Dusk fell over the Eyrie, cool and dark. Alayne had spent the afternoon helping Petyr organise the Tyrell strength and their amenities. She found she couldn't help but be slightly excited for the feast. She thought Willas Tyrell an odd fellow, but pleasant. Not to mention, she was ravenous- she was eager for the food and all but skipped to the solar where Petyr, Myranda, Robert and Willas were sitting around a simple yet splendid feast set out on the table.
"Here she is!" Petyr smiled at her, the smile not quite reaching those grey-green eyes. Willas bobbed his head at her.
"Good evening, Lady Stone," he greeted her pleasantly. His eyes didn't leave hers. "I must say…"
"Alayne! Come sit next to me, I saved you a seat!" Robert Arryn interrupted Willas from the opposite end of the table, patting the chair next to him. Alayne swept over to him, ruffling his hair.
"Now, my lord, you shouldn't interrupt people when they're halfway through a sentence," she chided gently, furtively sending an apologetic smile in Willas's direction. "But I will sit next to you."
"Indeed," Petyr agreed. He selected a choice cut of venison, placing it on his plate. He gestured for everyone to do the same. "You may begin. Now, what were you going to say, Lord Willas?"
Willas spread his arms out to the table. "This feast looks magnificent. You must have quite the cooks here. I must thank them afterwards," he chose some morsels and ate delicately, savouring every bite.
He is a man who loves life, Alayne thought. He enjoys little things. Alayne wished she could do the same, but all the little things she enjoyed had been taken away from her. She nibbled daintily on a chicken leg.
"Willas, how is your leg? It must ail you so," Myranda simpered. She was sitting beside Willas, her doe-eyes moist and sympathetic.
Willas shook his head graciously. "My thanks for your concern, Lady Royce. I have gotten used to it. It still pains me, but it's alright- I was never very good at jousting, anyhow. I prefer to sit back and read, or study the stars. Loras and Garlan are the true knights- I don't believe I was meant to be in tourneys or court."
Myranda nodded, patting his thigh. Willas shifted uncomfortably. "Did you hold a grudge against Prince Oberyn for what he did to you?" she asked.
"Who is Prince Oberyn?" Robert interjected lously.
Willas's cheerful face was overcome with sadness. "The day it happened, I cursed him to all seven hells. But Oberyn and I kept in touch- we wrote each other every moon." He played with the food on his plate absently. "I forgave him. I grieved him."
"Prince Oberyn was a dornishman, Sweetrobin. A very clever and witty man," Alayne whispered to Robert. She looked at Willas. The grief on his face was so real and raw it made her hur for himt.
Petyr, sensing the awkwardness, swooped in. "Lady Myranda, I think you are taking Lord Willas slightly off guard!" he said lightly, reaching for a pitcher of wine. "Some wine, my lord? The Arbor's finest, I can assure you."
"No, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm fine with water," Willas replied. His eyes caught Alayne's, clear and bright. His intelligent gaze searched her face, inquisitive. She wondered what he was looking for. She dropped her eyes quickly, busying herself with the cheese on her plate.
"How is your family at present, Lord Willas? Have you heard from Ser Garlan recently? And is there news of Ser Loras or Queen Margaery?" Myranda asked, snatching the pitcher from Petyr and pouring herself a large goblet of red wine.
A small dimple appeared between Willas's straight eyebrows. "I have not had word from Garlan since about two weeks ago- that was when he sent me here. I still do not know what my aim is, but he said he will write me soon. Loras…" he bit his lip. "Loras, I have not heard from. I pray for him constantly. I lie awake all night worrying about my incessant little brothers!" He laughed nervously, taking a sip of water. Alayne noticed his hand was shaking.
As did I, she thought. Every night, I prayed for Bran and Rickon. Her throat became thick, her heart heavy. She was aware of Willas's eyes, still on her face. She feared she had let some emotion show.
"And Margaery…" Willas continued, "I have written to Margaery every week, but she does not reply. They are very secretive about my sister the Queen." He finished his water.
Petyr nodded. "I'm sure your siblings are well. They are Tyrells, after all!" he winked at Myranda, who laughed bawdily.
"I think they are stronger than I, Lord Baelish," Willas stated softly.
Robert fidgeted, left out of the conversation. "Alayne, can you tell us a story? I'm bored, and you tell good stories," he asked, grabbing a potato with his grotty hand. Petyr breathed out heavily through his nostrils.
Alayne rested her hand on Robert's shoulder. "Sweetrobin, now isn't the time for a story. I promise I will tell you one tomorrow, one with dragons and knights and everything you like," she assured.
"I should like to hear a story, as well!" Willas clasped his hands together. "My books are becoming ponderous reads. May I join you for your story?" he enquired. He looked to Alayne. "If it iss alright, of course."
Robert's rheumy eyes narrowed. Myranda nodded, encouraging Robert to do the same. "I… I suppose," he sniffed.
Petyr chortled. "Is Highgarden lonely with only you and your books there, Lord Willas?"
Willas waved a dismissive hand. "I have never been the most social fellow. I enjoy the company of my dogs and hawks. I've found that they hardly ever reveal your secrets or argue with you."
Dogs, Alayne remembered. She'd been told, a lifetime ago, that Willas bred dogs. She had imagined them together with puppies on their laps when they'd supposedly been betrothed. What a stupid dream that had been. "What are your dog's names?" she blurted, unaware of the fact that she'd just asked such a ridiculous question. She cringed at her own folly.
Willas faltered a little at her question, surprised. An expression of utter glee crossed his face. "I have too many to name, Lady Stone, but I have a number of favourites- my oldest, Rosie, such an original name, I know, she is a delight. My hunter, Meraxes, was bred to be fierce- but he is a coward if you've ever met one, believe me!" he launched into a long list of names.
Petyr nodded courteously, Myranda attempted to seem interested, and Robert was half-asleep- but Alayne was enraptured. She longed to have a dog again. A pang went through her for her Lady.
"… and that's it, I believe," Willas finished, picking up his empty goblet. "I'm glad you asked." He turned his goblet upside down, astounded by the fact that there was no more water in it. "Lady Stone, could you please pass the water?"
As Alayne went to pass the jug, Robert Arryn leant across the table to take a leg of lamb from Myranda's plate. Alayne's hand slipped around the cool metal, and icy water spilt everywhere- over the lace tablecloth, the nut platter, Myranda and… Willas.
"Oh, gods!" Myranda yelped. Alayne jumped back, covering her mouth. Petyr swore loudly.
"Gods be good…" he pushed Robert out of the way, mopping Willas up with a cloth he'd found. "I apologise, Lord Willas, it's not usually like this…" he turned, eyes blazing, to Robert. "Why can't you just behave for once, you insolent little…"
"No, I'm fine, it's fine!" Willas stood up, dripping onto the floor. He leaned heavily on his cane. "Though, the water's a bit chilly." A sodden curl stuck limply to his forehead.
Alayne had frozen on the spot. "Oh, my lord, I am so, so very sorry, it was an accident, I swear…" Alayne searched frantically for a cloth, but could only find her dress. She tried desperately to sop up the water on the table with her skirts.
"Lady Stone, I am perfectly fine. Rain makes the roses grow." He tried not to let any water spill onto the goatskin rug on the floor.
Alayne smiled gratefully at him, turning to Robert. His little hands had begun to shiver. "I'm s-s-sorry, M-My Lord," he whimpered, little spasms rocking through him. Oh no, not now, Alayne thought, please, not now.
"Myranda, see that Robert gets his milk of the poppy!" Petyr boomed. Myranda nodded, hoisting the convulsing child over her shoulder. Alayne was blushing furiously. "Alayne, take Lord Willas and clean him up. Again, my Lord, we do apologize for his behaviour, he is still young…"
"Do not apologize, Lord Baelish, it is nothing," he reassured. "Go see to Lord Robert."
Petyr bowed his head to Willas, rushing after Myranda. Alayne hastily wheeled Willas from the solar, down the stairs to his chambers. He limped along after her as she muttered apologies to him the whole way.
They entered his chambers, Alayne muttering under her breath.
"Stupid, stupid girl." Gods, she was horrified that she'd let this happen. She truly was as daft as everyone thought.
"Lady Stone!" Willas interrupted her. She looked up at him nervously. His loose curls were unravelling over his forehead, and for an absurd moment Alayne wanted to push them away from his face. The feeling was ephemeral. "Lady Stone, I will tell you again- I am fine. It is nothing I haven't experienced before- younger siblings, remember?"
Alayne's discomfort slowly ebbed away when she saw he wasn't angry. "I am sorry, though," she whispered meekly.
A dimple bloomed in Willas's cheek. "And I forgive you, wholeheartedly. You carried me to my chambers earlier, consider it revenge." He shrugged off his sodden doublet, his undershirt transparent and clinging to his lean frame.
She turned away hastily, pretending that she hadn't even noticed the outline of his body through the cloth. "I… I will fetch you some "Some dry linen, I'll fetch some dry linen…"
"You do not have to," said Willas.
"No, but I am going to," replied Alayne.
She barely heard him laugh as she hurried to find the maids linen closet, finding the largest, softest sheets. When she returned to Willas's chambers, she hesitated outside the heavy door. It was open, just a fraction. She could see him kneeling beside his chest of clothing, searching for something else to don.
Willas had discarded his drenched undershirt, and Alayne could not help but peek. She had seen men's bodies before, but never like this. She'd seen old, rotund men and large, seasoned knights, their bodies hard and weathered. This was a different experience.
She'd imagined- no, not imagined, what type of maid would imagine a man without his garb?- she'd thought, long in the past, that Willas Tyrell would have the same slender, reed-like figure as his brother Loras, but it was quite different. He was not muscled, like Loras had been- he was slender, but soft. Lean, but not muscular. It was not a knight's body. It was a bookkeepers.
This whole peeping session lasted no more than ten seconds. She scolded herself for being so vulgar, and knocked on the door. "May I come in?"
Willas rapidly slipped on a new undershirt. "Yes, yes, come in!" He sat down on his bed, his leg stretched out. "You were quick."
Alayne set the linen down on the seat beside the window. From here, she could see the stars slowly appearing in the distance.
She felt Willas's eyes on her back. "You're quiet, Lady Stone," Willas stated from behind her, blatant and honest.
Alayne felt her eyebrows rise. "And you are not, my lord."
The side of Willas's lip quirked up slightly. "You are quiet, but from what I can see, you have a quick wit about you." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but stopped.
Alayne was taken aback. No one had ever told her she had quick wits. How many times had Cersei and Joffrey reminded her of what a dolt she was? "I… I doubt that highly, Lord Willas."
Willas tilted his head to the side. "You should not." He lifted his leg up onto the bed, wiggling his toes. He let out a sigh of relief. Alayne noticed he did not lift up the leg of his breeches to relieve it- perhaps he was ashamed. "Did you know, Lady Stone, that you speak with your eyes?"
Alayne frowned, puzzled. Eyes? "My lord? I don't understand."
Willas pointed to his eyes, sparkling from the light of the bedside candle. "You. You speak with your eyes. They talk. Since I arrived here earlier, our eyes have already had many conversations."
Alayne felt herself smile quizzically, unbidden. "Eyes cannot speak," she opened the shutters to the window.
"Can't they? Then am I wrong to think yours have conversed with me?" he spoke gently, wincing slightly. His leg was as stiff as a board.
"Are you japing with me?" Alayne enquired. "You are. You are japing."
Willas beamed at her. "Do you enjoy japes, Alayne?"
"Well, it depends on the jape. I have not experienced a good jape in a while."
"Mm," Willas nodded. "You told me earlier. With your large blue eyes," he pointed to his own eyes, golden and gleaming with mischief.
Alayne could not contain the giggle that erupted from her mouth. "Forgive me, Lord Willas, but you are strange!" she exclaimed through a fit of laughter. She shook her head, disbelieving. "I must leave, Petyr- Father will need help with Robert. And again…"
"… You are sorry for spilling water on me. And again, I forgive you," his eyes fluttered shut. "Go if you must. I will see you on the morrow, will I not?"
"If you would like, My Lord." She curtsied. "I bid you good night, Lord Willas."
"And you, Lady Stone."
She left with a grin plastered to her face. She was so bewildered by their conversation that she did not even hear Willas say "I would like to."