Chapter Eleven

Samwell had been his assistant for a mere three days before Willas started wondering how he had ever functioned without him. Oh, the man wasn't as loyal or as perceptive as Tyman. He stumbled over his words, particularly to women, and he cowered whenever the honey-haired lord even frowned in his direction. He couldn't ride or hunt or wield a sword to save anyone's life, sadly necessitating a guardsman whenever Willas ventured outside but damn, if he wasn't born a scholar.

"I finished reading Maester Yeoman's treatise on agricultural yields and the smallfolk's plight during King Maeker's reign," Samwell reported. The rotund boy put the heavy tome and parchments of notes down above it. "The summary is over here and I added it to my dates of the seasons. I'm almost done with the book on the sun phases as well and I think my calculations for its turn are correct. With your permission, I'd like to send them to the Citadel and have them looked over."

"Well done." Willas took the top sheet and skimmed it briefly. "Five years? Isn't that too generous?"

Nervously, the boy shook his head. "It would make it the warmest summer in record, my lord."

"Indeed," he murmured softly. "Very well. Have the numbers checked by Maester Timmons. I don't want the Citadel to review this. Afterward I would like you to read up on the mountain clans of the North and find a reasonable estimate to their number. Add it to our running population count."

His assistant was pleased to receive his next task, though still lingered at the door with an inquisitive look to his face. Willas patiently waited, inwardly smirking when the Tarly shuffled out, shoulders down. He knew the boy would muster the courage to confront him eventually, due to his insatiable curiosity and concern for Lady Lyarra. But that day hadn't yet arrived and so, Samwell Tarly continued into his various areas of research on the North, compiling summaries, data and accounts for him to peruse at his leisure. The craven boy went through books even faster than Father did cups of wine.

Speaking of Lord Mace Tyrell, Willas was rarely as mortified as when called to his father's solar to discuss lady loves. After Mace had wrung his assurances that Willas hadn't done anything foolish like promised betrothals (technically he had not) or put a Flower in her belly, he had tried to console the boy. 'The lotus flower blooms twice', 'Unplucked fruit withers on the vine' and 'You will bloom where you are planted' were just a few of the horrifying platitudes he was subjected to. By the time, the red-faced Lord Tyrell had started muttering about bringing Loras in to advise him on courting a proper maiden, Willas had fled the room.

The honey-haired lord was tempted to reveal Lyarra Snow's true identity but he didn't want his father to bodily throw him at her either.

At least his siblings had taken to the knowledge with a measure of aplomb. Loras had been the first to learn, notified shortly after crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty at his request. There hadn't been any reason for it other than Willas' desire to see her in a wreath of yellow roses. Garlan had learned the next day and expressed his amusement that he would argue on behalf of the Dragonknight, while she championed Ser Arthur. His sister had been the last to learn and most wroth that it hadn't been done before Willas' abject failure of a proposal.

"Brother, may I come in?" Margaery's voice inquired from the open door. As she was precariously holding a tray of tea and fruit slices in her arms, he was inclined to allow this. "Are you busy?"

"No more than I ever am." Willas selected a fireplum slice and nibbled on it. His appetite had never been the healthiest but fresh fruit could generally compel him to try. "Have you need of me?"

"No." His only sister's doe eyes flit over the room, straying on his desk as she reclines on the chair. "Northern glasshouses, Brother?"

"It's an interesting topic." He finishes the fireplum slice and moves to the peach ones. She had tasted of this when they last kissed. One would think it would make him melancholy but the rose lord finds his resolve only strengthened by the memory. "How is Mother?"

"Still torn over whether position should allow one to marry for happiness or prohibit them from risking such. You may expect a lavish gift or two coming your way soon to 'soothe your broken heart'." Margaery took a slice of peach for herself and rolled her eyes when Willas pointedly moved the plate away. "We served peach tarts on the day of the tea, you know."

"I am aware," the honey-haired nobleman replied stiffly. "Lady Lyarra kissed me."

This elicits a surprised gasp from the brunette, followed quickly by excitement and then guilt. "And- and then the proposal…?"

"She refused." Willas took another slice. "On the grounds that I am a conniving, ruthless, manipulative liar that will put herself and her family at-risk in my Southron pursuit of power and influence."

Margaery is oddly fascinated by this. "Did she really say that to your face?"

"It was rather implied," he stated dryly. "Her exact words were that I pulled her close to the edge of her heart and that my proposal was the greatest honor ever offered to her. This was followed by a kiss and then she refused to wed me."

His sister appeared more impressed by the bastard's nerve than Willas thought warranted. Her sympathy was supposed to be reserved for him after all.

"The girl is half in love with you already," she told him. "How much closer need she be to wed you?"

"Three and a half kingdoms should help." Willas looks down at his tea, rich and sweet. Like many aspects of his life, it was a reflection of his upbringing as a Southron, a Tyrell, an Heir. "Neither personal gain nor personal felicity will have her wed me. She must know why I chose her first."

"I doubt her mother's identity will be accepted well," Margaery mused aloud. He nodded unhappily; the threat of political intrigue and warfare with her blood as impetus would horrify Lady Lyarra. "Tell her another truth then. It was the trousers."

"It was not the trousers." Margaery grinned at him knowingly and he stole her favorite strawberries in response. "I hate you."

This sobered her. "Do you really?"

Willas raised an eyebrow. It was unlike his sister to take such words to heart. "Why do you say so?"

"Even with honor held above her, she was tempted to accept you," Margaery trailed off. She looked away, remorse tinging her practiced smile. "Mayhaps she would have, had I spoken in your defense?"

Willas leaned closer and placed a light kiss on her brow. "Of all the mistakes made that day, none were by you. Our Grandmother made the claim and you did not contradict her, as is only right. To those outside our family, the roses must always stand together."

"She will not be outside of our family for very long, will she?"

"No," Willas thought to the letter penned halfway through on his desk, the research he had done. "No, she will not."

"Good. I like her," Margaery smiled. "I would have liked to be the Queen as well but alas! The Gods are not always so kind to us. You shall make a fine King, Willas, or mine nephew after you."

His sister declared this with the same self-proud empathy of their kinder years, when she would share his own stolen sweets with him and think herself generous for it. Willas had been amused by the presumption then and it still amuses him now, to accept her words. They finish the remainder of their meal in silence and he sends her away, a warning echoed in her ear to keep any observations silent.

This part of the game would require even more discretion than the last and, as much as Willas loves his Grandmother, he would rather hide this from her. Lady Olenna was wily, pragmatic and careful. She was not Garlan, Loras or Margaery, who would accept his plans without further question. She was a gamble; one who could accept the dangerous strategy he chose or select one to remove the dragon from the field. However kindly it may be done- he thinks a peaceful death for a girl Grandmother knows he cares for- Willas fears the possibility.

He wants Lyarra Snow. Even should she not come with a crown, he wants her by his side.

'The one whose daughter can make an otherwise clever boy lose his senses.' Willas almost laughs when he realizes how sympathetic he feels for the Silver Prince. 'But ours will be a happy ending.'

x

Short chapter but I finished most of my midterms and can promise a longer one soon.