Riverrun wasn't equipped for a feast, not in the middle of a war, not while so many men were away fighting in the Westerlands, but Willas refused for his son's first nameday to go unrecognised. After months of travelling with a war camp every evening meal in the Riverlands still felt like a luxury, but after returning back to the keep from the godswood he headed straight down to the kitchens to request that no expense be spared, that the word be spread around the whole keep, and soon Riverrun was abuzz with something that almost resembled excitement at the idea of a celebration, such festivities going forgotten in a time of war.

It felt wrong to ask for people to celebrate, it felt wrong to ask them to be happy, but there seemed to be a sense of relief in the air, as if everyone in Riverrun had been silently looking for any excuse to cast aside the gloom and doom. It didn't matter that it was for something as foolish as a first nameday feast, the people in Riverrun were merely happy to have a reason to be happy. Besides, Uther was the great-grandson of their liege, he had attended more meetings and councils than most men, and had inherited the Tyrell charisma and likability even at his young age. It didn't matter that they had previously been in a period of mourning, nor did it matter that they were at war, with the King in the North far from home and injured. When word was spread that the consort of the Princess of the North had asked all to be present for a celebratory dinner, from the men who stayed behind to guard the keep to those who served the keep as workers, no one saw fault, and everyone agreed to attend.

The only one who did attempt to oppose was Eddmina. Willas thought at first that it was her grief and worry causing her resistance. Even her mother thought so, because no matter how depressed the past few weeks had made Lady Stark, she knew she had to hold herself together for her daughter's sake. When she heard about Willas' proposed celebration, Lady Stark spent the rest of the day trying to encourage Eddmina, who faced it with stubborn disregard. Lady Stark dismissed Eddmina's handmaidens and helped her get ready herself, styling her hair in an intricate style of curls with a braided bun at the top of her head, helping her into a gown of cotton satin. It was a dark blue, so dark that it could be mistaken for black, yet the sleeves were home to a hundred running direwolves embroidered with thread so silver they shone, and with her Stark locket hanging around her neck and her crown upon her dark curls, she looked the picture of pure royalty, a true example of northern beauty. She had put on a brave face while her mother was there, yet the moment Lady Stark had left and Eddmina was stood in front of the mirror staring at herself, her expression turned into a scowl.

"Why've you done this to me?" she muttered, glancing around to Willas, folding her arms across her chest. "You know I hate feasts."

Willas stared at her for a moment, almost wide eyed. Then, he cracked a smile, and began to laugh. Her scowl quickly faded into confusion, especially as he moved closer, placing a hand upon her waist and a kiss onto her forehead.

"What is so amusing?" she demanded, rolling her eyes.

"You," he told her simply, still chuckling, still feeling relief and joy course through him. "You sound like you again."

His wife didn't like feasts. She didn't like parties or large gatherings, especially not grand celebrations. He remembered how she sat at their wedding feast, sipping at her wine and picking at the food brought to her, and though he knew that was down to nerves he knew it was also partially down to her preference of a quiet life, since he'd seen her behave similarly at every other feast the two of them had attended. Perhaps to everyone else she looked content and entertained, but he always noticed the slight way she rolled her eyes any time someone made a fool of themselves, he could see the tight thin smiles she pulled to be polite whenever she had to acknowledge someone she would rather not speak to. Willas knew that she piled a second plate high with food to pass onto her half brother, banished to the outside of the hall, and as much as he knew she did it out of love and rebellion, he wondered if she had ever done it as an excuse to dismiss herself quickly, even subconsciously.

Willas' upbringing had been quite different, as Highgarden hosted gatherings far more often than Winterfell could ever dream. While Eddmina had inherited the Stark stoicism and her father's preference to a private life, Willas had grown up seeing his family put their wealth and status on show. He was used to it, the drinking, the dancing, entertaining guests - even the obnoxious ones - and as much as he hated to admit it, he actually quite liked it. He would always prefer the quiet of the library to the buzz of a feasting hall, but unlike his wife he didn't tire to it as quickly. He could manage to spend hours at a party, even sometimes being one of the last to leave. That had been the case in Winterfell, remembering how he had drank Tyrion Lannister under the table only to stumble back to his bedchamber to find his wife already curled up in bed asleep with her wolf. He wondered if that made him like his father, to enjoy the frivolities that came with his status, but he also knew that there was a balance, and that balance was crucial to his future role in life. He could rule over the Reach in the library for as long as he wanted, but it wouldn't matter if he didn't open his home up to the men he was meant to rule.

He'd once tried to explain that to Eddmina, the morning after the feast in Winterfell while he nursed his hangover. She had tried not to roll her eyes or call him a silly southerner, but he knew she understood the importance of it. She understood, but that didn't mean she liked it, much like a lot of things that came with their positions. He had gotten so used to her carrying on and putting on a brave, emotionless face to deal with matters she didn't like to the extent that seeing her show such distaste at the feast had him wanting to kiss every inch of her face. Complaining jokily was what she would have done before the war. She wasn't complaining because she thought it was a poor time for a celebration, she was complaining because she didn't like feasts. It was like going back in time and being faced with the woman she had been before the world had tested her to the brink of insanity. It was like glimpsing past the harsh exterior she'd built and seeing the true treasure underneath.

He wanted more of that, he wanted more of her.

"Are you making fun of me?" she asked with a slight frown, not understanding what he meant. If anything, that made him feel better, knowing she was probably not even aware of what she had done.

"Never," he grinned, pulling her closer as his hand stroked from her waist to her back. "You hate feasts."

"And yet you've insisted upon one," she pointed out, rolling her eyes, though upon feeling his hand on the small of her back she was struggling to hide a small smile and a blush creeping up onto her cheeks.

"I have, for our boy," he reminded her. "Uther is heir to the Reach, there will be plenty of celebrations for him in his lifetime, we may as well start as we mean to go on. If we were at home I'm sure my father or my grandmother would have insisted upon some sort of festival, or hunt, or tourney."

"No, no tourneys for my son," her nose wrinkled in disgust which made his insides twist slightly, enjoying her aversion. "Why will a small family dinner, a few small gifts, and at a push a ride in the woods not suffice for you Southerners?"

"Because we Tyrells like any excuse to show off how rich we are, remember our wedding?" he reminded her, raising his eyebrow as his tone was mocking, poking fun at his own family.

"I do, I remember thinking how excessive it all was," she stared at him unflinchingly, though cracked a smile and let out a small laugh, edging closer to him to push a quick kiss to his cheek. "I wish I had savoured it more."

"You do?" he raised his eyebrows once more, teasingly, enjoying the way her hands moved to his shoulders.

"Yes, I wish I had allowed myself to not think of it as a dutiful trial I had to endure, I wish I'd not got caught up in what others would think of your strange northern wife with two left feet," she explained carefully, her voice light to the point that he almost laughed, though her eyes looked sad as she remembered simpler times. "I wish I had married you knowing how much I would come to love you."

He kissed her for that, his lips warm on hers as they moved in a slow, passionate action that was for nothing but showing her how much he loved her. She allowed his tongue into her mouth, as she had so many times before, more times than he could count or dare remember, yet the thrill of it, the thrill of holding her so close and calling her his never left him. Each embrace was precious, every moment they spent together feeling sacred. He tried to commit every detail of her to memory, how she tasted like the strawberries they had eaten for lunch, how he could smell the rose oil her handmaidens had been washing her hair with. He doubted he would ever forget the way she sighed against him, or the way whenever they held each other like that her hand would go to his curls. She would rest her forehead against his just to feel closer to him, and she would close her eyes, as if trying to savour every second. Each little detail of her made his very being ache, knowing how desperately he loved her, knowing how much he adored her.

When she pulled away from him, she met his gaze with a look she had so often offered him, yet it never lost it's appeal, nor did it lose its ability to make his face flush hotly.

"Forget the feast," Eddmina attempted, her voice low and strong in desire. "Please, my Ser Willas. Forget the feast, let us stay here all night. Alone."

She sounded like herself. Not the stoic, cold leader she had forced herself to be, nor the broken, bereft sister that bad news had twisted her into. In that moment, she sounded like his wife. Not the honourable Stark girl he was betrothed to, nor the bravely cautious newcomer she had become the moment she stepped foot in the Reach. No, in that moment, he felt as though he had his wife back, his Eddmina at her most authentic. Not the Princess of the North, or the Hand of the King, his wife, the mother of his son. The woman he had pledged his life to, the woman he would do anything for. It felt like a victory to see her again, especially as he realised that he had barely noticed her go. That merely made her return all the more sweet.

"If it was any other occassion I would," he told her, managing a smile, looking at her proudly. "But I will not miss our first son's nameday feast."

"First?" It was her turn to raise her eyebrows at him, stepping away from him as she hit his arm gently. Willas had barely noticed himself say it until she pointed it out, making his cheeks turn red once more. "How many sons are you expecting from me?"

"As many as you want, but I want an Eddard or a Brandon Tyrell at least," he shrugged, though realised he might have made a mistake by speaking so freely as he noticed her face fall for a moment, her mouth dropping open in stunned shock. "Oh, Mina, I'm-"

She shook her head, not allowing him to continue, though that was thankfully when she offered him a sad smile. She looked at him with eyes that threatened to spill tears, yet they did not look full of sorrow as they so often did. Instead they were overflowing with love and gratitude, and she stepped closer to him, taking hold of his hand. As she squeezed it three times, she leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Uther, Eddard, and Brandon sound like a fearsome trio that will have the Reach reeling in chaos," she spoke finally, smiling a little. "Yet for now we have only Uther, and if you are so insistent on this feast then we may as well go and celebrate him."

It took a great deal of strength to stop himself spouting just how much he adored his wife, yet Willas managed it, even when Eddmina retrieved their son from his chamber, carrying him on her hip and pushing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. He let her lead the way to the great hall, since Riverrun was more her home than his, her direwolf trotting behind them loyally. Willas wondered if it was because Honour followed either Eddmina or Uther constantly, or if the wolf knew they were headed to a feast and so knew she was about to enjoy a rather decadent supper; he had, after all, already planned what leftovers he was going to sneak to her under the table.

When they entered the hall and every man already seated rose to stand, Willas wondered if his wife knew how respected she was. It was a rare thing, for a woman to command that sort of admiration, and though there seemed to still be a few skeptics most of them looked on at her seriously. After seeing her work so hard, he felt so immeasurably proud, as well as relieved that her sacrifices had paid off. All those in the hall watched as they headed to the top table, and she subtly readjusted her hold on Uther so she could reach for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. Willas squeezed her hand tightly three times, glancing at her with a proud smile.

They took their place at the top table, where Lady Stark and Ser Brynden were already sat, along with a few of the more respected Riverlands bannermen who had stayed behind. With a glance to Eddmina, he saw her clench her jaw for a moment and let out a small sigh, before she smiled and displayed all the necessary courtesies. The two of them sat down, Eddmina holding Uther in place on her lap, and much to the discomfort of the respected strangers they were sat with, Honour took her place too, curling up at the feet of Eddmina's chair. Yet, even when they sat, the rest of the hall remained standing, looking at them expectantly.

"You're expected to say a few words in regards to the occasion," Lady Stark hissed to her daughter after a moment of silence, making Eddmina's eyes widen. "You're the King in the North's representative, you should-"

"Can I not simply enjoy my son's nameday without having to bring politics into it? Need I remind you how much blood I lost on this day a year ago, and now you want me to suffer again?" Eddmina sighed, clenching her jaw. Her words made her mother sigh and her uncle laugh, while all the other men at their table merely looked uncomfortable at her mention of childbirth. She couldn't help but roll her eyes before before she looked to Willas insistently. "Perhaps it should be Ser Willas who speaks."

The two of them exchanged a look, though it wasn't long before Willas sighed himself and got back up to his feet. He reached for his goblet, thankfully filled with wine, and looked out to the crowd with a slight smile, hoping that no one would tell how unprepared he was. He hadn't expected such a job, nor had he expected to feel the eyes of everyone in the room land on him. He was used to people staring, being the heir of a noble house and walking with a cane from the age of ten-and-six prepared one for stares rather well, but standing before the entirety of Riverrun was different. He'd heard his father give a thousand feast welcome speeches, yet he wasn't his father, and felt completely out of his depth. Eddmina was right though, he had insisted upon the feast, and so the public speaking was his own fault.

"My Lords, my Ladies, I thank you for being here tonight to help us celebrate the nameday of my son and heir, Uther Jon Tyrell," he said, feeling his nerves disappear the moment he allowed himself to glance down at his the boy in question before he met Eddmina's gaze, his wife wearing a grin that she had found impossible to prevent. "Myself and Princess Eddmina would be the first to admit that his first year of life has been rather unprecedented, yet the pair of us are remarkably proud of him. He is our pride and joy, and we are grateful that so many of you have come to share in our joy. In such hard times I am glad so many of us can come together on such an occasion and enjoy what life is truly meant for. I would like to raise a toast, to my son."

That was when Bryden stood too, his seat screeching against the flagstone floor. He was holding his own wine goblet, and he gave Willas a nod.

"To little Lord Uther Tyrell, who so far stands to inherit three kingdoms," he said, looking between Willas and Eddmina before looking to the rest of the hall as they echoed his toast.

The moment the two of them sat down, Willas noticed Eddmina's glare, and he noticed her staring at the ceiling as if to control her emotions rather then letting her obvious anger get the better of her. He reached over and placed his hand on hers, though if anything that gesture merely fuelled her as she turned to her Uncle with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Did you have to say such a thing?" She shot lowly, trying her best to make sure no one overheard. "What in the gods names were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that such a thing was obvious, and either the two of you acknowledge it, or everyone whispers about it behind your backs," Brynden explained, his own voice as quiet as hers as he understood her need for keeping the matter private. "Eddmure is yet to wed-"

"Perhaps he has followed the influence of his Uncle," Eddmina pointed out, giving him a stern look.

"And the King in the North is yet to have any heirs of his own," Brynden continued as if she had never interrupted. "Everyone here already knows Uther, they know what sort of future he has as heir to Highgarden, but he is as much Stark and Tully as he is Tyrell."

"And Hightower too, though there are more than plenty of those to prevent him ever inheriting any role of importance in Old Town," Willas chimed in lightly, smiling as he spoke of his maternal family. He squeezed Eddmina's hand gently. "He meant no harm, Mina, you know that."

"I know, but I also know that Uther is barely one," she said, stroking Uther's hair as her voice softened, determined to not let him sense any tension. She looked at her Uncle, less angry than before, yet still wearing a protective look. "He's just a boy. I want him to live a little before anyone forces a sword in his hands and a crown upon his head."

"Perhaps you could let me hold him while you eat," Lady Stark suggested, opening her arms out for her grandson, clearly wanting to change the topic of conversation.

Willas wondered if it was for her own sake or for Eddmina, though decided it must be a mix of both, as the matter of heirs and succession was a difficult topic for them both. Discussing the succession meant acknowledging the fact that Robb was injured and far from home, and the only other children of Ned Stark left were Eddmina and Jon. Discussing the succession meant facing up to the fact that Robb may be so badly injured that he may die, and that either Eddmina or Jon would have to replace him. He knew that was not something Lady Stark would want to think about, both the fact that most of her children were gone and her husband's bastard would potentially inherit what was meant to be for her sons. Willas imagined bringing Jon up would only start an argument between his wife and her mother too, which was something definitely not suited for a feast. Neither was the idea of making Eddmina consider her twin dying. How could she consider that, on any day, let alone the day after their nameday, the day the two of them entered the world together?

Willas watched as Eddmina handed their son to her mother, who beamed at him and kissed the top of his head lovingly. It was sweet, but it made him miss his own mother. It had been so long since he'd seen her, so long since she'd held Uther. He wanted more than anything for his own family to be in Riverrun with them to celebrate his son. He wanted his brothers and his sisters, and his parents and grandmother, and all of his cousins and aunts and uncles. It was a hard thing to think about, knowing he was from such a vast family, and yet the majority of them had never even met his son. It was selfish to want his own family when his wife had practically lost all of her own, but he couldn't help it, especially when it came to his mother. Lady Tyrell had been there when Uther was born, yet she hadn't had the chance to get the know him as he had grown. He had deprived her of the joy he brought, and realising that felt cruel.

Willas would have reached for his wine goblet at that thought, but instead that was when he noticed Eddmina about to pour her own cup. Remembering that night in her study all those weeks ago made him forget his own pain as he placed his hand on her arm gently, subtly stopping her. She realised what he had done and quickly shot him a look loaded with at least a thousand complaints.

"If anyone sees me not drinking they will assume I am with child again," she hissed to him under her breath, but a quick look around the hall and even at their own table told him that no one was actually looking at them, everyone too caught up in their own festivities.

Willas said nothing, instead taking the jug of wine himself, pouring enough into her goblet so that barely a quarter of it was full. He did the same with his own, before topping both off with water from the nearest serving jug. He knew how important image and perception was to his wife, and he wouldn't embarrass her, but he also knew what happened the last time she drank. Perhaps drinking at a feast would not leave her in the same state, but he refused to weather that storm again. She stared at the goblet in front of her for a moment before she took it, sipping the watered-down wine carefully. As she set it back down onto the table, she looked at him with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said, taking his hand. She lowered her voice, leaning closer to him before she added, "I do appreciate you and everything you do for me. I do not tell you enough."

He wanted to kiss her again, but knew that the aforementioned image that she had worked so hard to curate would not be helped by such a gesture. The whole hall regarded her as a strong, northern leader, and that reputation would only be hindered by displays of affection. He settled for smiling at her instead, and when the first few platters of food were brought out, he made sure to serve her before he looked to his own plate.

There was a band playing a few jolly tunes, and on the other side of the hall there were men who had drank enough that they were already singing merrily. The rest of the hall was content with the food, and everyone was so caught up in their own enjoyment that no one really looked to the top table. No one noticed how whole chicken legs kept disappearing from the platters onto the floor, no one noticed the direwolf who kept pawing at Willas' leg with the chicken did not suffice. No one noticed the fact that the Blackfish and the few other Riverlands men on their table were sharing war stories. No one noticed that the Princess and her mother were playing with the little boy who the feast was in celebration of, laughing and joking with each other as if they were not usually holding each other while they wept over their sorrows. No one noticed that Ser Willas spent most of the night watching his wife as if she was the reason the world turned.

They did, however, notice when one of the lords of the top table eventually got bored of war stories. It was Clement Piper, who's son Marq had ridden off with Eddmure Tully in pursuit of the Mountain, who's keep named Pinkmaiden had so often made Garlan giggle as a boy in their georgraphy lessons, and he stood before Eddmina with an outstretched hand, begging for the honour of a dance. Perhaps only Willas saw her instant aversion to such an invitation, because surely everyone else saw her smile as she looked to Willas, suggesting that he should seek her husband's permission. It was unlike her, to suggest that Willas had any sort of power or control over her and what she did, until Willas realised she had done it so he could refuse and get her out of having to dance without embarrassing herself or seeming rude. It was clever, and a little sneaky, and Willas almost felt bad when he smiled and nodded, gesturing for them to go ahead.

"Eddmina has two left feet," Lady Stark leant over to him and whispered the moment Lord Piper had led her away to the dancefloor. "Even Arya could dance better than her. She will not be happy you didn't save her from this."

"If I refused I would make her look as though I control her," he shrugged, smirking when he noticed how Honour edged out from under the table to watch Eddmina protectively as Lord Piper began to spin her around the dancefloor. "She is truly not that bad a dancer."

It wasn't a lie, or at least not in Willas' mind. He had not thought her a bad dancer at their wedding when she had stumbled through a few turns around the floor with his brothers, but she seemed to have improved since then. It must have been the secret sword lessons she had been recieving from Garlan and Robb that had helped her sense of rhythm, though he noted how she kept looking at her feet to check she was not going wrong. Lord Piper must have made a joke, because she laughed, her head tipping back slightly as she smiled, and suddenly Willas felt a burning desire in him to be the one dancing with her. He had been an excellent dancer once upon a time, though that time seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was not long before more folk were up and dancing, and all who asked her were graced with a dance with the Princess of the North, who seemed to have forgotten about her aversion to dancing and festivities. Willas watched with pride, sipping his wine and scratching the top of Honour's head. His wife was smiling, and it wasn't an expression that appeared forced or false. Lady Stark had noticed too, clearly, because as they watched the dancing she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

"Well done, Ser Willas," she told him.

She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead gazing down at Uther on her lap, who had begun to drift to sleep. Willas was surprised, given the fact that the band was loud and the crowd was bustling, but then remembered an infamous family anecdote where his mother had found both himself and Garlan asleep under a feast bench during the celebration of their father's nameday. Willas had been five, and even right up to his wedding had never attended a celebration with his family where at least one of his uncle's did not bring the occasion up. It was nice to see that Uther had inherited that Tyrell gene, deciding he preferred thinking of it as an inherited family trait than due to his upbringing on a noisy war camp. The latter option made him feel rather guilty.

"What have I done?" He asked with a frown, eventually tearing his eyes from his son. She nodded her head in the direction of the hall, towards the mass of dancing people. "I didn't do anything. All I asked for was a small feast, this is all the work of everyone else."

"Not just well done for this, well done for her," she explained, both of them looking at Eddmina, who was dancing with another Lord. He seemed red-faced and uncomfortable, while she was wearing a dry smirk, yet before Willas could wonder what had happened the two had spun away into the crowd. "I hope the two of you get chance to enjoy life together. The gods have hardly been fair to either of you so far."

Willas wanted to agree, but before he had chance Eddmina returned to their table. She slipped back into her seat, a little breathless but smiling, and she leant over to wrap her hands around Willas' arm almost in a half-embrace.

"Lord Bracken asked me when we would be giving our son a brother, I told him we had no plans as of yet but we are enjoying the practice," she said, explaining her altercation on the dancefloor. She looked rather impressed with herself, and while Willas felt his face begin to burn in a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, he heard Lady Stark sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head. The reaction of her mother made Eddmina roll her eyes. "If he didn't want such a foolish answer he shouldn't ask such foolish questions."

"These are your grandfather's bannermen, men sworn to the king in the north, you can't just say things like that!" Lady Stark sighed in exasperation, but Eddmina didn't look as though she was was bothered. "Do you think jokes like that are appropriate?"

"She didn't mean any harm, and I doubt Lord Bracken was offended," Willas mediated, noticing the man in question had already moved on to dance with someone else, a younger girl who was blushing and giggling. He turned his focus to his wife, placing his hand on her lap. "You almost seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"Perhaps I was getting into character, I thought Tyrells were meant to enjoy such festivities," Eddmina joked dryly, though grinned when she saw Uther asleep on her mother's lap. "That Tyrell seems to be the perfect example."

"It's almost like he doesn't know this is all in his honour," Willas laughed, squeezing her knee gently as she lent towards him, clearly ignoring the protocols around affection as she pushed a kiss to his cheek. "What was that for?"

"Because I love you, you silly southerner," she teased, rolling her eyes. She looked between him and Uther, squeezing his arm. "Thank you for him. I never thanked you a year ago."

"Mina, love, you did all the hard work when it came to Uther," he reminded her. He remembered how horrific it had been, seeing her in so much pain, smelling the blood, knowing even in the hardest moments she was not thinking of herself as she had been desperate not to scream and upset her brothers who might've overheard. "Did I ever tell you how brilliant you were that day?"

"You did, several times, and so did your mother," Eddmina laughed, squeezing his arm again. Her gaze was on Uther, watching him sleep, before her smile turned bittersweet and she looked at Willas with a sad look. "I wish his first year had been happier."

"Me too," Willas agreed, pulling his arm out of her hold so he could instead wrap it around her shoulder in a proper embrace. No one was looking at them, not even lady Stark who had begun a conversation with one of the lords sat to her right, and so Willas pushed a kiss to her temple. "It will get better. It has to. Whatever happens though, we're in it together, I promise."

He had been too preoccupied looking at his wife and admiring her beauty to notice that the Blackfish hadn't been at the table with them. While he was looking into Eddmina's Tully-blue eyes and watching as she gave him another smile that felt like a blessing, one of the guards had pulled Brynden Tully aside and was whispering a message into his ear. Willas was busy watching as his wife turned away from him to watch the dancing while singing along to the song lowly to see the look of cold confusion settle on her Uncle's face, glancing between the door and the top table. Willas only really noticed him when he appeared in front of their table, his eyes fixed on Willas only, his face the picture of focused seriousness.

He gave Willas a look, one that reminded him of the night of Eddmina's breakdown and how he had spoken to him. Blackfish had looked at him as if he was instructing him to prove himself, and as he stood in front of the table, his expression was remniscent of that look, as if telling him the moment had come to show what he was made of. It took no words for Willas to realise something was happening, especially as Brynden nodded his head in the direction of the door. Willas took the hint, and forced away his nerves as he rose to his feet.

"He will want to discuss the expenses of tonight, I'm sure," Willas excused himself, hating lying to Eddmina, who was obviously curious as to why her uncle wanted him and not her. "I'll not be long."

It had been a surprise, Brynden coming to him for something that was clearly an important matter, but what was more surprising was how Honour got up too, and as Willas walked around the table to meet his wife's uncle, the wolf followed him. As the two men walked to the door and out of the hall, the wolf followed, and when the door was closed, she sniffed the paving stones they were stood on, as if she was hunting. Honour was a quiet wolf, but she was whining, sniffing at the air as she walked in circles. He watched her, almost worriedly, but had no time to focus on her, not as Brynden pulled at his arm and began to march off down the hall, cold and determined. If he wasn't suddenly trying to keep up with him, Willas would have thought how similar he was to his niece.

Brynden didn't speak the whole time they walked, the only sound being the distant festivities of the feast and the clink of Willas' cane on the flagstones, not to mention Honour's continued whinges. It wasn't like her at all, to make such noise. His own dogs made that noise when they were begging for something, when they were truly desperate for treats or affection, but Honour had a quiet demeanor and knew she could get what she wanted just through a look or a nudge of a paw. When they stopped by the doorway of what Willas knew to be one of the private audience chambers that had been repurposed into a supply room for all the necessities the northern force had brought with them to Riverrun, the wolf began to scratch at the door. Brynden paid her no mind, nor did he acknowledge the several Tully guards who stood watch by the door, not as he turned to Willas, his expression deathly serious and unyielding. It was unnerving, but Willas refused to let it show, not as he struggled not to feel annoyed that he still had no idea what was happening, knowing he would much rather be with Eddmina and Uther than following a man who disliked him only to recieve such glares.

"We have visitors," Brynden explained simply. He sounded as though he didn't trust him, yet knew he had no choice. "I know you love her, I know you've been good for her these last few months. She says you're the best man she's ever known, save her father."

"That's... That's kind of Eddmina to say," Willas replied, swallowing uncomfortably, unsure where Brynden was leading to.

"It is because of her that I am going to trust you with this," he sighed, gesturing to the door behind them. It was nondescript, unimportant, it certainly didn't justify so many guards. "The messenger who came to me in the hall told me we have visitors. The man gave no name, but he claims to have Sansa Stark with him."

Willas looked at the guards surrounding the door, then looked at his wife's direwolf, who was still scratching at the door. She had done the same in Winterfell once, as Willas remembered watching her when he and Eddmina had gone to the library and she scratched at the door determinedly. When they opened the door to let her out, Lady was on the other side, waiting for her patiently, sat neatly with her ears to attention.

The mention of Sansa felt like he had fallen from his horse, the air departing his body in shock and disbelief. He had convinced himself she was dead, killed in the riots of King's Landing. It had hurt, he had been truly upset to think of her as gone, but the sooner he made peace with the concept of her death, the sooner he could comfort Eddmina through it. He'd thought her dead, yet he looked at Honour, and knew she was never wrong.

"I'm asking you to help deal with this, if I was to ask Cat or the Princess then I do not think they would recover," Brynden told him bluntly, though Willas knew it was the truth. If it was a pretender, if his wife and her mother were exposed to such a cruel lie, he was not sure how they would cope. "How well did you know her?"

"Sansa? Well enough, I'd say," Willas nodded, remembering his wife's sister.

He remembered the pretty girl with flaming hair and eyes the colour of the Dornish sea. The girl who carried herself like royalty, who believed in fairytales and happy endings, who thought princes were brave and honourable, who thoughts she was destined for a life of excitement and true love. She had loved Highgarden, and remembered how Margaery had spent hours with her showing her around the gardens, telling her all about the harvest festivals. Eddmina used to say a life in the Reach was the life of Sansa's less-ambitious dreams. It was a life of beauty and happiness, and he knew it took Eddmina a while to stop feeling guilty that Sansa was not living her life in her place. Willas couldn't help but feel as though the gods had been particularly cruel in their treatment of such a sweet girl.

He had thought her dead, but the idea of her being very much alive and on the other side of the door had his heart pounding and he could hear it's thunderous beat in his ears. He wanted it to be true, but Brynden had hinted at deception, and Willas knew the world they lived in was cruel and unjust. It was fantastic to think his sweet goodsister was within reach, back in the safety of her family, restored from her nightmare of living in the Lannister's clutches, but it was more than likely that the true Sansa Stark was dead down an alley of Flea Bottom and the girl on the other side of the door was most likely a con artist trying her chances and hoping to benefit from the grief of a noble family. It hurt to consider, but it would hurt Eddmina and Lady Stark more.

Honour's persistent desperation to get into the room was the only thing stopping Willas from falling into a pit of pessimism. Even so, he couldn't let a direwolf and his heart rule his judgement, so he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then turned to Brynden with a look that mirrored his own; cold, serious, as stoic as his wife.

"Sansa Stark is a Princess, and impersonating royalty for monetary gain is treason," Willas spoke calmly, though knew his temper would surely make an appearance if the situation did turn out to be a hoax. "If it turns out the people in that room are committing such an act of treason, they will be dealt with appropriately, immediately, and confidentially. Am I clear?"

"You are indeed," Brynden agreed, nodding, and the guards at the door nodded too, all of them knowing exactly what he was implying; the impersonators would be killed and Eddmina would never be told of their existence. Brynden looked at Willas up and down, as if trying to get the measure of him. "And you are sure you will know if it is her and not some impersonator?"

"There is only one real way to find out, isn't there?" Willas said, before turning to the door and the guard standing by. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

The guard nodded again, and proceeded to unlatch the door. He didn't get the chance to open it, as instead Honour pushed her paws against it, and the weight of the wolf shoved it open. She barrelled into the room before Willas had much chance to enter, but as he stood in the doorway with Brynden he watched as his wife's wolf bounded up to the tall, red headed girl stood hesitantly in the centre. Anyone else would have cowered or flinched, but the girl let out a gasp and dropped to her knees, and immediately Honour jumped at her, her paws on the girl's shoulders as she began to lick at her face, the girl wrapping her arms around her in a tight embrace.

"I think we have our answer," Willas muttered to Brynden, who stood and watched, speechless in surprise, amazed that for once something good was happening. Willas whistled in the usual tone that Eddmina had trained Honour to, and she moved away, giving Willas his first proper look of the girl. "Would you stand for me, please?"

The girl stood hesitantly, clearly as nervous as he was, but there was no need. If Honour hadn't already confirmed it, one look at the girl's face certified it. It took Willa seconds to move to her, and to pull her into a tight hug, sighing in relief. It took Sansa seconds to relax, allowing herself to not tense in fear but instead hug him back.

***
Word count: 7438
***