See the end of the chapter for notes.

"What worries me most is the health and care for the smaller villages in the North, who fell victim to war and famine at the hands of the Greyjoy's and the Boltons. I worry for their lives as I would worry for the health of my kin. I pray to the old gods and the new for a short winter and a shorter war…"

Without reading it further, the man inspecting the parchment rolled it up and hid it away in his sleeve. He enjoyed the view over Highgarden while waiting for his falcon to return from his hunt. It was a young bird, in great need of training. And big for it's age, a sign that will make for a strong, sturdy falcon for the hunt. Arryen, he called him. He brought his thumb and index finger to his lips, producing a high, clear whistle, echoing over the hills.
His whistle was immediately responded by the screeching of his young falcon. He looked up in de sky, holding his protected arm in the air. The bird flapped its wings, dropping his prey on the ground, and landed carefully on the man's arm.
'Good bird,' he praised him. The man noted the animal's behavior and then looked over to the ground, where the falcon dropped a dead black cat, bloodied holes in its guts where the bird caught and held it as it flew back. He scoffed to himself, A cat. How fitting for the day.

A woman's voice called out to him. 'Willas!'

Willas Tyrell turned over to the source of the voice calling him. It was good-sister Leonette, widow of his late brother Garlan, of only ten-and-eight. She stopped running when she noticed the big bird resting on his arm.
'Willas, sweetling, we must go back!' She walked the remaining couple of yards to him, a bit out of breath and panting. She dropped the yellow dress she was holding up, to the ground and looked at the bird a little wide-eyed. 'Is that Arryen? Or is it Valyra? She looks big!' she then shook her head and grabbed his arm holding his cane, shaking it to get his attention.
'It does not matter!' she said before he could even answer.
'We must go, the court session will start soon.' She tried to pull him with her, in the direction of the castle. Willas grinned at her, not seemingly worried in the least.
'Court will not start until I am there. Calm down, Leonette. I beg you.'
Leonette let go of his arm and reached to her hair to get it out of her face. She breathed in, setting her lips in a pout. Willas took the opportunity to walk in the direction of the bird cages at the top of the hill on the other side. He looked behind him at his good-sister pouting and placed the falcon on his shoulder, the bird minding not to get stuck in the big sandy-coloured curls of his master.
'I received a letter from Sansa Stark this morning.' he said. With his other hand free, he reached into his sleeve and handed the parchment over to Leonette.
'Read it if you wish. You used to be one of her friends with Margaery and the other girls. The lady of the North greets you in this, too.'

Leonette noticed that his voice lowered significantly, mentioning his sister's name. She started walking next to him, minding her speed to match with his. She daintly grabbed the letter from his hand, trying to open it. The wind was too strong, however, so she folded it back up as good as she could and held it in her hand instead.
'I will write her soon. Did she respond to your request? How did she like the lemons? That was my idea, I remember.' Leonette looked secretly pleased with herself. She always thought of Sansa as a friend, ever since she found out the Stark girl also had a love for lemon cakes.
'She loves the lemons and sugar well enough, I gather,' Willas said. 'It is but a small price to pay to win over the heart of a lady of the North. She is well enough a well-bred Lady, that much I can judge from her.'
Leonette helped her good-brother on a particulary rough patch on the hill, nodding in thought. 'That is true. A shy girl, but well pretty and courteous. A normal lady, that that dreamt of stories of knights and rescues and romance. All ruined by the Lannisters, of course.'
Willas looked thoughtful. He knew the stories of the lady Stark, of her beauty and grace, but also of her troubled past with the Lannisters in the Red Keep. Another thing he simply could not stand besides all else that happened- a Kings Guard, anointed by the seven- beating up a young, noble girl. His intended, no less.
Allthough that scheme did not hold for long.
He hoped, when or if receiving word from the hand of the Queen in the East, Tyrion Lannister, the Lannister dwarf would not held the poor girl to their marriage upon his return.
Not that it would be difficult to annull it, of course. He wagered that his close personal connections with the High Septon of the Citadel would help him in the annulment. But that required more than just the man that wants to take her hand instead-

As if reading his mind, Leonette spoke up.
'She would be a good wife to you, Willas.' She took over the North together with her half brother, while remaining unwed. She must be good at making powerful friends if she managed to take the North without being forced to accept any proposal from some Lord-of-the-what-or-other.'
Willas sniggered and gave his goodsister a wide smile, showing his white teeth, his green eyes wrinkling in jest.
'I see you still are not quite excelling in your lessons with Maester Lomys, sweetling.'
They were getting close to the bird cages near the castle walls. 'But it is quite clear, is it not? It is why I must woo her as well as I can, and soon too. I will see whether the maiden that dreamt of knights and rescues is still inside her yet. With my wits and manners,' he followed, opening the bird cage, 'I will hopefully not bore the poor lady to death.'
With that, he released the falcon into the cage and closed it. Leonette laughed as she handed Willas a piece of melon, who fed it to the bird.

'Let us go then, Leonette,' he said as he put his arm through hers. 'It is time to be the valliant knight to our own subjects first.'

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Willas held a tighter grip to his goblet of water as he took a good look at the nine Lannister men in front of him. His guards bloodied them up pretty bad, one large man in grey and red armor had his hands tight up behind his back, while he stared at him with one eye, the other one blackened. His lip was bloodied too.
He knew the rest of Westeros probably laughed at the Reach for having 'knights of the summer', but they showed to be far more useful than some half-starved Lannister soldiers, spying on the comings and goings of Highgarden. They visibly hardly had the strength in them to fight back much.
Not that that would help one bit in their situation.

'We found these men lurking in the shadows, in the woods behind the Sept, my lord,' one of his man called out to him, standing in front of the men as if presenting his latest catch.
'The others were hiding in the Westgardens, and these four were found on the road to Cider Hall.'
Willas flicked his eyes over the men and back to Igon Vyrwel, the captain of the guards, responsible for surrounding and guarding the castle with loyal Tyrell soldiers.
'Well done, ser Igon, well done.' He congratulated him, speaking slowly. His polite smile not quite reaching his eyes.
'Some fine men of the Lannister army… I trust the battle was a feisty one?'
Igon looked up at his liege with pale blue eyes, a wary expression visible on his face. Willas raised his goblet to his lips, taking a small sip.
'I'd wager it was. Allthough…' he paused, cocking his head a bit to the side. 'I do believe it was not such a fair fight. Almost two to one.' He looked over at the crowd of Highgarden guards, awaiting the words of their Lord. Some of them lowered their eyes to the ground. Every man in Highgarden knew this expression- Lord Tyrell was not happy.
'Tell me, Ser, how is it, that there are fifteen soldiers ready at the Sept to take on but two Lannister soldiers, while in other places these numbers of soldiers are not nearly present?' He asked, slowly lowering his cup to the table.
'How is it. that Lannister soldiers can go as far as the Sept to begin with? How, pray tell?'
'My lord, I…' Igon started. He inhaled nervously, looking up at Willas, who was staring back at him with raised eyebrows, awaiting the captains' clever response.
'I ask of you to do your duty, ser,' Willas sighed, sinking back into his normal, friendly self.
'I will see to these men. Now, go and take care of a proper guard surrounding the castle. Bring every Lannister soldier straight to me. I hope it will be fewer and farther in between from now.' That last sentence wasn't a question as much as it was a demand. Protecting Highgarden was of top priority in times of war, and nine Lannister soldiers is to large a group to be called a coincidence. Mistakes would not be tolerated.

'Yes, my lord, certainly, mylord,' Ser Igon stammered. He motioned for a large group of guards to go outside. Then he bowed uncomfortably, while following quickly behind the men. The large doors of the Rose Hall closed behind him.
Soft muttering coming from the audience of lords and ladies of court gave Willas the time to think about his next step. Before he could open his mouth to speak however, one soldier dropped to one knee on the ground.
'My lord,' he said, lowering his head. 'I beg of you to spare my life. I have not killed, nor have I stolen. I merely followed commands.'
Two other of the men behind him immediately followed the soldier's example, dropping to one knee, surrendering. The others stood still and rigids as boards. Willas silently looked over at the three young soldiers, no more than sixteen years old.
Willas leaned back in his chair, waving at the one who spoke first to come forward. 'What is your name?' he asked, not unpleasantly.
'Pycall, my lord,' the boy answered. As he expected- the boy wasn't from any great house.
'And what is your trade?'
'Fisherman, my lord, at Lannisport.' The boy bowed his head, visibly worried about mentioning a city that belonged to the enemy of the lord he was speaking to.
'And the other two?' Willas asked. He placed both hands on his cane while gesturing over to the two other lads, still looking to the ground.
'Their names are Willis and Tygo, my lord. Sons of fishermen, like me.' The lads behind him nodded in unison.

'Traitors,' muttered one of the other soldiers still standing. 'You shall hang!' another added. Willas raised his hand, prompting one of the guards to punch the soldier that spoke last in the back of his head. Willas stroked his chin in thought as the Lannister soldier grunted in pain, fighting his bindings.
'Any more men wishing to tell me their names and their trade?' He suddenly asked.
It stayed dead quiet for a few more moments, and then, one by one, four other young men dropped to one knee. Kevan, Lorry, Lommys and Grover- woodworkers and farmerboys, Serving as spies for the Lannisters.
Because they're smallfolk, Willas thought. Because they're disposable to them. He balled his fists at the thought.
Vortimer Crane, the master-at-arms at Highgarden, leaned over to him, whispering.
'Mere boys, my lord. Best send them to the wall. They could prove useful there.'
Willas nodded curtly in agreement, but then Paxter Redwyne leaned over, whispering low. 'Lads for my ships, my lord. Don't waste the food and the travel to the wall. These summerboys would do better on the water, scrubbing the deck and feeding the cattle.'
He and Willas had a moment of eye contact before he regarded the group of men to give his verdict.
'Good. Lannister men- All of you will be held in Highgarden to do reparations and cleaning in the Sept, since that place interests you so.'
This earned a soft giggle from the other side of the table. Leonette.
'When this is done,' he went on, 'The seven of you will be the new recruiters on the Redwyne Navy. Prove yourself with hard work, and you might yet prove yourself with a sword or cannon one day, too.'
Willas heard some whispers coming from all sides of the audience. Giving mercy to Lannister soldiers?
'Furthermore, you two,' he waved his hand in the direction of the two big men refusing to bend the knee or speak a word in their defense.
'You two will be sent to the wall, to live out your days protecting the realm in the North. Consider it an honor to be spared, to serve the kingdoms from the Wall.'
To his astonishment, Willas watched as Grover buried his bloodied face in his hands and began to cry. The other men looked over at him, some people in the audience sniggered. He wasn't even to be sent there!
'Maester Lomys,' Willas called out to the old Maester sitting a few places down his left.
'Please see to it that these men are patched up and fed. They may sleep in the cells for tonight. Tomorrow they will be all set up to work.' Without saying anything, the Maester nodded and walked in front of the nine men, guarded by flowered knights, in the direction of the cells.

Butterbumps, the fat fool- jumped into the air, a wooden horse on a stick between his chunky legs. 'Away with the boys!' He called out. 'Away away, wave to mother, the Lannister boys go on the water!'
He then jumped behind them, bumping into the large Lannister man walking in the back.
'To the wall! To the cold! If you are lucky you won't get old!'
The fool skipped and jumped around the hall, finally bowing before his lord, then pulling a rose from his mouth, throwing it in the direction of Leonette. It was a sign that court has ended for the day. Thank the gods, Willas thought. There were more important things to think of, and here he is, dealing with Lannister men, or minor quarrels between this and that bannerman.
'My lord, would you like music? Would you like some tricks from Butterbumps? I can sing a song, too!'
He started his personal favorite without needing anyone asking him to, casting mischievous glances towards Lady Leonette as he begun his song. "A bear there was, a bear, a bear!"
"No!" Leonette squeeled. She shared Lady Olenna's disdain for "The Bear and The Maiden Fair", mocking her family of golden haired ladies. The song was believed to be about a golden haired maiden who fell in love with a brutish Mormont man, the wearers of bear sigils. But the Reach mostly believe the maiden was a Lannister, not a Fossoway.
In any case, it was considered to be quite a scandal.
"All black and brown, and covered with hair…" Butterbumps continued, stomping the floor in rhythm with the song.
Leonette, while shaking her head, redfaced and uncomfortable, was acting quite to excess over the whole event. Enough is enough. Willas raised his hand for the fool to stop.

"Please, Butterbumps. no more. It makes my good-sister uncomfortable. How about some of your tricks?'
He stood then, and immediately the crowd stood too and bowed, Butterbumps lowering his head deeper than anyone else. While Willas grabbed his cane and slowly left the Rose Hall, he could hear the fool jumping around and making strange sounds, collecting some more polite laughs from the ladies of court. Most of the people present got ready to leave, though.
Willas followed the white stone halls, his cane clicking the floor as he counted the golden roses painted on the walls in his head. He liked to do that sometimes, it put his mind at ease with all the changes going on. Not six moonturns ago, he spent his time studying and taking care of his breedstock, yet now had he to take care of the entire Reach, as well. Ruling can be hard if the first thing you do as a liege is waging a war against the Crown.
He knew his choices in the matter were slim to begin with. Raised as a devout of the Seven, letting the supposed "queen" of the seven kingdoms destroy a holy sept, taking the lives of his dear family members in the process- justice and revenge was to be had.
It was the one thing he knew he shared with the Northmen- they believed in taking revenge. Their gods understood.
And taking revenge he did, spreading out his influences as far and as wide as he could. He trusted his grandmother with Danaerys Targaryen. He promised not to write her until she sent word to him. He trusted his long time friendship with the Dornish and Oberyn Martell. The second prince of Dorne… The very reason he had to walk with a bad leg and a clicking noise in his step, and some sweetwine after a particularly long day, But as the months passed and they wrote more, he found a friend in the Dornish man, who often entertained him with stories of the world, stories he could never live for himself.
And the lady Sansa…
He slowed down his step, suddenly noticing someone walking behind him. But listening to the footsteps, it was Leonette, obviously walking slower and quieter as to not to disturb him.

'Apologies, Willas,' she said as she followed him at a leasure pace. 'I just wanted to thank you for sparing me more humiliation out of the mouth of that oaf of a fool.' She looked displeased, fidgeting with the golden rose on her necklace. 'I saw some men laughing, like a bunch of arses. It is nothing to laugh at!' she hissed at Willas, who was coughing to hide his smirk.
'I am not laughing, my lady. It was a terrible thing that Butterbumps did, that is why I stopped it.'
He looked down at her as he smiled, sobering up when he noticed the black handkerchief in her dress pocket. She is still mourning, as do I, he thought to himself. Willas was too still dressed in black, coincidentally matching the fabrics with the right garments for the weather. It was a cold, windy day, matching perfectly the sadness he has been feeling. Spending time with Leonette, getting his mind off things by working hard, training his animals and writing letters, he could almost forget the sadness for a heartbeat or two. But the castle was still in mourning- until Willas himself showed colour in is attire again, the white, sunny rose-filled castle would still be bleak and grimmy.
At least the sigils on the ground stayed green and gold and hopeful, like they always were.

He followed his way, at a crosspoint saying his greetings to Leonette, until dinner in two hours.
It was a long, hard day, but he still had a ways to go. There was a council meeting after dinner which he had to attend to. More and more messages from the north were coming, talking about needing men for the wall and the dangers that lurk behind it. It was high time to find more about that too. If he was to have a say in the north as well in the coming months and years, he might well find out as much, if not more, as they know.

But sleep and exhaustion was weighing on him heavily. If only he had someone to take his place sometimes, to excuse him in front of all the others.

As he reached his door, the two guards stepped aside immediately. Their clean, green coats waving as they moved. A servant opened the door for him, as he nodded politely and stepped in. Willas placed his wooden cane on his bed and scratched the sandy curls on his head. His squire placed a fresh bowl of cold water and a towel on the small table in front of him. Then he pulled out a tightly folded piece of parchment, stamped with a three-headed dragon sigil. Rodrick handed it over to him and rushed back to the corner, not saying a word.
Willas, holding the parchment tightly in his fingers, called out for Rodrik again. He thanked him and requested he made some servant girl prepare a bath for him, dismissing him until the evening.

When he sat alone, he broke the seal on the parchment, rolling it out. It was his grandmother's handwriting.

Sweetling,

This is all the information you need.

Send a raven to confirm our allegiance in your name, no more than that.

Call the navy and let them take sail to Sun Spear to retrieve me.

Grow Strong.

Willas stared at the paper for a long time, considering the implications of a letter, so soon. He expected a greater deal of trouble when dealing with Sand Snakes, and even more trouble convincing a Dragon Queen to alliance with the Tyrells. But of course, that must be the work of Tyrion Lannister. He never told anyone, but he quite admired the man, pleased to know another underestimated lord as well-read as he. As much as he did not want to think on it, he pitied the little Lannister lord too, to be cursed with a misshapen body and a cruel family. He could not bring himself to think of that lord to be part of the Lannister rulers, just as he wouldn't wish anyone to think of him as another ambitious, cunning Tyrell lord.

But he knew he had to be.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

To the lady Sansa of House Stark,

It pleased me greatly to have received words from you so soon. Mylady was too kind to leave me the beautiful blue winter rose with the letter. I am certain you will someday chosen to be a queen of love and beauty one day, as should befit a lady as fa-

He stopped writing, sighing deeply at his juvenile, overly courtly writing style. He twitched his nose in displeasure, then proceeded to crumble the parchment and toss it into the open hearth.
He grabbed another piece of parchment and started anew.

To the lady Sansa of House Stark,

My lady honours me greatly to send word so soon. As I am writing, I have not received word from your brother, his Grace Jon Snow yet. I am not worried in the least, my lady. I trust to hear from him in due time.

The messenger who handed me this letter is well taken care of and on his way with provisions and a good horse, named Fillan, as a gift from me.

I pray mylady understands that I still seek an alliance with house Stark, and I hope the gods will allow us all to do our duty in King's Landing first, so that we might face other threats as an united Westeros, before the winter truly starts.

I hope mylady will do me the great plesasure of accepting the hundred and five good, strong men to aid the Wall, travelling two days behind your messenger and his escort. The weather makes the travels to the North is still fairly possible, so I sent you three carthouses filled with fabrics and pelts from the Reach as my personal gift to you.

Willas pondered upon something. A seed of thought was planted in his mind when he read his grandmother's letter. It resonated with something deep inside, whispering something about a possibility in regards to the lady Stark.

Then it clicked. And he continued his letter, smiling to himself. Perhaps I am as cunning as my grandmother, he thought.

I could hardly imagine anything worse than the loss of so many of the innocents you spoke of in your letter. I happen to live in a place where the rich and the poor are well provided for when the winter is at its coldest, but for you, mylady, I envision an even greater burden. I care for the elders in the Reach as much as Margaery always tended for the children, those homeless or whose parents fell victim to war. Thus, to prove mine own worth in these matters, allow me a moon's turn to assist in thinking of a solution.

In the mean time, please accept the six ships sailing to Deepwood Motte in your name. These ships are laden with horses and cattle suited for provisions or rations, as well as the fruits, wheat and vegetables from our own gardens and fields. A seventh ship will be added for Mylady and His Grace, to use in coming battles or at your own leasure. This ship has a good amount of freshly forged armor to prepare a thousand men for battle.

Willas stopped again, wondering if this wasn't a bit too much to gift at once. He didn't want to seem too eager, did he? Then he remembered the overall plan, and shrugged it off.
It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it, after all.
Aside from his ambitous agenda, Willas also tried to overstep any other lord asking for her hand (mainly because of his own pride), and making damn well sure the goodwill based influence of the Tyrells grows in the process. Everything travelling north that could fit it, was stamped with a Tyrell rose. All the while enabling a courtship with the auburn-haired Northern lady.

The ships were once gifts to him from his one-and-twentieth nameday.
Willas remembered lord Mathis Rowan, the proud lord of Goldengrove with his clean shaven, broad smile and bright eyes looking at the young heir to Highgarden, clearly proud of his gift. They were looking over the sea in Oldtown, where he had to stay for his nameday to also receive some new treatments for his leg. Looking out over the sea and seeing the seven silver boats, he could not help but blink in utter surprise. He never expected to get ships- not that he could not afford them, but because he had no personal use of them, with his bad leg and all.
Truly, It was a poorly thought over gift from House Rowan, but for now it was only fitting. The ships were painted silver and gold and were sturdy and stylish in build, with huge silver sails and golden roses painted on the exterior. The silver and gold were favourable colours, for the message he was trying to conceive for the Starks: the Tyrell gold and Stark silver mixture (maybe I need to fix that colour more fittingly, interrupted Willas his own thoughts) would be an excellent way to make the Tyrell presence known in the North. He wrote a short note to himself to call for seamstresses to add some Stark Banners onto the ships.

I do hope mylady will be pleased with the alterations I had made the ships to make it more fitting to sail in your stead. My tokens will be accompanied with a small army of myself, to assist in the travel from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell.

With this letter, at last, I bear two other things; One is the best wishes from the lords and ladies of House Tyrell, House Fossoway and lady Taena Merryweather, Principally Megga, Alla, and Elinor Tyrell, My dear goodsister Leonette, and of course my beloved grandmother Olenna Redwyne. She wishes to see you again and sends you her seven blessings through this letter.

The other thing I bear this letter, is a golden rose, one I plucked form the garden this morning before training my falcons and hawks.

See this as a testament to the legitimacy of this letter, if the word of your messenger will not be enough of an attestment to that.

It would not do to present Lady Sansa with a flower that will be well within the state of decomposing by the time it got to Winterfell. So he opted for a broche instead, a rose with jade thorns and stem, the flower made of gold and lemon quartz. A small, simple broche, not quite valuable enough to be received as jewelry, thankfully- that manner of courtship was not appropiate quite yet.
Willas fasted the broche to the letter, signing it with his name and titles, and summoned a page to send a raven to Riverrun as fast as possible.
He looked over at the bright yellow rose he plucked right as the Northern messenger approached him with four guards accompanying him, bringing him the letter from the Lady Stark. Willas decided to keep the rose in some water in his chambers- thinking it was quite a coincidence to be gifted a rose, right as he plucked one that stood out from the rest.

A sign from the Seven, perhaps.

Willas did not need to ponder upon it further and for a long time too, because it was time to plan the next step. He had to prepare his army as soon as possible, going on the journey west to oversee the Tyrell Navy being build and prepared to go to Sun Spear. A journey to Oldtown, also to meet with the Archmaester of the Citadel, as well as reading more into the White Walkers, as well as inquiring about the validity of the rumours coming from the Wall, Winterfell, and other places in the North regarding them.
One thing the Lord Tyrell prided himself on, was to handle multiple affairs at once, striking two flies with one stroke. It was one of the things you learn when living with a cane and a shattered knee.

But even the strongest roses need support while growing.

And the Tyrells were growing strong indeed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Notes:

You have taken a first look at Sansa and Willas's personality for this fanfiction. It is how I always imagined Willas to be, thoughtful, witty, intelligent, but also a bit of a romantic, and Sansa the way she would be by now in the Winds of Winter (judging by the Alayne-chapter) but groomed for greater things than being the lady of the Vale, growing into a player on her own volition.

As always, I do not own anything related to ASOIAF. All rights belong to the one and only GRRM Martin.