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"Meddling brat," Willas said fondly. Rhaenys looked up at him, big mismatched eyes wide and innocent.
"I have no idea what you could mean," she said, voice a shade too brittle. "If I cannot be happy, at least my dearest friend could be."
"Myranda Royce or the little Frey shadow you have is your dearest friend and you know it," he sniffed, leaning on his cane. He'd been the one to suggest the Godswood, after all.
"And they are both happily married or betrothed, so you were all that is left," she said, a bit wistful. "I do not presume to attempt to matchmake for Arianne or my cousins."
"Trystane is following around the younger Stark sister," he offered. "And Quentyn and your aunt are to marry in two years." She settled on a log, her black skirts snagging a bit on branches. The princess had been quietly unhappy since Rhaegar had been convinced to release Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard.
He supposed the betrothal did make sense, after a fashion. Ser Jaime and Rhaenys kept up a long-running stream of quips and serious conversations, and considering the long-running rumors that the King would set aside normal inheritance laws for his clever eldest to replace Aegon, betrothals had been a complication. At two-and-twenty, with both her younger brothers matched, the heir to Casterly Rock was a good catch.
Clearly, there was something there that meant it wasn't being as well received as the King thought it should be. Roslin might know, or Sarella, but Willas "wasn't to worry".
And now she was trying to distract him. He carefully settled himself on the log.
"Sansa Stark is a child," he protested.
"Thirteen, yes, so it would be a long betrothal," she agreed. "It would allow you to get to know each other. She's quite kind, and clever, if terribly shy and eager to please. And you, dear heart, are terribly awkward at times, almost as bad as Edmure can be." She pulled a loose branch off the log, twirling it between her fingers.
"We're having a Lady Lannister as Hand, are we?" he couldn't help but ask.
She gave him a wicked smile, something fierce that reminded him, sharply and suddenly, of Oberyn. "I must get my pleasure where I can."
~
Lady Sansa was clever, he realized once he started to pay attention to her. She had a quick wit, and a wry little smile that took whatever sting there was out of her jests.
He started laying the framework for those jokes, and that little smile. It was one of the few bright spots during the Princess' wedding, the somber bride a vision in a scarlet gown with her raven hair tumbling to her knees.
(Sansa had quietly asked, later, if anyone else remembered the stories of the other Targaryen woman famed for her knee-length hair and mismatched eyes. Willas had murmured a prayer at that reminder.)
He took to recommending books that would fill the gaps in her knowledge, enjoying her disagreements as much as her agreements. (If not more. When he could coax her into speaking her mind, he noticed a cautious, clever mind tempered with her kindness and a touch of presumption and naivety.)
~
She was not, he decided, so much an indifferent rider as a nervous, inexperienced rider. One her fifteenth nameday, after some discussion with Prince Jon, Leonette, and Roslin, he gifted her with a trained mare, a delicate cross with a Sand Steed meant for a slight lady with who had a light touch on the reins.
Her eyes went wide at the gift, her joy being tempered with nerves.
"I am not near good enough ahorse for such a gift," she stammered, blushing scarlet.
"You are a competent rider," he protested. She would never be the best rider, true, but she was better than many. "And she is well-trained, and will respond very well to your style of riding."
She gave him a long, considering look at that, before giving him that small smile. "Thank you, my lord."
"Willas, please," he said. "We are to wed in two years, after all."
~
Two very bad things happened before their wedding.
Sansa spent the last year before their wedding in Winterfell, among her family. Which was, Willas knew, a good thing. Objectively, at least.
However, he found himself missing her. She had a knack for knowing when to just sit with a book, occasionally asking a question that would absorb his attention. Margaery tried to help with the odd black mood, but she was busy in her own duties as Crown Princess.
The second was that the Lannister twins died of a fever. Rhaenys, visiting her family at Court, looked sickened and took up a widow's weeds.
Tywin Lannister raged.at the death of his golden twins, acting with uncharacteristic impulsiveness, stopping just short of accusing his gooddaughter of murder and asking pointed questions about the lack of heirs.
Rhaenys bore it all with dignity, quietly supporting Myrcella Arryn as heir to Casterly Rock and arranging for the orphaned girl to take a place as one of Margaery's ladies, until the day that Sansa returned to court.
Lord Lannister was a misery to deal with, even after Myrcella was betrothed to one of her Lannister cousins. He grew more sarcastic,as time passed, even the dullest of wits picked up on his hints about Princess Rhaenys.
The Princes rallied around the Princess, and Willas suspected the only reason Tywin was kept at Court was that the King feared armed rebellion in Tywin's current state of mind.
"Ser Arys says that Ser Jaime had a lover while in the Kingsguard," Margaery told him. "He tried to keep it quiet, and didn't see her too often, but the signs were there."
"A noble lady?" he suggested. They were waiting on horseback for Sansa's return, Rhaenys and Jon conversing a slight distance away. "A married one, obviously, who does not live at court full time."
"A possessive one, as well, from what Ser Arys and Ser Oswell let slip," she agreed. "Perhaps that is why my sister suffered so."
The banners of Winterfell and House Stark were seen coming down the Kingsroad, then, and Willas could not think of the sad solemn princess any longer, not when he was searching for a flash of red hair and the bounding of a pale grey wolf.
He was glad to see her, hair braided in the northern style he thought she looked best in. (He imagined it with ivy braided through, flower chains on her hands, Garth Greenhand's lady brought to life.)
He kissed her hand, and did not realize he had been staring until Ned Stark cleared his throat.
"Ah, hello Lord Stark," he managed, ignoring Margaery's light laugh at his expense. "I trust your travels have been pleasant?"
Which set the tone for their ride back to the city, with Willas asking Sansa about her trip home and her family, while Lord Stark stared at the back of his head.
They found the palace in a very quiet uproar, with Jon and Rhaenys being summoned before the King.
Willas could not make out precisely what happened, until Sansa stepped in in a blur of red and grey, fairly quivering with shock.
"Lord Tywin has been arrested!" she told him. "For threatening the King!"
Willas, who had been trying to sooth his inflamed knee through his hose, looked up at that. "Really? He's been building up to it, I suppose. I think he was surprised that he could not tell the Stranger to return them and get his wish."
Sansa sighed, arranging her skirts as she perched lightly on her chair, leaning forward. "The King sent men to Casterly Rock, in secret, and learned that Lady Cersei purchased poison. She had asked questions about them, and it appears that whatever experiment she concocted went awry."
Willas' eyes went wide at that. "Truly?" He knew the Dowager Lady of the Vale was spiteful, and had said some truly foolish things about Rhaenys, but... "Why?"
"No one knows, though I think the Princess Rhaenys suspects," Sansa bit her lip.
Willas thought about what Margaery said about Jaime Lannister's lover, about Rhaenys' nervous looks whenever she and Lady Arryn were at Court together.
He wished there was one line, one piece of evidence that proved him wrong.
"Well, we now don't have to be worried about Lannister bannermen dragging the Princess out by her hair at our wedding," he said dryly.
"Three days," Sansa laughed. "Can you believe it?"
He shook his head, before kissing Sansa, ignoring the voice that pointed out that they were alone in his rooms, that his knee was still in pain, that this was a terribly awkward angle, because she gasped, just a little.
"There will still be trouble," she pointed out.one long hand curved along his face.
"We will face it together," he said, feeling a bit like his brothers had thumped him over the head. "Roses and wolves are both very tenacious, remember."