"This is madness," Humfrey murmured, his hand never leaving the pommel of his sword (a seven-pointed star, silvered and polished to a mirror gleam, which Sansa had wondered at - was he sincerely devout, as Willas was in surprising, private ways? Or was he merely currying the favour of the Faith, so powerful in Oldtown, without following the path of many a fourth son and entering a septry?). "My lady, I must advise against this – what if they are Lannister men, or Bolton, and have your sister bound somehow?"
Sansa could not believe that Arya could ever be bound in such a way - how reticent her sister was about her time between King's Landing and Highgarden had given Sansa more indication of what she had endured than those few lies she had overheard Arya share with Alla at night - which was why she chose to dismount and approach the leader of the little party that accosted them. Humfrey moved with her, shadowing her as closely as he promised Willas he would, and halted so he could easily intervene if there was trouble afoot. From the corner of her eye, Sansa could see the rest of her guards doing the same, and it was heartening to know that these men truly were loyal to the name she now bore.
I am a Tyrell of Highgarden before I am a Stark of Winterfell now, she reminded herself, and the Tyrells rule through love and loyalty. Of course my guards are behaving thus.
"What is the name of this lady you serve?" Sansa asked, motioning for Humfrey to remain where he was, just slightly behind her. It would not do to become the aggressor, she knew. Best that they seem as innocent as possible, which reminded her to hold out a hand to Arya, who was all but twitching at her side.
The priest – Thoros, he said his name was, Thoros of Myr, and Sansa thought she might have remembered him from the capital. Her scars itched and burned, and she longed for the soothing and safety of Willas' arms, but she forced herself to remain calm and ignore the fear and the longing both - was smiling, in his tattered robes and battered armour, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. Mayhaps for him, it was not.
"Is she of some Riverlands House or other? Because all those once sworn to House Tully have turned traitor, and would surely have little desire to provide aid to my sister and I, for we are legitimate claimants not only to our brother's crown and dominions, but to those of our uncle, who to my knowledge may well be dead already."
"Your Tully uncle'll live a while yet," the priest said, "for his Frey bore him a daughter – the Lannisters won't kill him until there's a boy child of Tully blood born."
His smile was crooked, and even had Sansa trusted any smile save Willas' and Arya's, theirs Lady Alerie's and Garlan's and Leonette's and Humfrey's, now, not without reserve, it would have made her suspicious. As it was, it made her feel as though this Thoros of Myr was laughing at her.
"As to my lady," he went on, "well, she goes by Stoneheart, among other things, in these parts – although your sister was to have you better informed by the time we came to collect you, now I think on it."
"Ser Barristan," Willas said uncertainly, amazed by the old knight's presence - he had thought him dead at last, or at least deep in exile for his own safety not, but clearly he was not Barristan the Bold for nothing - but as courteous as the occassion demanded, nonetheless. "You are most welcome to Highgarden. It is an honour to host you."
"And me?" demanded Ser Barristan's companion, and Willas looked down to meet Tyrion Lannister's mismatched eyes. "Given present company, I am sure there is no need to maintain the pretence that I am a kingslayer-"
"But you are a kinslayer," Willas said coldly. "You are to be accorded the welcome that is your due as Ser Barristan's companion, but no more. We give no welcome to your sort at Highgarden, Lord Tyrion."
"Ah," Lannister said, rolling his queer eyes. "The famous Tyrell hospitality fails upon my arrival. It was to be expected, I suppose - a monster such as me ought not expect a welcome anywhere at all, really."
Willas couldn't stop his eyebrow from raising.
"Quite," he said shortly, deciding that he had more than shown sufficient courtesy to the Imp and turning back to the man who had served and preserved more kings than most had seen sit the throne. "Ser Barristan, if you would follow me?"
"I was unaware that your leg had worsened to this point, my lord," Ser Barristan said mildly, the first notice Willas had seen him pay to his crutches - it ached to use them, caused shooting pains right across his back, but he prefered the pain to the uselessness - since his arrival. "I am sorry to see that it did."
"It was not a natural worsening, ser," Willas admitted, smiling grimly and noticing that Lannister was keeping apace. "I intervened in an attempt on Prince Aegon's life, and was rudely rewarded for my efforts."
He noticed the way Ser Barristan's eyes widened at the mention of the Prince, despite the old man's best efforts, and wished Sansa were here so he might share his amusement at that, might laugh with her that someone could believe that House Tyrell would put so much into a rumour or falsehood.
He missed her so sharply for a moment that it almost overturned his tenuous balance.
"I am healing, though," he continued, "and besides, it removed any question from who was to stay at Highgarden while my family sets about restoring the rightful king to his throne - a relief for my father, I suppose."
Father had in fact wept tears of pure relief the first day Willas had had the strength to push himself up just to sit, and Willas missed him, too, more than he would ever have imagined.
"A worry, as well, until you are entirely healed," Ser Barristan said. "I wonder, my lord-"
"I would see you comfortable and rested before addressing whatever urgent matters drove you to come to us, ser," Willas said. "And mayhaps well fed, too - I cannot imagine that food was as plentiful as you were used to while in exile, or while at sea?"
Ser Barristan stiffened in suspicious surprise, but Willas grew up largely in Oldtown - he and Humfrey had run about the harbour more during their youth than they had done as they were told and sat at their lessons, in truth - and he knew well enough the way salt stained cloth, the musty scent of stores that would last a long journey, of damp hammocks that were never truly dry.
"Indeed not, my lord," Ser Barristan said, eyeing Willas carefully, as though discovering something previously hidden. "When we have eaten, then. We have much to discuss with you."
The ceiling of the cavern was higher than Sansa had expected, and dryer and sturdier, too, reassuringly so. She had worried that they were being lured to their deaths, despite her reassurances for Humfrey, and so it was nice to know that Arya had not involved her in anything especially dangerous.
The priest had disappeared to the other side of the huge fire that burned startling and hot in the middle of the cavern, hidden in deep shadow from Sansa's gaze, and she stayed close to Humfrey, held tight to Arya's hand, and watched the other men.
A rasping croak drew her attention, and the world seemed to stop for a moment.
"Milady says she wants to come north with you," Thoros of Myr called, but Sansa hardly heard him at all. What happened to her poor face? she thought desperately, frozen and terrified and wishing she could go to her-
"What is that?" Humfrey whispered, clearly aghast at the vision before them.
"That's my mother," Sansa sobbed, and the spell holding her in place was broken.