"Alayne?"
He entered her chamber door, unbidden, with a waft of mint and lemon- his scent was not an unpleasant mixture, but invasive. Just like him, supposed Alayne. She was lacing up her supple leather riding boots, one leg propped up on her dress chest. "Good morrow, father," she greeted him warmly, standing up. It was a fine morning- brisk, sunny, chilly yet rosy.
Petyr smiled amiably. "Good morrow to you, my lovely daughter." His green-grey eyes examined her, his gaze slowly moving up and down, taking in her garb. Alayne had chosen to wear a chestnut coloured dress to match her hair, the square collar trimmed with cream-coloured lace. Petyr nodded in approval, advancing towards her. "How about a kiss for your father this fine morning?"
Alayne fell into the routine, dutifully pecking his bristly cheek. He had not shaved recently, and the pointed beard he was known to stroke was beginning to join up to the tiny whiskers sitting proudly on his top lip. "You are becoming as bristly as a sow, Father," she dared, giggling.
Petyr guffawed. "Cheek!" he chided. "I suppose I should shave this morning. We're to have visitors at midday. I should think they would not want to make bargains with a sow."
"Visitors?" Alayne enquired. Only two days past they had been visited- Harry the Heir had come seeking Petyr, and they had spoken in privy, while Alayne was pressed with the never-ending task of entertaining the young Robert Arryn. Alayne dared not ask Petyr what words had been exchanged between himself and Harry. "Who?"
Petyr walked over to Alayne's chamber window, drawing the drapes open. Wintry sunlight beamed through. "Only half of the Tyrell strength," he huffed.
Alayne was taken aback. "Half of the Tyrell strength?" she gasped, her mouth agape. "How are we to host half the Tyrell strength? Why are they coming here?"
Petyr massaged the bridge of his nose. "Try not to fret, Daughter Mine. I have told Tyrell that only he and his closest guardsmen will be granted access inside the castle- he was quite gracious, and told me that he would supply for his own cohort. He is coming to gather men to retake the Shield Islands. I do not know who or what he expects to find here, if you ask me."
Alayne's heart was racing beneath her skin. "Garlan Tyrell?" she felt her stomach twist inside her, bile rising into her throat. "Father, I have met Ser Garlan, he will recognise me, he danced with me at…" at my wedding, she almost said, but she swallowed her words. That had not been her wedding- that had been another girls wedding, a stupid little girl with auburn hair.
"Ser Garlan?" Petyr shook his head. "It is not Ser Garlan coming here today. He has sent his brother in his place, thank the lord."
Alayne froze. No. No, no, no. "Loras," she squeaked. My knight of the flowers. "Ser Loras is coming here? That is even worse. He shall recognise me for sure, I…" I was half in love with him! She wanted to cry. How could this be happening? She would have to reside in her chambers for the duration of his stay.
Petyr took her hands in his. "Alayne! Darling! Calm yourself, it is not Ser Loras either. Ser Loras is half dead on Dragonstone, gods be good. It is Willas Tyrell who is coming today- you have not met him. Not many people have, he is known to be quite the… recluse."
A pang for Loras went through her, but she shook off the pity. Alayne thought she had heard wrong. "Willas?" her voice shook. Willas Tyrell. How many times had she whispered that name into her pillow? Memories of hope and wonder filled her mind, how she had been so excited that morning to meet her future husband… but it was all for nothing. Her hopeless dream.
"Yes, sweetling. Now, come, help prepare for the visit- the young Lord will need to be bathed and fed. We will have a small feast tonight, I should think- A Tyrell is a big deal, or so everyone seems to think. I feel that Willas is something of a black sheep in the Tyrell family. Come, help me shave."
Alayne was halfway through feeding Robert a lunch of chicken broth and boiled eggs. She heard them before she saw them. The sun was high in the sky by the time half the Tyrell strength rode up, their horses whinnying in due to the treacherous, rocky terrain. Knights were yelling and swearing, weary from their travels
"Who's coming now?" he asked, his thin voice taking on that spoilt, brattish tone Alayne had come to ignore. "I don't want to talk to them."
"Lord Willas Tyrell and his host are coming, Sweetrobin. And don't worry, you will not have to talk to them of business- Petyr will see to that. All you need to do is greet them and welcome them into your castle," she said, spooning broth into Robert's little red mouth. She tried to sound as cheery as possible, when really she was more nervous than she'd been in a while.
"What if I don't want to welcome them into my castle?" Robert pouted.
Gods be good, Alayne thought. There's always a what if. "Well, then you will make me very sad, my strong lord." She put on a sombre face. "You don't want to make me sad, do you?"
A small crease appeared between Robert's pale eyebrows. "Alright," he looked at his plate. "I will welcome them. For you."
"That's my brave lord." Alayne smoothed his fine hair from his face. "Now, eat your eggs and we'll go and welcome them together."
Alayne knew she would have to try to be inconspicuous. Her hair had been freshly darkened, so it was not like she would be recognisable. She was just another pretty bastard, one of thousands. Willas Tyrell was not likely to tell his sister, father or brothers about Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter. Nevertheless, her hands were slick.
Petyr was waiting downstairs at the main doors that led into the throne room. "I'll go and meet them at the gates, you wait here."
Everyone from Mya Stone to the youngest serving girl was eager to catch a glimpse of the Tyrell. The residents of the Eyrie hovered in every corner. After Petyr had descended down to the front gates, Alayne and Robert were approached by Myranda Royce, plump and pink-cheeked.
"Seven hells, a Tyrell!" she exclaimed. She put her arm around Robert protectively. "Don't you worry, My Lord, you will be completely fine. Alayne and I will be right here. After all, how scary can a flower be?" Myranda roared with laughter at her own joke.
Alayne's thoughts drifted to the cunning Margaery and Lady Olenna. Some roses have hidden thorns, Myranda, she thought. "Have you ever met a Tyrell before, Randa?" Alayne had grown accustomed to the nickname- Myranda was now considered a friend. She was fun, but sometimes too randy. A suited name, Alayne had to agree.
"Gods, no!" Myranda hoisted Robert onto her ample hip. "I've heard the Knight of the Flowers is quite handsome, though. Mayhaps I should like to meet one."
"Mm," Alayne made a vague sound in agreement. Alayne couldn't help but snort at the thought of Myranda flirting with Loras. Petyr had confided in Alayne a while back that Loras was not interested in women, and Alayne had scolded herself for being so blind. Now, looking back at it, it was so blatantly obvious.
The heavy mahogany doors to the throne room were thrown open, letting in a cool breeze, and in through them walked Petyr, followed by three men. Two of them were armoured and quite ridiculously wrapped in furs- their Highgarden temperatures had not prepared them for the cool Vale air. They took in the Moon Door with fascination, silent steeds.
The other man, however, was dressed lightly in chainmail and leather- his golden brown hair was parted to the side, loose curls ruffled by the wind. He leaned heavily on a cane, his right leg twisted grotesquely. He could only be Willas Tyrell.
"Lord Littlefinger, I must say, this mountain domicile is quite astonishing. I cannot express how grateful we are to you for letting us reside here- my host is rather exhausted. Oh, goodness, is that a hole in the floor?" Willas spoke a mile a minute, his tawny Tyrell eyes bright with intelligence.
Petyr chuckled. "It is no hassle, Lord Tyrell, I assure you. And yes, that's the Moon Door."
Willas hobbled over to the Moon Door, enraptured. "How intriguing." He looked up at Petyr, his eyes drifting towards Robert, Alayne and Myranda. His face suddenly filled with horror. "Lord Baelish, I apologise- I've been so rude. Please, introduce me."
Alayne felt her stomach flutter as she examined Willas. He did look like Loras, Garlan and Margaery, but his demeanour seemed so different. He spoke as if everything was a wonder to him, and his face was not cool and calculating like Margaery or Olenna, nor was it arrogant and guarded like Loras- his face looked open, warm, excited.
Robert's face was buried in Myranda's shoulder when Petyr attempted to introduce them. "Lord Willas, this is Jon Arryn's heir and Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn." He leaned in to whisper, "you may want to approach him carefully."
Myranda propped Robert on the floor.
"Hello there, Lord Robert. It is an honour to meet you." Willas smiled genially, holding out his hand unthreateningly for Robert to shake. Robert sniffed, wiped his nose, and quickly squeezed the offered hand. Alayne noted Willas had the good grace not to wipe his hand on his breeches.
Willas turned back to Petyr, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. "Lord Baelish, I must say, I'm grievously sorry for your loss of the Lady Lysa," he said. He smiled down at Robert. "She must have been a great lady, to bring up such a handsome, well-mannered young man all by herself!"
Well-mannered is not a description Petyr would use, Alayne thought inwardly. Willas moved his attention to Myranda. "Greetings, My Lady."
"This is Myranda Royce, daughter of Lord Nestor Royce," Petyr said, patiently tenting his fingers.
Myranda held out her soft, white hand. Willas kissed it gently. "You may kiss the other one too, if you like," Myranda added, nonchalant. Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously.
Willas laughed aloud. "I shall!" He kissed her other hand. "Well met, Lady Royce." Finally, Willas turned to Alayne. His eyes widened slightly, and only seconds later a large smile broke out on his face.
"Lord Willas, this is my natural-daughter, Alayne Stone," Petyr introduced her as if she were high-born and not a bastard. He let that fact slip his mind too, sometimes.
Willas's eyes looked deeply into Alayne's, his gaze so intense she looked at her feet, blushing. She curtsied neatly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrell."
Willas bowed. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Stone." When he straightened, a grimace was thinly concealed on his face. He bit down on his lip as if to stifle a moan.
"My Lord?" Alayne's brow furrowed. What have I done wrong? "Is ought amiss?" Gods, I'm a stupid girl. I always mess something up.
Petyr swooped in. "How rude of me, Lord Willas. I forgot about your leg. Come, we'll sort out some milk of the poppy or a warm bath, perhaps…"
His leg. Alayne was hit with the realisation.
"No!" Willas grunted, a little too loudly. "I mean, no, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm quite alright. It has just been a long ride, that's all. I should like to be taken to my chambers, if that is alright."
"Of course. Alayne, see Lord Willas to his chambers- make sure he is comfortable and settled in." He gestured for Myranda and Robert to follow him back upstairs to the solar. "We will be in the solar at dusk for a feast, Lord Willas." He ascended the stairs without a second glance backwards- Myranda winked as she passed Willas.
Alayne was left alone with Willas. She awkwardly dithered beside him, wondering what she could do to help. "My lord, would… do you need some aid, a stool…?"
"Pah!" Willas was leaning heavily on his cane. "My thanks, but I am fine, Lady Stone. Truly." His voice quavered slightly. His face was pale with pain as he staggered in the direction of where he guessed his chambers would be.
Alayne had turned a blind eye to too many lies in the past. She knew when someone wasn't alright. She tried not to giggle at Willas's determination. "My lord, I think you should follow me if you would like to find your chambers. They are in the opposite direction."
Willas lifted a finger, spinning around "I knew that." He strode in the direction Alayne began to lead him in, eager to be ahead. His leg slowed him, and he let out a groan of agony as he stumbled on the slippery stone floor.
"Oh!" Alayne gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "I insist, my lord, lean on me. I can see you are in pain."
Willas's cheeks flushed pink. "My… my thanks, Lady Stone." He timidly rested his arm around her shoulders. Alayne flipped her dark hair out of her face. Willas kept his eyes to the floor, wincing with each step.
They made their slow, silent journey to Willas's chamber within ten minutes. They paused outside the heavy wooden doors as Alayne unlocked them, fiddling with the key. "I hope you find your chambers to your liking, my lord. My father and I will see that your chests make it here quickly."
"I'm not a fussy man, and I'm sure my clothes will be just fine. It's my books I'm concerned for. They are quite heavy, I warn you." Willas was known for being an avid reader, Alayne remembered. She longed for a good book every now and again.
Once the doors were open, Willas stood in the threshold, scratching the back of his neck. "Gods, how humiliating," he mumbled under his breath.
"My lord?" she could not imagine he was any more humiliated than her.
Willas laughed hardly. "The minute I get here, I all but collapse! I must say, I owe you many thanks for your shoulder to lean on."
Alayne noticed that was the third time he said "I must say." An endearing little phrase, she thought vaguely. "It was my pleasure, my lord."
"Willas. Please," he smiled warmly.
Alayne frowned. "But… my lord, I…"
"I am no lord, Lady Stone. My father was the lord of Highgarden. Nor am I a ser, like Loras and Garlan. And as hard to it is to believe, nor am I a queen, like Margaery."
Alayne could not help but giggling at that. "If it pleases you, my… Willas," she stammered. My Willas? She realised what she'd said, mortified. She busied herself by entering his chambers to draw open the curtains.
Willas's face was amused. "My Willas. Ah, those are memories from my childhood! That's what my mother called me," he spoke easily, hobbling over to the cushioned seat beside the window. "Again, many thanks, my lady. I will see you at dinner in the solar tonight, will I not?"
"I will be there," Alayne avoided his eyes, curtsying. "I… hope your leg feels better." She hurried out the door.
What a funny man, she thought to herself. He was not at all like his siblings. Alayne once would have thought that a flaw, but she found it rather refreshing. He seemed more… real. She remembered, in wonder, that she might've been his wife.
No, she told herself. That had been another girl.