A/N This will be updated every Wednesday from now on :)

His father insists on ranting for hours that evening, pacing up and down the now empty dining chambers as he tells Willas that the siege of Storm's End is taking too long, that Tarly and his armies might be sat there for years at this rate. Willas has to agree. The men Stannis has left in the ancient castle seem as unbending as Stannis himself is. And with no way of knowing how well provided for Stannis left them, it could well be long before Tarly and his men march west again or the Redwyne fleet sails home.

His father is impatient though and Willas doesn't think it will be long before he loses patience all together and rides out himself, as if somehow his presence outside the walls of Storm's End will be able to will Stannis' men to give up the castle faster.

He, on the other hand, listens quite patiently as his father blusters on, his face getting redder and redder until he eventually runs out of steam, collapsing into his chair and giving Willas leave to go to bed.

His leg is particularly sore this evening and he's just limping back to his chambers when he hears the muffled sobs coming from behind the door of Loras' chambers. He can't help stopping and listening, wondering whether it is Loras or Sansa who is in such distress this evening. If it's Loras, Willas knows that he'd do better to leave him to it. His brother is proud and headstrong and Willas has never seen Loras cry, at least not since Loras was a child, and he doesn't think now that Loras would appreciate being seen in such a state.

He's almost sure it's Sansa though and that makes him hesitate. He doubts she would cry in front of her husband and so he suspects she's alone.

The door is already ajar and so gingerly, he peeks through. It is indeed Sansa and she's lying on her and Loras' bed, curled up with her face buried in the pillows. She's wearing only a thin slip and Willas is ashamed to admit that something other than pity begins to take hold in him. Her hair is loose and cascading down over her bare shoulders, the thin lacy straps of her lace just visible. It's a beautiful garment she's wearing, a lace creation that clings to her curves and makes Willas' pulse race a little.

She's beautiful and the sound of her tears makes his heart ache a little.

It takes him only a quick glance round to work out the gist of what has happened. Loras' absence speaks volumes as do the discarded clothes lain over the chair. He vaguely wonders where Loras has gone and wonders too whether he should go and find him. He imagines though that had Loras wanted his company, he would have sought it out.

That decided, he steps back from the door and knocks. He expects that Sansa will not answer and yet he supposes he should at least try to offer some comfort to the poor girl.

He is surprised though when Sansa does come to the door, no longer in her shift, but with a dark green robe wrapped round her. She's wiped away her tears and yet she cannot hide the fact that she's been crying. Her cheeks are still stained with her tears and her eyes are red and sore. There's a hopeful look about her though and Willas wonders whether she imagines him to be Loras, come to apologise.

She does seem surprised to see him there and yet in spite of clutching at the edges of her robe self-consciously, she seems almost a little relieved. He resists the urge to sigh. He supposes that the prospect of having to deal with Loras' anger must indeed be rather nerve-racking for such a young girl. His youngest brother is very quick to anger and yet painfully slow to calm.

"Are you alright Sansa?" He asks gently.

She nods thickly and then a sob escapes and she begins to shake her head.

She's in his arms before Willas can even reply, her head pressed into his chest as Willas struggles to keep his balance. There's nothing overtly suggestive in her movements, and yet Willas can't help imagining how easy it would be to cup her chin and tip her face back, kissing her tears away. Instead though, he strokes her hair, softly, like he might have done with Margaery. Sansa is more fragile than his sister has ever been though and he wonders whether this small offering of comfort will be enough. He can only remember his sister truly upset once, and that was when Loras left for Storm's End. It had been easy to soothe her then, Loras would write, would visit, would return home as a knight and just as fond of her. He feels lost though when he stares down at Sansa, her face still pressed into his neck; he doesn't know what to say to her, whether indeed there is anything he can say that will truly make her feel better.

"Let's sit shall we." He suggests after her sobs have died down, reluctantly taking his hand out of her hair. "Tell me about it if you like."

She nods and her cheeks now pink, abandons his shoulder to sit at her dressing table. She wipes her tears with her handkerchief and seems to be doing her best to compose herself.

Willas sits on a chair, one that's a safe distance from her, where he can't reach out and touch a lock of her hair if the fancy takes him.

He doesn't push her and yet Sansa seems determined to voice her troubles. He's mildly curious as to how much she's going to tell him. It's painstakingly obvious that Loras has failed to bed her tonight and yet to admit that to him would be to embarrass her husband; something he thinks Sansa will be unwilling to do. She has too much of a gentle nature for that.

"I don't think Ser Loras likes me very much." She ventures in a quiet voice and as Willas expects, she doesn't enlighten him to Loras' shortcomings.

Willas sighs. He and Margaery have debated about telling her why Loras shows no interest for weeks now. The general consensus was to let Loras do it in his own time and yet deep down he thinks that they all know that Loras is too proud to do it. He will never admit something that would shatter his wife's opinion of him so. Sansa, though, cannot be kept in the dark forever, and Willas wonders whether it is best that he simply gets it over with, tells her what Loras should have told her weeks ago. As it it, he doesn't think he can bring himself to lie to her, soothe her and tell her that everything is alright when clearly it's not.

He takes a deep breath. "It's not you." He eventually says softly, continuing when she cocks her head in confusion. "Loras has always been disinterested in taking a wife."

She looks at him and Willas doesn't think she understands. He supposes that is to be expected. She's barely more than a child and while men who bed with men are jested about in court, he doesn't imagine such things are often discussed in front of young ladies. He doubts too that it will have occurred to her that the gallant Ser Loras she was evidently so excited to wed could possibly be one of those shamed men.

He tries again. "Loras isn't overly fond of women."

She frowns then, a small puzzled look coming onto her face. It takes a few moments before realisation dawns on her face and her eyes widen as colour rushes to her cheeks. He's not sure of the reason for her embarrassment, whether she's ashamed to be married to such a man or whether she's merely ashamed of her naivety. He imagines that she doesn't know what to think.

The tears are back. "So, so he'll never want.." Her voice trails off and yet Willas imagines he can guess what she's referring to.

Willas shrugs sadly. He feels more guilty than he's ever done. Guilty for humiliating Loras and guilty for what his family has done to this poor girl, for the lies that were told to her and for the false promise that Loras as a husband was for her. He has told none of the lies himself and yet he wonders if those who stand by and do nothing are any better in truth than the wrongdoers.

"Does he have... someone else then?" She whispers, not seeming able to bring herself to ask if it's a man Loras sees instead of her. There's hurt on her face and again it clutches at Willas' heart strings.

He shakes his head though. "No," He breathes. The fact that Renly is no longer here is never mentioned in front of Loras and yet whilst he has never spoken to Loras about taking another lover, he thinks it'll be a while yet before the possibility even occurs to Loras.

She's silent for a good few moments and then she nods weakly, sweeping her hair off her face and rubbing at her eyes again. He wonders whether this revelation soothes her, whether the fact that Loras is faithful despite his preferences does anything to make her situation easier. He suspects not.

"Where did Loras go tonight?" Willas asks.

"I don't know" she whispers, a helpless expression creeping onto her face.

Willas sighs. "Well let's get you back to bed then. Loras will no doubt have calmed down by the morning." He smiles as she dutifully climbs into her bed, averting his his eyes as she slips her robe off; it's improper for him to be in her bedchamber at this time, let alone while she's dressed for bed so. "My brother's not the best with apologies. I shouldn't expect too much."

She nods and as she pulls the covers up over her shoulders, Willas can't help but notice how alone she looks in that huge bed, deserted by her husband. She's lonely, he thinks, sighing. Loras and her make a right pair it seems.

"Can I do anything for you?" He asks softly, knowing the words are what is expected of him but also that they are meaningless, polite phrases that offer none of the comfort they promise.

"Not unless you can take me home." Sansa whispers.

Willas sighs. He can't do that. No one can do that. He does perch on the end of the bed though, knowing what he's about to say is almost treason. "Perhaps one day you shall go home." He tells her. This is true, he supposes. They are told Robb Stark has turned around, heading back to the Twins to cross and retake Winterfell from the Ironborn. "Your brother is marching North again."

"He is?" She looks hopeful, a small smile coming to her face that leaves Willas unable to smile too.

He doesn't voice his doubts though over whether the Freys will let him cross. He doesn't imagine the thought of her brother caught between the Twins and the Lannisters will help her sleep tonight. The rumour is though that there is to be a union between one of the Tullys and one of Lord Frey's daughters. So perhaps it is possible Robb Stark will make it home, Willas muses. It is even possible perhaps the King in the North will have the sense once there to try and bend the knee. Tommen is not the king Joffrey was, Willas thinks, and the Lannisters surely cannot want this war to last forever.

He sighs. Somehow he usually manages to forget that technically they are at war with Winterfell. Their forces have not met in the field and now that the Young Wolf is on the retreat, Willas hopes that such a situation will be avoided for good. Hopefully, if the Starks and Tyrells do meet, it will not be as enemies.

He smiles wryly then, making his mind up that if Robb Stark is indeed allowed to bend the knee, he will push for Loras to take her home to see her family. When he thinks about that a little more though, he realises he's not too sure how willing Loras will be to do that. Loras has never spoken of what happened in Renly's tent that night and yet Willas is aware that many lay the murder of Renly Baratheon at none other than Catelyn Stark's feet. He imagines that Loras will be just as likely to shove a sword through Sansa's mother's neck as he is to take her to see her.

He sighs at the hopelessness of it all. "I'm sorry Sansa." he whispers.

"What for?" She whispers back.

Willas sighs. "For everything Sansa. For Loras and for the fact that you can't go home." He stands and limps to the door. He's just pulling it open when Sansa shakes her head.

"Stay." She breathes. And so Willas turns and sits himself back down. His leg will be aching no end by morning and yet he can't bear to leave her here alone with her tears.