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WILLAS II

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was surprised his palms weren't bleeding. They should have, considering how hard he buried his nails in his flesh. That, and the crumpled up piece of fabric stuffed in his mouth was all that he could do to prevent himself screaming.

He knew he shouldn't have ridden his horse for so long, but the Rose Road to Oldtown looked so beautiful, the remainder of the summer still visible in the roses still blooming, but the fall was upon them too, a cold breeze that brought fallen leaves, circling the Highgarden carriages.

That pleasant afternoon of riding, barely feeling his leg tight in his braces, costed him a swollen leg that needed to be drained.

It had been months and months since this had to be done. In Highgarden, there wasn't much walking or riding around necessary. But he was feeling melancholy yesterday, and the poet inside him urged him to go outside despite the objections in his mind. And now he had to pay the price.

Maester Lomys looked up at him with pity as he used his flensing-knife to cut his skin. Thankfully he was quick and efficient about it, and it wasn't before too long before he saw the last of the clear liquid leave his leg.

'My lord, forgive me that I have failed to warn you sufficiently not to ride out too long,' Lomys said dryly. 'I will see to it to bind you to your chair and warn you a million times to ensure this will not happen again.'
Willas rolled his eyes at the man as he spit out his handkerchief in his hand. 'You will do no such thing, Maester. I would not blame you for my own choice to ride.' He clenched his teeth when he felt the last tug on his braces. His leg was wrapped in bandages and ointment and the Maester stood up. 'For that matter, I am glad that I did. The weather was good, the view splendid- I am sure I could conjure up a song before sunset tomorrow.' Willas grinned a bit pained as he took the sleepwine from the maesters hand.
'I am sure you could, my lord. I would suggest for you to rest to let your leg heal. Tomorrow you will be required to stay in your chair, for your own good.'
Willas took a sip and looked downwards at his leg. It did not matter, light rain was falling and the clouds in the sky were increasing as the day went on. Tomorrow will not be a day to ride, but to do his work and send ravens before his arrival in Oldtown. The city of knowledge was only two days away, and he had to hurry.
Lomys bowed to him and left him alone in his room. Willas sighed as he undressed himself, dressing in a tunic for sleep. His dinner would have to wait until morning sadly, the wine stole through his veins and made him drowsy quicker than ever.

It had been two moons since he last used it.

As Willas laid in his bed he thought of the road ahead. Soon he would meet his uncle Baelor Brightsmile from his mother Alerie's side.
He had tried to convince his mother to join him on his journey to Oldtown to meet her kin after losing so many of her own, but surprisingly she had refused, stating it was better to stay and take care of the household to get her mind off things.

He missed his mother. She was his only parent left. Right before he left he visited her in her chambers. He knocked on the door and opened it to find his mother sitting in the window, looking out over the gardens below and the hills in the distance, her silvery hair longer than ever and braided in the style as before too. She looked like a perfect example of serenity because of the sunset light through the large windows, and his mother looked out doing needlework as if that was all that she had ever done. Willas felt guilty to disturb her with the news that it was his time to leave.

'Mother?' Willas asked softly as he came in. His cane clicked on the wooden floor as he walked over to his mother. Her hands stilled as she looked at him, her face devoid of any emotion for half a second, until it lighted up brighter than he had seen.
'My Willas,' Alerie said. 'Your carriage must be ready.' She placed her needlework next to her and stood, spreading out her arms to gather her son in a tight embrace. Willas felt her smile as he buried his curls in her shoulder. 'Yes, mother,' he croaked and swallowed. His mother looked older than the last time he saw her. He looked up at her and noticed again how her eyes missed the sparkle she had when he was a child, and how skinny she got. 'You can come along, mother. Come with me to Oldtown.' His mother smiled as she stroked his curls.
'You know I can't, sweetling. Give my brother and Gormon my best. Eat well and write me, too.'
'Of course, mother. You have to keep me aware of things here, as well. I will write of my whereabouts as often as I can.' He stood then and tapped his fingers on his cane. His mother nodded understandably. 'Thank you, my dearest. But, I will understand if you find other arrangements on the way.' She smiled.
He knew exactly what she meant by that. He had put a lot of people to work on the ships on the way to Deepwood Motte and even asked his mother for advice. It was as if she knew what he was going to do before he could think of it himself.

'I will handle your leave and await your return.' His mother took his face in her hands and pecked the top of his head. 'Present me with a victory and a gooddaughter when you return, will you?'
Willas could only smile as his tears prickled behind his eyes.

His goodbye to Leonette was an emotional one too, and as he hugged his goodsister he could not help but smile inwardly at the guards walking right by her with a new harp and heavy chests filled with dresses as presents for Sansa Stark. He held Leonette tight as she wept, again marveling at how good-hearted she was.

After bidding his last goodbyes to his men and household he grabbed his cane and took a place in the wheelhouse. Waving politely at his family and the common folk in the town as he left Highgarden. It has been years since the last time but this time it mattered more than ever.

Today could have been the last day he could have to himself. To ride the Rose Road free of pain and responsibilities, lost in thought and poetry.

Autum sets and long I roam

As fallen leaves will lead me home

Men ride the road as light succumbs

The heart...

Willas's eyes closed shut, his train of thought interrupting as his mind drifted to sleep.

The heart will guide... When...

SANSA II

Sansa stared at the letter, forcing her jaw not to drop to the floor. Her thoughts shifted from one thing to another in rapid motions as her disbelief escalated by the seconds.

Six ships?

No- she read further. Seven.

Seven ships?

For us?

Laden with…

Oh, gods.

Not one hour ago she walked along the battlements, looking forward to a late afternoon of riding out with her new horse, given by the same man that interrupted her plans with his letter. It came to her from a messenger riding from Deepwood Motte, a strapping man in around five-and-twenty, red headed and freckled, like her. He stood in her room still, awaiting any questions.

It was only then Sansa reminded herself to look more ladylike. She straightened herself and regarded the messenger from Highgarden with a courteous smile. 'I thank you, good ser. I do hope your troubles on the road were few.'
The man's cheeks reddened as he rubbed his neck nervously. 'None at all, mylady… Forgive me, Your grace, is was I meant.' He averted his eyes to look at the tapestry behind her instead.
'Do not apologize, please. All is well.'
'If it please you, your Grace.' He smiled politely, cheeks reddened. 'The road to Winterfell had been better than expected, thankfully… I was well guarded, the weather was good.'
Sansa nodded. 'Good. How many days are the rest behind?'
'But two, mylady. They ride swiftly and carefully, I'm sure.'
'The Lord of Highgarden speaks of ships. What do you know of this?' The mans eyes lit up. 'Yes mylady. They are grand, in good state, and awaiting you at any time you need. Each ship has its own captain, that will travel with us as we return to Deepwood Motte. If It please you, I could arrange for a litter to bring your Grace there, if you wish to see them.'
Sansa felt a warm, long forgotten wave of giddiness as she looked at his expression. He seemed impressed by the mere image of Lord Willas's "tokens" of good faith.
She was not as naive as she used to, however. There was more behind it, but what she had no idea. Nevertheless, she would have to think of a good way of thanking him through a letter.
'That will not be possible, ser. My duty for the time being is to remain here.' She smiled graciously at the man. 'However, your generosity will not go unnoticed. There Is food available in the kitchens, and I will send a handmaiden to prepare your room and draw you a bath. She will send you there if all is done.' The man thanked her profusely, even stepping forward to kiss her hand. Sansa pulled back gently just in time and curtsied instead. The messenger bowed and left the room as Sansa bid him goodbye.

When she heard the door close she sank back in her chair and sighed. Never in her dreams had she expected such a gesture of Willas Tyrell. Armour, provisions, ships, fabrics… She was never really good at working with numbers, but she supposed seven ships could provide a small town for weeks, at least.
And this was only the result of the first letter she sent. Either she had made a favourable first impression, or Willas was planning something.

The jade rose broche he had gifted her laid forgotten on the table. She had not taken the time to look at it. The broche was small, but pretty, Not very expensive, but lovely all the same. An answer to her blue rose, one she sent with an innocent thought. Mayhaps it pleased him more than she had imagined. Sansa hoped however, that the lord of Highgarden was not one to fall for the first maiden to grace him with attention. A man like that would be easily swayed into doing things, and therefor make for a questionable ally.

And becoming allies is all he wanted with her.
Right?

In any case, they have seven ships. And one for her. A slight smile formed around her lips, she tried to force it back, but she could not. She was a bit taken aback, but it was giddiness that she felt. It was her, it was little Sansa Stark, the one she was years ago. She was presented with thoughtful gifts from a man- not just any man, but the Lord of Highgarden.
It was what she prayed would happen when she was a child and when she believed to soon be married to Willas, as she imagined him as courteous and kind as he seemed in his letters. How hopeful and naïve she was.

She had to keep her wits about her though, at all times. She was queen in the North. She had more than what he offered her now. But he must have been planning something, of that she was sure.

Sansa absent-mindedly rolled up the parchment and hid it behind the tapestry. She tried to calm her mind as she prepared to walk the halls, to try again to ride out. Maybe some crisp air would clear her mind.

She hardly passed anyone on her way to the stables, aside from her handmaiden who she let take care of the Messenger from Highgarden, as well as Brienne, reporting back from welcoming the men guarding the messenger on the road here.

Sansa stopped in her tracks as she walked out to the yard and looked up at the sky. It was sunnier than she had seen in weeks, a pale sun barely managing through grey clouds in the sky. It was light out, and but a thin layer of snow on the ground

Light before the darkness.

Sansa left the gates of Winterfell at a leasure pace, sitting on top her horse. It was a snowy white one, the manes braided and in good shape. It well-trained and strong too, as it followed her every move as if it knew it before Sansa did. The white horse contrasted beautifully with her surroundings and the greens and dark blue of her skirts. Her guards followed not far behind, armed and stern-faced, not taking their eyes of the surrounding as well, but probably not enjoying it in the way she did.

Ever since she returned to Winterfell, alongside Jon and Brienne and Petyr Baelish, she had felt the need to embrace her home as she never did before. Overseeing the reparations, taking care of the household and most of all avenging her family was all she could do to make up for her sins. Never would she take her home for granted again. So she permitted herself one hour a day, to refresh her memories, to think back of all that she lost the day she left her home… trying with all her might to regain some of her youth back. Playing, singing, dancing..

Dreaming.

Roaming her home reminded her time and time again of how far dreaming had got her. It was her duty now to think rationally, wisely, and carefully. Jon was not here to help her now.

A week after he received the invitation to Dragonstone, he had made up his mind about leaving. The reasons to go were adding up. As much as she did not want him to go, he had made up his mind. Was it not for an alliance, then for the dragonglass hidden underneath Dragonstone. If forged into weapons…

A cold wind blew through the trees chilled her exposed neck. Sansa clasped her cloak tighter around herself. Preparing for any attack of the White Walkers and the Wights was of the utmost importance.

Jon's eyes were teary as he embraced her in his goodbye. He kept mumbling supporting and assuring words, promising victory and vowing to be careful at all times. Sansa could not sleep for days since that night, worrying for Jon and fearing the worst. Seeing his entourage leave through the gates of Winterfell she vowed before the Gods to do what she could to protect their home.

At times like these she wished he was here. To help her and advise her. Aside from Harry she knew not how to read a man. It was still difficult with Petyr Baelish, whom she called father for months- It was difficult with Tyrion, Jof- She internally shook her head. She could not even imagine how it would be if she did have to marry Ramsay Bolton… And Harrold Hardyng… Witty he was not, which made directioning him all the easier. She had to pretend to be daft however and was promised to him, and this was the complete opposite.

She wished she had her friends from the Vale to guide her with this. Myranda would shake her shoulders to let her spill her feelings, probably telling her all that she thought it meant, whereas Mya Stone would roll her eyes and say something disheartening and logical in an even tone.

Sansa reminded herself to write her a letter soon. As she rode the way to Winter Town, she already started to form the letter in her head. It has been weeks since her last letter to the Lady Myranda, and she had not written back since.

Something wet on her hand pulled her from her thoughts. A guard stopped his horse next to her. 'Your Grace, we should return. The rains are falling.'

Sansa sighed and tapped her foot and her horse turned around. Maybe today was just not her day to ride out. 'We will return,' she answered as she kicked her horse into gallop. 'I shall ride ahead!' she announced heartily, as she raced back home, smirking at her follies.

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My dearest Sansa,

I pray to all the gods you and King Jon are well. Please bear the thought that I miss you, as a friend and as someone I consider a sister.

It is why I entrust you with this secret, as you have intrusted me with yours back then.

My father wants me to marry your Lord husband Tyrion Lannister. The dragon queen will take over the throne as soon as Jon sets an alliance. Your marriage to Tyrion shall be annulled, of that I am sure.

My lord father wishes me to rule alongside my husband, serving as hand of the Queen, thereby having more authority and influence than you or Jon.

Sweetling, you know I do not wish any of this. My ambitions are not in power, nor a place in King's Landing, nor a husband as he. In ways my father wishes me the same fate that you had in the past.
I beg of you to save me from this.
I have tried to talk to my father for days, any moment I could talk to him. Lord Nestor is adamant in his choice.
I am ashamed as I write here, at night in my chambers, Mya sleeping on the bed and my only light a stump of candle as I put faith in your love for me in times like these, but I am desperate.

Send a raven, a command, another match, anything to stop this from happening.

Do me this kindness, sweetling, and I shall be forever in your debt.

With all my heart and well-wishes,

Myranda Royce.

Post Scriptum:

Please burn this letter as soon as you receive it. I have taken precautions to not let this letter be read by others, this time.

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Notes:

Thank you all so much for your follows and kind reviews! I had a bad case of SAD, but I'm starting to feel better. Got lots of ideas, but work is catching up to me faster than I can run from it (bit out of shape) so please bear with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter even though it's a bit short...

Would love reviews, as always.

P.S. As you might have guessed by the many grammar mistakes- English is not my mother tongue (I'm from the Netherlands). So if anyone would like to be a betareader (and also doesn't mind telling me what exactly that entails) send me a PM!