Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
- Shakespeare's Sonnet 116
They crossed the Red Fork near two weeks past, at a ford three leagues from the Twins, and had been making slower and slower progress with every mile further north they travelled.
Sansa wished she could be back in Highgarden, or at least that she might have Willas' company, but she knew that this was the best way. This was the only chance she and Arya might have to see one of their brother's again, and Willas could not possibly leave Highgarden, not with Lord Mace and Garlan going to war, not with his injuries, not…
Winterfell was not his place. The North was not his place. Willas would be as out of place in the North as Arya had been in the Reach, and that sense of wrongness would only make him self-conscious and grumpy, and then he would feel guilty for his ill-temper, and she did not want that.
He had smiled so beautifully while they were saying goodbye, even though he had had tears in his eyes, even though he had been exhausted from so much sitting up, so much talking, since Humfrey's arrival in Highgarden. He had smiled to give her a good memory of him, she knew, to reassure her that he would survive her departure and be there for her when she returned. She never wanted to see him frown ever again.
"Lady Sansa," one of her retainers called - sturdy, curly-haired men from the Reach, wrapped up in layers of wool so thick it made Arya laugh every time they emerged from their tents at sunrise. "It's time to bed down for the night - the scouts say there is a copse of trees just ahead where we might find some shelter."
The trees were all bare here, in the snow, but they grew so tangled together that they kept the worst of the wind and snow out so that they might get some sleep during the long, dark nights. Sansa had found it hard to settle the first long weeks on the road, missing the softness of a bed under her, the warmth of her and Willas' blankets, the warmth of Willas' skin against her own. She had felt so weak and useless, especially when she saw how easily Arya and Lady Brienne slept, how readily Humfrey slipped into slumber when he came off his shift of watch at night. He usually took first watch, she thought so he could sleep enough to ride with her and guard her through the whole day.
He took his promise to Willas very seriously, she'd noticed. So seriously that he and Lady Brienne often clashed - Lady Brienne insisted that her vow to their mother was more important than Humfrey's vow to Willas, but Sansa could not believe that, not now.
Not after seeing that thing that had corrupted her mother's soul and was inhabiting her skin. Arya had somehow made sense of the creature, had managed to reconcilethat with the gentle hands and soft smiles that had warmed Winterfell even on the coldest days, and Sansa would never understand how she had done it.
They had a team of retainers from the creature, too, from Stoneheart. The big one in the yellow cloak, Lem, was too familiar with Arya and Lady Brienne for Sansa's tastes, but stayed well enough away from her - Humfrey made sure they all stayed away from her, Humfrey and Marian together were better than the fiercest guard dogs, but she had one of those, too. Blossom seemed to love the snow, contrary to all expectations, but loathed just about everyone save Sansa herself, Arya, Marian, and Humfrey.
"She only likes me because I smell like Willas," Humfrey grumbled, appearing in that sudden way of his at Sansa's side. Whisper was less easy in the snow than Blossom, her delicate legs thickening with muscle, her sweet nature sometimes turning sour after a long day. Humfrey had a way with her, though, murmuring to her as he helped Sansa dismount, always taking care of her tack himself - he did the same for his own horse, Sansa had noticed, babying Sparrow almost as badly as Willas did Gardener. It was unnerving, sometimes how alike to her husband Lord Hightower's youngest son was, but mostly it was a comfort, a piece of him to travel with her even when she was most afraid.
"I think she likes you because you sneak her more meat than is rationed for her," Sansa accused him, grinning under the scarf over her mouth. His eyes wrinkled in response, just as Lady Alerie's so often did when she smiled, and he waved Sansa on, passing her Blossom's lead and pointing towards the shelter that was being set up - Arya was already there, helping pitch some of the tents, while Lady Brienne was helping one of the men who had come from Oldtown with Humfrey build a fire. Sansa was pleased by how respectful the men had been of Lady Brienne, especially as compared with how Lord Mace had treated her.
Garlan's assurance that she was innocent of Lord Renly's murder seemed to have carried considerable weight among the men from the Reach. The creature's hoarse order to follow Lady Brienne's direction had done much the same for the brigands who were just now foraging for food and firewood.
"Come, shelter," Sansa said to Arya, guiding her into the tent nearest the fire, in the centre of the camp. "Rest a while before we eat."
Arya had always been half a horse, but even she was weary after the long, difficult days in the saddle, peering through snow and sleet with scarves wrapped around their faces and what furs they had wrapped around their shoulders. When she pulled back her hood and unwound her scarves, Sansa could see the deep shadows under her sister's eyes, see how prominent Arya's cheekbones had become in the near to two moons since they had left Highgarden, and she worried. They had plenty of food - while their table was not as abundant as those in Highgarden, it was filling, and supplemented with whatever they foraged or bought along the way - but the sheer effort of remaining on horseback against the biting winds blowing down from the North was exhausting.
"You ought to rest as well," Arya said, frowning when Sansa took a candle and flint from the saddlebag she always kept beside her, and, once the candle was light, the sheaf of parchment and the pen and ink. The ink she had to hold over the candle to thaw the ice, but once that was done, she made note of anything exciting that they had done, of anything interesting she had seen, and planned on sending it all to Willas as soon as they were somewhere safe. "You look like shit, you know - you should try sleeping more."
As they'd travelled further north, and the nights had gotten colder, Arya had insisted on their sharing the furs - it did help them stay warmer, but it made it more obvious just how restless a sleeper Sansa had become. Arya worried for Sansa near as much as Sansa worried for her, enough that they had managed to avoid fighting for the most part. They bickered still, of course, but no more than Willas and Garlan did, not as far as Sansa could judge.
"I'm well enough," was all she said, dipping her quill into the inkpot and scribbling down a few notes for Willas - she knew how he'd fret, and hoped that receiving this might comfort him a little. "I wonder where we are, though," she added, biting her lip. "There can't be much more between the- the river and the Neck, not even with how slowly we've been going."
"As perceptive as you are beautiful," Humfrey said, unwinding his scarf as he crawled into the tent. "We are indeed more or less to the Neck, niece - my scouts have reported back that the ground gives way to marshland not ten miles ahead, my lady. We are sending someone on ahead with a request for aid in the morning - gods willing we might find this Lord Reed you tell me was great friends with your lord father."
"Tell me, Lannister," Willas said, refusing to look up from the maps spread out on the table before him even when the Imp began to whistle. "What purpose do you serve?"
"Here at Highgarden, or in a more general sense? With regards the latter, I feel that I add a certain effervescence to the lives-"
"In Highgarden," Willas grit out. "In the service of the Dragon Queen. In Westeros, you fool! Your mad sister wants your head, and she'll take the head of any dwarf she lays eyes on in the meantime!"
"I am here as a political advisor to the Queen - or rather, to Ser Barristan, since he is here and she is not. You have been told this repeatedly, my lord."
True enough, Ser Barristan had assured Willas and Father both that Lannister was truly there on their Queen's orders, but Willas still mistrusted the annoying bastard.
He tried, though, for Sansa's sake. She had told him how Tyrion Lannister had tried to protect her while they were both in King's Landing, and any man who did good by Sansa was deserving of his respect and thanks.
If only Lannister weren't so damned irritating!
And if only they weren't trapped together in Highgarden, the last two men left in the castle, more or less - Father and Garlan were gone north-east and south-west, one to shore up the defences nearest King's Landing and the other to aid against the Greyjoys at Oldtown however he could. Garlan was the one likely to be in the most danger, but Willas knew that Father was far from safe, especially now that Ser Barristan was with him, as ambassador for Prince Aegon's most dangerous rival.
"Has your queen a temperament that might lead her to making peace with the Prince?" he asked, if only to keep himself from making some acerbic comment that would earn him a reprimand from Mother. "Is she likely to avoid war on that front, at least?"
"Well," Lannister said, pulling himself up sit opposite Willas. "She's done away with her second husband, both of them dark-skinned foreigners, so the third being a Targaryen seems appropriate. Finally with her rightful husband, as some would see it, I suppose."
"That is not an answer."
"Well, I am not Daenerys Targaryen," Lannister pointed out. "Could you predict what your wife's sister might do if presented with a husband who would help her regain their home and titles?"
Absolutely he could - Arya Stark would press Sansa to annul their marriage so that she could wed whoever this marvellous prospect was, particularly if he was a Northman.
"Likely I could," he said. "But again, that is not an answer."
Lannister was smiling, a terrible thing that twisted his scars - just seeing that made Willas' own scars feel tight and itchy, especially the bulk of the scarring on his back.
"I will tell you this, Tyrell," Lannister said. "Daenerys Targaryen wed a Meereenese slaver prince to protect the people she gathered on her travels. She would go to great lengths to protect innocents, I think - so, if your Prince offers her fair terms, and guarantees safety for her people, I cannot see why she would refuse him. Which," he added, holding up one short finger with a vicious sort of half-grin, "is not to say that she will not. She can be capricious, the Mother of Dragons."
Willas sighed and sat back, tipping his head back so he wouldn't curse at the little bastard. Getting answers out of him was like pulling hen's teeth, as infuriating as it was impossible.
"I will say this, though," Lannister cut in. "Your abandoning my sister and nephew and acting against them will play in your favour with the Queen. She hates whoever holds the Iron Throne more than she hates near anything else, and your breaking from my family will look well in her eyes."
Well, that was something, at least - it made it less likely that they'd all die in a hail of dragonfire, he supposed, and that was a fate he wished to spare them all, especially given how Loras had- how Loras had been-
He swallowed past the lump that had gathered in his throat, swore that he would go to Loras' grave in the morning with Margaery, and sighed.
"How far behind you do you suppose your queen is?" he asked, rubbing his eyes - it had been a moon's turn since Lannister and Ser Barristan had arrived, two moons since Sansa had left, and Willas was already sick and tired of everything. He missed his wife, he missed his father and his brothers, and he missed having any semblance of normality in his life.
But they were at war, were they not? Normality was a distant dream.