmina were being massacred. All of Robb's loyal men, men sworn to his father first but then called him their king, men who made his wife their princess.

His whole body burnt with grief, like he had thrown himself into one of Winterfell's boiling hot springs. He had never allowed himself to face it so clearly, never allowed himself to imagine what had really happened. It hurt, but he imagined how his wife went on a grief-fuelled rampage of revenge, how they eventually managed to get a hold of her and put an end to her. Had she been scared? Had she thought about him? He knew he would think about her forever.

That was his downfall, seeing her face in his mind so clearly. He'd seen her scared plenty of times, haunted by nightmares, hunted by Lannisters. He hated it, he'd never wanted anything more than to make sure she was always safe and protected. Willas had planned to dedicate his life to that, but he had failed. He'd made one mistake, that being trusting the wrong people, and he would have to spend the rest of his life wanting violence and vengeance, seeking out distractions to stop himself spiraling at the thought of her fear-filled face.

Perhaps that was why he turned away from the band and back into the arms of the Dornish girl. She was still smiling, still looking at him with admiration. She wasn't acting, or at least his wrecked, drunken mind told him so, because her hands were too gentle, her gaze too soft. She was beautiful, strikingly beautiful now he had regarded her properly, though when he drew her in close and pushed his lips to hers, when he sunk back into his seat and pulled her upon his lap, he closed his eyes and wished he was kissing someone else.

'I'm sorry, my Mina,' he thought, knowing what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. 'If I keep kissing her maybe I'll wake up and stop feeling the pain of missing you. Maybe she'll be good, and kind, and she's definitely a good kisser, but she's not you. No one will ever be you. Gods, I love you, my Mina. Gods, I'm sorry.'

He came to his senses the moment he felt the girls hands drift down from his chest to his trousers, her fingers beginning to untie the belt that kept them up. That was when he realised where his own hands were, and where his tongue was, and he had to fight against the sudden urge to shove the woman away. It was not her fault, there was no one to blame but himself and his need to stop the screaming in his mind, yet it got worse the moment he felt the sting of betrayal kick in.

How could he even think of kissing another woman? How could he even think of touching someone else, of wanting to touch someone else? He jerked his hands away from her breasts, pulled his lips from hers, and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, moving her away carefully. He made sure to reposition her as far away from his bad knee as possible, and he was so focused on guiding where her weight was that he didn't notice her confused, disappointed look.

"I'm sorry," he excused himself quickly. "I'm going to need you to get off me. I'll pay you whatever-"

"I am no whore, ser," she snapped, her once joyful face suddenly sour.

She got off him before he could ask again, and she had slapped him harshly across the face before he even had time to think. Even with the stinging ache and the stunning surprise, he was desperate to apologise again, but she had disappeared quickly. Even so, he had heaved himself to his feet, having to lean on his cane heavier than usual, but that was always the case when he was drunk and the world was spinning. Perhaps it was spinning a little too fast, perhaps he had to excuse himself and-

"Your tolerance for spirits has gone to shit, you know," he heard Oberyn remark the moment his friend sauntered out of the tavern to find him keeled over on the cobbles, leaning on the building with his head bowed as he vomitted. "Very dignified, my lord."

"Get fucked," Willas muttered, shooting him a glare before his stomach lurched again. "It's all your fault. I hate you."

"And the Reach rejoices, your family will be so glad that you've come to your senses to embrace the generational grudges of our kingdoms," Oberyn joked, and even though it was dark and he was not looking, Willas knew the Prince was smirking and had rolled his eyes. He was at his side before he knew it, and Willas had no say in the matter when Oberyn rubbed his back. "I'm sorry."

"For what, getting me drunk and taking me to a tavern where they sing about my Mina getting murdered, or for leading me astray when I'm meant to be here for business, or for killing my career as a knight and buggering up my knee?" Willas spat, heaving again as Oberyn hit his back, ignoring the insults. When he was sure he was done, feeling a little more steady, Willas attempted to stand up properly, but his balance wavered and he found himself falling back onto the Dornish Prince. "That was a pretty girl in there. She hit me."

"As she should, you offered to pay her when she simply found you handsome," Oberyn shrugged, understanding the insult. "I didn't hear the song that they sang, but know that I will make sure they regret it, as will the men who comitted the crimes they sing about. They will pay, my dear Lord Willas, we will make them pay."

"It won't bring her back though, will it?" Willas pointed out, barely realising that a few tears had escaped until he felt his face grow hot. "They took her away from me, her and our next son, and no amount of revenge will bring them back. It will never stop hurting, will it?"

Oberyn didn't say anything. Instead of words, he merely wrapped him up in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Loving, brotherly, it was exactly what he needed, and for the first time in months, Willas allowed himself to cry over his wife. He'd cried for his father, and for his brother, and for all the others, but his wife and their son... They had been too much, too painful, and Willas hadn't dared think of them long enough to risk tears. Even when he'd had his breakdown and started talking more to his family, it had still been impossible to broach the topic of his wife, even with himself.

He couldn't carry on that way though. It had taken him a night of tavern-crawling, a dark broody song, and a beautiful woman's kiss, but Willas was finally broken and had no choice but to face his reality. He was Willas Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the Reach because his father had been murdered. His family was torn apart because his brother had been murdered. His wife had been murdered too, and she had been called Eddmina Stark Tyrell. He had loved her with his whole being. Her name was Eddmina Tyrell, and he had adored her. Her name was Eddmina Tyrell, and she haunted over him. Her name was Eddmina Tyrell, she had been pregnant with their second son, and he would spend the rest of his life missing and longing for them both.

Oberyn held him in the streets while he sobbed, neither man caring that they were so out in the open. That was what he needed, to cry and let his pain out, and his friend was only happy enough to help facilitiate that. When his tears subsided a little, Oberyn shifted his weight on him so that the two of them could begin their staggered journey back to Sunspear, though by that point the moon had dulled and the sky had lightened to dusk. Willas stared up at the sky, desperate to see the stars, remembring a dress Eddmina had once made that had embroidered constellations sewn onto the skirts. She'd made it based on his own drawings, and she'd made it in the hopes of impressing him. She need not have tried so hard, because he found her impressive even when she was stood doing nothing.

"I loved her," Willas spoke after so long of silence once all his tears were out. "I loved her, Oberyn."

"Even the blind could see it," Oberyn remarked, though his voice was tinged with pity. "The seven kingdoms have never known a greater love story."

He was most likely speaking words fuelled by drunkenness, because even if the liquor hadn't touched Oberyn half as harshly as it had hit Willas, he was still walking in a jagged line. Still, his grip on Willas was tight and supportive, and Willas was tired and drunk enough to go along with his statement, feeling pride surge through him. He was glad people had known how much he loved his wife, he wanted everyone to know how much he loved his wife. He'd promised her once that he'd climb to the top of the High Tower of Old Town and scream his affections for her so the whole of the world could hear, and so he silently promised that he would do so on his journey home, deciding he would call in on his maternal family and enlist them into his family's plots. The more people the better, because while killing Lannisters and Freys wouldn't bring his family back, it would still feel rather good.

Oberyn led him back into Sunspear through the gardens, the way they had done many times before. Willas paid the route no mind, assuming that it was simply to avoid waking up half the keep as they stumbled and clattered about. Except, as the two of them accidentally stumbled into a stack of training weaponry, Willas swore loudly as the smashing swords made him jump, and Oberyn cursed under his breath and looked around wildly, as if trying to spot trouble.

"There won't be any gardeners about at this hour," Willas reminded him, not understanding Oberyn's caution, or why he was suddenly skittish.

"I simply don't wish to wake up our visitors," Oberyn spoke in a low, hushed voice. "I forgot, I should have brought you through the front doors."

"Your guest quarters are on the other side of the keep, far enough away that they won't hear anything," Willas reminded him, his voice significantly louder. "Take it from me, you shatter a man's kneecap then expect him to stagger to the other side of the keep? Poor form, my Prince."

"Do lower your voice, my Lord," Oberyn shot back, still wary, looking over into the distance where the hedges shielded the garden from the neighbouring firkd.

Willas wanted to ask why the sudden caution, why he suddenly cared about noise and the complaints they may face for waking people, but he didn't have the chance. Before Willas could speak, he heard a hiss, and a growl, then a roar. It was a noise that sounded so unlike any other animal Willas was instantly looking around, his curiosity peaked. He thought it was a bear at first, but with his encyclopaedic knowledge of animals he knew the sound was off, and he knew Oberyn wouldn't look as nervous if it was a bear, not if his stories were to be believed and he had wrestled one once.

"What..." Willas began, turning to Oberyn, but at the hissed roar calling out again and the sound of echoing thuds that almost resembled wings, Willas turned and looked ahead at where the noise was coming from, and the moment he saw the beast he jerked back in surprise, almost falling if not for Oberyn's grip around him. "Fuck!"

Willas was very drunk, but he knew he was not drunk enough to hallucinate a dragon, staring at him from over the hedge, almost glaring at him, before taking off into the sky with a single flap of their silver wings.

***

Word count: 8150

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Authors note:

The song Willas hears at the tavern is 'Timbers and Wind' by Peter Hollens, however I altered the lyrics a little to fit Edda into the song and fit with the canon changes of this fic. The first time I heard it a few years ago I just knew I had to feature it in this story as it's so perfect and heartbreaking.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please do let me know what you think and any theories you have for where you think it will go, and as always, thank you all so much for reading!

~ Olivia