Willlas
The girl is a vision as she steps into the sept and Willas wonders for the second time that day if she is not the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on. It's a shame he muses, for her beauty will be quite wasted on his brother.
She is little more than a child Willas thinks, and yet she has the body of a woman, slim and delicate but with soft curves that the silken fabric of her gown does little to disguise. The thin white scars that crisscross her shoulders and back cannot be disguised either, and despite the obvious attempt that Leonette has made to hide them beneath her fiery locks, they are quite visible, barely healed and angry against her alabaster skin, relics Willas suspects, of the time that the girl was Joffrey's to play with.
Scars and all though, she is a match in beauty for Loras even and Willas can't help but think that they will make a pretty couple if nothing else. Loras will like that he imagines. He is sure that his youngest brother will appreciate how striking a pair they make even if he is unable to fully appreciate the girl's beauty himself.
He shuffles up to her as fast as he can, trying not to wince as the pain shoots through his leg. As the heir to Highgarden it is him who his father has asked to walk her up the aisle to where Loras waits. Garlan would have done it in his stead had he asked, but it sets the tone nicely Willas thinks, for a cripple to walk this beautiful girl up the aisle where she will give herself away into what most of those present know will be a loveless marriage.
The girl takes his arm shyly when he offers it and Willas is grateful that her eyes don't flick down to his twisted leg and that her smile is sweet and genuine in spite of the painfully slow pace at which he is forcing her to walk towards his awaiting brother.
She's too elated to notice how awkward their procession is perhaps and indeed of all the many girls Willas has seen gaze longingly at his brother, this one is perhaps the most painful to witness. There's undisguised delight on her face as they near the altar and it gnaws away at Willas' conscience.
He wants to pull the poor girl aside and warn her that Loras will never love her, will never be able to love her, but he remains silent. If Loras had been anyone but his brother he might have been unable to restrain himself but for now he holds his peace.
As it happens, Loras' situation is pitiable as it is without Willas shaming him in such a manner, and whilst their marriage may well be a lie, Willas knows that Loras will not be a bad husband to Sansa Stark. He may well be distant with her, but he will never take a hand to her, or come crawling into her bed in the small hours, reeking of drink and trying to force his pleasure upon her. He may not be the true knight this pretty young creature obviously believes him to be, but he will protect her as best he can. Perhaps it will be enough.
Loras looks composed as ever, but whilst Loras would never admit to it, Willas knows that underneath his stiff composure he is most likely just as anxious, if not more anxious than the poor girl beside him. He takes her hand though when they reach him, pausing to give Willas time to shuffle awkwardly into the front row before he leads her up the steps to where the septon waits.
He repeats the words convincingly enough Willas thinks, and even manages a haughty smile as the septon binds this unlikely pair together, passing the white strip of cloth about both of their hands and declaring them one.
If Willas looks closely though, he can see the cracks beginning to show in his brother's mask. Loras is holding himself awkwardly, all his usual poise and elegance having almost completely deserted him as he wraps the green and gold cloak around Sansa Stark's shoulders. There is more than a trace of sadness in his brother's eyes today and Willas can only be glad that Renly Baratheon is not here to witness the broken wreck his brother has become.
It's over quickly enough and the girl looks radiant as Loras escorts her to the feast, her fiery hair cascading down her back and flying out behind her as she climbs the steps at Loras' side, clinging to his arm as if she's in some kind of dream.
If his brother seems disconcerted by this he doesn't show it and Willas feels a sudden rush of admiration for him as he holds the girl's hand as if he truly desired to. Loras is doing his best here, and yet Willas knows his best will never be enough.
This is the fourth loveless marriage his father has pushed his siblings into, but only the second Willas has been forced to watch. He can only be thankful that his father was merciful enough to allow him to stay in Highgarden during Margaery's union to Joffrey. It was by far the worst wedding of the four he thinks and monster or not, Willas is unsure whether he would have been able to sit quietly and watch as Joffrey choked.
Today on the other hand is a remarkably pleasant affair as far as onlookers are concerned. The guests are few and far between, but there is good food, wine and dancing for everyone to enjoy. He's acutely reminded in fact of his sister's first wedding, a hundred times more extravagant, but a similar situation he thinks, except that Margaery, Loras and Renly were in it together.
The desserts are being cleared away when their father calls for the bedding, and for perhaps the first time Willas is glad for his crippled leg. He has no desire to participate in the bedding ceremony, no desire at all in fact to see the delighted nerves in the girl's eyes, or the traces of anxiety in his brother's. Loras will never admit that he is nervous, not to him or Garlan at least, yet they both know that their youngest brother has fretted for some time over what is to come, worrying that he will not be able to perform as the girl might expect him to.
Looking at the girl now, with her doe eyes and the naïve shy smile she wears, Willas doubts that she knows enough of such things to have any true expectations of what will follow after she is carried upstairs, but all the same, he hopes that everything will go smoothly, if only for the sake of Loras' fragile pride.
It is Garlan who rescues the girl from the lecherous hands of the male guests, sweeping her up in his strong arms and jesting with her to soothe her nerves.
There is no one to rescue Loras however, and Willas wishes not for the first time Margaery were here to join the fray of girls and put her hand on his shoulder. Alas their sister is in Kings Landing, and it is their cousins who harass Loras, pinching at his cheeks and pulling his clothes from his body.
It is a merry procession in all though and Willas can hear the japing and the crude comments echoing down the hallway even long after both bride and groom have been carried out of the door, a trail of abandoned garments following in their wake.
He sighs as the musicians strike up again, stretching out his aching leg under the table as he picks up his cup of wine and waits for Garlan to return.
He doesn't have to wait long. He's only taken a few sips when the doors swing open and Garlan emerges through them, the girl's gown draped now over his arm and her dainty shoes dangling from his hands.
"How was she?" Willas asks, looking up from his wine to study his brother's face. He imagines that the bedding ceremony must be a nerve-racking experience indeed for young girls such as Sansa Stark.
"Smiling." Garlan tells him briefly, taking a seat beside him. "She blushes as prettily as anything though. She was the same colour as her hair by the time we got up the stairs."
Willas sighs. "It's a ridiculous tradition."
"A fun one though, especially when the bride is such a beauty." Garlan grins as Willas rolls his eyes despairingly at him. "But don't tell Leonette I said that." He adds, an amused twinkle in his eyes that makes Willas smile, for they both know that it would take more than a blushing bride to drive a wedge between Garlan and Leonette.
"And what of Loras?" Willas asks, pouring a cup of wine for Garlan.
"He'll be fine." Garlan insists "Most like, he even enjoyed that little show. He's always been a vain little thing. I doubt he could wait to get his clothes off in front of the lords and ladies."
Willas smiles. "True. But that's not the part I was worrying about."
Garlan nods in agreement, his tone growing more serious. "He'll pull through though. He's tougher than he looks our youngest brother."
"I used to think that." Willas says quietly. "But since he and Renly Baratheon set off for Bitterbridge together and only one of them came back, I've not been so sure."
Garlan smiles sadly. "Has he spoken to you about that yet?"
"About Renly?" Willas shakes his head. "Not a word. Has he to you?"
"As silent as the grave." Garlan sighs. "But I wouldn't expect him to. What concerns me more is that Margaery tells me he has no desire to speak of it with her either. Apparently he changes the subject whenever she tries to bring it up."
"He'll talk when he's ready to." Willas says, with a lot more confidence than he feels. It worries him that his youngest brother has not confided in their sister. The pair have always been inseparable, virtually joined at the hip since they were children. It's a poor decision on his father's part he thinks, to insist that Loras return to Highgarden whilst Margaery remains in Kings Landing.
Garlan pours another drink. "I just wish he'd smile again is all."
"Me too" Willas sighs. "But all we can do is give him time."
They speak little after that, Garlan sipping his wine silently whilst Willas finds himself staring absent-mindedly up at the ceiling. Garlan may well be the one beside him but his thoughts are upstairs with his youngest brother, and the young girl who seems so fragile yet holds her head so high.
