Jerkin, breeches, and leather riding boots. Alayne felt that she looked more like a stable-boy than a lady of the Eyrie when she looked at herself in her looking glass. Why me? Alayne thought, as she weaved her dark hair into a tight braid that fell heavily down her back. Why has he chosen me for these tasks?
Willas had listed the errands for her as they'd left breakfast- he'd sounded more animated than usual, which, as he was usually overly enthusiastic, was definitely a unique moment. "First we must bring them the horses some food- they need their sustenance, as you know, being so large and all… but that's the easy part, the more difficult task will be the cleaning of the stables. But it won't be too exerting- you're still recovering, of course," Willas had babbled. "I won't forget that you're still recovering."
Alayne had been confused upon hearing the 'we.' "Lord Willas, forgive me, I'm a bit confused. You said 'we.'"
And he'd turned to her, sanguine, and said "I would never force such duties on you alone, Alayne!"
Alayne smiled to remember the incredulousness she'd sensed from him as she willingly agreed to perform these tasks. As she was lacing up her boots, she heard a rumble of thunder echo around her chamber walls. She hesitantly looked out the window, and groaned. An ominous black cloud loomed over the Vale, concealing the snow-capped peaks. A storm was coming.
She sighed as she left her chambers, feeling quite unlike herself in these new garments. She thought it must've been what another girl felt like, a long-faced girl with grey eyes and a hatred for dresses. But Alayne had never known that girl.
Alayne descended the winding Eyrie stairwell that led to the base of the stronghold that was the Eyrie. Willas was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, dressed rather similarly to Alayne, in breeches and a leather tunic. When he saw her, he stood up straighter, running a hand over his feathery hair.
"Lady… Lady Stone." His cheeks were flushed as his eyes travelled up and down her form. His eyes lingered on her tight jerkin, but not long enough for it to be noticeable. "You… seem as though you're prepared."
Alayne felt an odd tingling inside her, not unpleasant. Warmth at the base of her stomach, unfamiliar. "I hope so." They exited the entrance hall and began their descent. Willas's men had taken camp at the Bloody Gate- only two of his men had wanted to come up to the Eyrie with him. They were to remain in the castle, on Willas' orders.
On the stretch of precarious stone leading from the Eyrie to the Bloody Gates, Alayne could see a grand number of tents and men from above- hundreds, possibly thousands, of soldiers glinting in Tyrell armour were visible.
Alayne was agape. "Lord Willas, there's… simply thousands!" she whispered. She felt a spot of rain on the part of her hair. Willas looked up.
"Tyrell strongholds are known for our numbers. But we'll only be tending to my horses- which men you meet, I'll ensure they do not…" Willas coughed slightly. "Some of these men are not as… gently spoken as the men you have known."
Men I have known! Alayne guffawed. "Oh, Lord Willas, if you knew of the men I have known, you would not say such words."
Willas's eyes were wide, taken aback by Alayne's outburst. A large grin swept over his face. "I have heard you give an outburst of an absurd nature. I hope to hear more of those." A dark tone overtook the gentle eyes, pools of liquid amber crystallizing. "I hope these men you speak of have not brought you to harm."
Alayne pursed her lips, running a nervous hand down her thick braid. "None at all," she stated, making her way down the steepest part of the causeway without a look back. "I am not as weak as I seem, my Lord."
Willas shook his head, mortified. "I did not mean… no, I did not mean to suggest you were… you seem as though you have one of the strongest souls ever a lady had!" he struggled to find the words, but when he did, Alayne had her back turned.
"I know you did not mean to offend, Lord Willas." She did not let him view the gentle smile on her lips. "Let's keep going, my Lord.
After ascending and descending this path so many times, Alayne had sure feet- Willas, however, was left hovering at the top, watching the stones fall. The clouds above them continued to grow darker, their cumulous form and grey colouring looming ominously, wintry.
Alayne looked up at him. "Lord Tyrell?" He was closing his eyes. His skin had paled slightly, and he shook. "Lord Tyrell, what is amiss?"
His eyes remained closed. "It is nothing, I assure you. It's simply…" his eyes slowly opened, his jaw clenching. "I am not used to such heights, such with my leg..." He shook his head, his glossy curls falling over his forehead in a charmingly dishevelled manner.
Alayne was amazed. Never had she met a man who was afraid of heights. She clambered back up to the top of the path. "Is everything alright, My Lord?"
Willas nodded imperceptibly. "I'm perfectly fine, Alayne. Continue… my apologies, I've just…" he took a step down, a large rock tumbling beneath his feet. He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes tightly. His knuckles were white and he gripped his cane as if it were a vice.
"My Lord, let me help you." Alayne felt helpless. She had never witnessed a man at his most vulnerable- this was an entirely new experience for her. She reached out her hand. "Do not be embarrassed. Sweetrobin struggles with this, too."
His red, ashamed face conveyed an expression of pure humiliation, only slightly out won by the terror. Alayne's gloved hand hovered between them, an offer. His eyes met hers, and a sort of mutual understanding passed between the pair.
He took her hand, and let her coax him gently down the mountain with soft words and pedantic footing.
Once they'd reached the base, approximately a half hour later, Alayne and Willas were both thoroughly flustered. As the realisation that they'd reached the bottom came, a synchronised smile broke out on their faces.
"We're at the base, My Lord!" Alayne was jubilant. She took her sweaty hand from his and let it awkwardly hang between them.
Willas had been silent the entire descent, disgraced by his lack of courage. He lifted his eyes up to meet hers, soft and golden with gratitude. "Lady Stone, I cannot thank you enough for that." He leant heavily on his cane. "Truly. Whatever you would like, I will repay you. I would give you a place in the Tyrell household for that simple kindness."
Alayne blanched. Surely, he was japing. "My Lord… I, am… truly, it was a courtesy…"
Willas took her hand again. "I am sorry. That wasn't right of me to say. But I must repay you in some manner. I will find a way- anything you desire, a pendant, Myrish lace skirts, kidskin gloves…"
"No! I mean, no, thank you. I did it expecting nothing, My Lord." Alayne took her hand away, clasping her hands together in a gesture she could never seem to rid herself of. "I do hope we can ascend as easily."
Willas coughed. "Yes, yes, certainly… but I must say, I cannot truly expect you to understand the gratitude I feel right now, Lady Stone." at that, a gentle mist of rain began to fall. The tents of the nearest soldiers were only about fifty feet away from their spot. "Shall we?"
Alayne nodded. "Yes, of course. Horses, yes?"
They approached the camp, which was swarming with armoured and leather clad men, bearded and brawny. The clang of broadswords in training and the gruff laughter of drunken soldiers echoed around her. Alayne's stomach erupted into butterflies, being surrounded by people who reminded her so much of the kings guard at Kings Landing.
No. Alayne had never visited Kings Landing.
As the soldiers noticed Willas approached, they immediately got to one knee. "My Lord," they echoed one another. As small, hunched, pale a man as he was, as crippled, his presence was immense, respected. Not one soldier refused to get to his knee. The rain began to pour, heavier than it had been, and not a man moved.
Alayne smiled to herself, knowing that she helped this prestigious man descend a mountain while he shook. The regard in which Willas was held reminded Alayne so much of the soldiers of Margaery's queensguard that…
No! She bit her tongue in punishment for her thoughts. You have not met Margaery Tyrell, you stupid bastard girl. She wiped the droplets of rain from her hair.
"Greetings, men!" he hardly needed to shout, as the soldier's raucousness had diminished due to his presence. They mumbled a half-hearted greeting back. "Rise, men, rise. Where is Ser Garrett Flowers?"
"He is counting our supplies, My Lord. We fear we will run short of mead by nightfall," A homely knight with a broad, freckled face and fiery hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and rain replied. A wave of laughter rippled through the group.
"I see, Ser Hobber!" Willas regarded his knights. "Arise, good sers. I am not here to order you to ready the horses for travel, as we must remain here until we have found a further amount of forces through Lord Baelish. Ration the supplies as best you can. I'm simply here to tend to a few of the horses."
Alayne's stomach dropped. Hobber. That name, she knew. Slobber, one of the Redwyne twins she had seen at the wedding between Joffrey and Margaery. No, she had not seen this man before. She chided herself yet again. However, she lowered her blue eyes and prayed the dark hair would suffice as a veil which hid her.
"Who's this fine lass?" A voice boomed. "I bet her cunny tastes sweeter than any mead!" The men roared.
"Who is she, some whore?" Another voice chortled. "As if you'd be able to fuck her anyway."
"I'd bet she's one of Baelish's. Pretty, though. She up for bidding?"
Alayne let the words bounce off her. She was made of iron, and words could not pierce her armour. She was not worried for their words. She was terrified of Hobber's recognition. Willas's face, usually so bright and delighted, darkened. Evidently, not every soldier there harboured such respect for him, but that was always the way. The sun broke through the clouds, but it continued to rain, reminiscent of summer shower.
"You will not speak of Lord Baelish's natural daughter as such, Sers." His voice, unwavering, was silk hiding steel. He looked to Alayne. The men shook their heads, going back to their daily routine of training, sharpening swords, shoeing horses. All except Ser Hobber. He advanced towards Alayne and Willas. His dry lips pulled back over crooked teeth in some mockery of a grimace.
He nodded, a reassuring gesture. She recalled what he had said a few days earlier; you speak with your eyes. Alayne nodded back. I'm fine, it said. Do what you need to do.
"Where are the horses, Ser?" Alayne whispered hurriedly, her heart fluttering. She needed to escape, and with haste.
"Oh, of course! My apologies, the rain, gods be true, I'm sorry." He ushered her over to a tent that reeked of dung and straw. "In there, my lady. I must first speak with Ser Hobber."
Alayne soared into the tent, hoping her breeches and doublet would let her pass as a simple bastard girl. She was nauseous as she wondered what Hobber could be asking Willas. Her worries were almost immediately forgotten as she saw the horses.
The shit and straw covering the ground reminded her of the stables in another place, a better place. And the horses… there were at least a dozen cooped up inside this tent, their silken hides and untamed manes reminding Alayne of someone.
Another girl she'd known had been called horseface. A girl who wasn't beautiful like Alayne, but striking, wild, untamed. Horseface, horseface. Tears welled in her eyes.
Alayne's reverie was broken by the sound of the rain falling heavily on the tent roof, by the jostling grunts and groans of the men outside, and by Willas's voice.
"Alayne?"
Alayne started. "My Lord." She turned back to the horses, hoping her eyes were not shining.
"I apologise for the comments of my men. Their crudeness disgusts me."
"And Ser Hobber?"
Willas sniffed dismissively. "Interested in Littlefinger's motives." He shook his head. "I wanted to thank you again for helping me down the mountain. I'm truly embarrassed.
That surprised her. Littlefinger's motives? "Do not be embarrassed, My Lord. It is forgotten." She slowly approached one of the horses. "She's beautiful," Alayne whispered in admiration.
"She is," Willas agreed. His voice tremored slightly.
"Is she one of yours?" Alayne stroked the palomino's mane tenderly. The creature whickered softly. Willas nodded.
"Yes, in fact. Mine own. Bessie, she's called! My horses are my pride and my joy, if that does not sound too… pathetic, if you will. My hawks and my hounds as well! What can a crippled knight find joy in but able, loving creatures?" He hobbled towards Bessie. "Only half in here are ones I've bred, but the others are beautiful nonetheless!" An excited gleam appeared in his eyes. "Shall we feed them?
Alayne nodded. "My Lord, can I ask a question first?"
"By all means."
"Why me? Why am I the one helping you? Any other of your men could do this. It's a simple task. Why not one of them?"
Willas chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I wanted to show you my horses, I suppose."
Alayne still did not comprehend. "But why?"
"Your inquisitiveness is charming, Alayne." Willas turned to a barrel of grain, hoisting it up onto his hip. Alayne was surprised at his strength, but then she remembered how he had carried her to her chambers after falling through the ice.
"That's not an answer!" she replied, plaintive. Her smile betrayed her.
"Here." His own grin did not disappear as he offered the barrel. "Take some grain in your hand, and Bessie will eat it from your palm. Be careful of her teeth, though."
Alayne shook her head in exasperation, dipping her hand into the barrel and taking a handful of the grain. "Is this enough?"
"Perfect. Now, she likes you, I must say!" he chuckled softly. "Gently now."
Alayne had never done this before. She offered her hand to Bessie, who cautiously began to eat from Alayne's palm. Willas was silent as he watched her. The feeling of the horse's bristly lips was so odd that she giggled. "It tickles!"
Willas laughed. "You've never done this before, have you, My Lady?"
"No, I haven't. Father's horses are always fed straight from the barrels."
After feeding all the horses, Willas sighed. "I've told the men many a time to clean their horse's tents, but never once have they listened. I hope you do not mind helping me with this less graceful job. To be true, it's worse than Loras's chambers back in Highgarden."
"Lord Tyrell, it is my honour. I'm helping a Lord of one of the wealthiest families clean a stable. It is more than I deserve. And I could not picture him being so untidy," Alayne shook her head, her brown braid swaying.
"No one ever can. He's too pretty, my little brother." An affectionate tone took over his voice. "I miss my brothers, it's true."
Alayne understood that better than anyone.
Willas's eyebrows knitted together. "I hope I do not seem like an arrogant lord. And you deserve much better." He eyed a pile of clean hay in the corner. "We must replenish the hay before the stench overwhelms us!"
They each picked up an armful of hay. Some of it stuck to Alayne's undershirt. "Should we just spread it over the old hay?"
"Yes, that's a good idea. Considering we'll be departing soon, anyway." Those words cut Alayne like a dagger. Willas couldn't leave that quickly, could he? He just blew into her life. He was a friend. He couldn't leave that quickly.
"Not too quickly, I hope."
"You do not want us to leave?" he was genuinely shocked. "Why ever not? I know whenever a stronghold comes to Highgarden, I want them to leave as soon as possible. It's so stressful."
"I suppose." Alayne dropped the hay, spreading it around. She picked a piece of hay from her shirt, flicking it. It landed on Willas's surcoat.
"You just sullied a lord, Alayne."
Something Alayne didn't recognise took over her. Alayne knew he was japing. She picked up another handful of hay and showered his surcoat in the crisp yellow grass. "I have sullied no one before. Why should I wait any longer?"
Willas's laugh was uncultured and boisterous and beautiful. He armed himself with his own hay and covered Alayne with it. "A battle is only a battle if both sides participate. I will not surrender to you, my Lady."
Alayne's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. "Do you want to be killed in battle, My Lord? With a leg such as yours?" She whirled her ammunition at him as he turned his back, the ball of straw clinging to his curls satisfyingly.
"My leg was destroyed in a tourney, not a battle. I am an able fighter!" they were yelling now, uninhibited, children again. A memory of a snowball fight from long ago re-emerged from the depths of her mind-only then had she felt such childlike joy.
A Lord and a child of a Lord, throwing straw at each other like commoners.
Alayne's courtesy, her manners, those that made her who she was, they disappeared- she raced up to Willas, attempting to shower his head in hay, when he spun around unexpectedly on his crushed leg, and in a desperate attempt to stay upright, he grabbed Alayne's jerkin and pulled her down.
"Seven hells!" Willas cried as his leg went out from underneath him.
They landed with a soft thud on the hay, side by side. Both red faced and sweating, they looked at each other. His face was twisted in a grimace.
"Is your leg alright, my lord?" Alayne asked, remembering herself. She was almost embarrassed after what had just happened.
"Fine." He replied. "I must say… I cannot believe we just did that." Willas breathed. He began to laugh.
Alayne caught sight of his unruly hair, filled with straw, and could not help but joining him. When they both quietened, they sat up and brushed themselves off. He turned his head to face her.
"I… I cannot explain what came over me just now, My Lady." His voice was quiet. "I'm a man of twenty and eight, and you made me feel like I was no more than ten years old."
The heat in the bottom of Alayne's stomach grew. You cannot trust a Tyrell. Petyr's voice echoed in her mind. She remembered when she'd spied on him, seeing his bookkeeper's body, slender and pale, through the crack in the chamber door. She remembered the ice incident, and how he'd carried her.
"You made me forget, for a moment, that I am a Lord. That I am a cripple."
"You have made me forget about my father, and Sweetrobin. About everything." And she meant it. All the pain, all the horror she had witnessed. It had evaporated in those minutes with Willas.
The words hung in the air, suspended. The silence was deafening.
Willas broke it, the silence shattering like glass. "I may have only known you for only a little time, Alayne. But there's something so intriguing… so beautiful about you that I cannot spend enough time with you. Our friendship has blossomed so quickly that I simply need to see you more."
Alayne swallowed. "I… I would like that."
Willas was so close to her, his heat radiating from his flushed skin. His coppery eyes bored into hers, seeing all. She couldn't trust herself. She was a bastard, and that was all. She could not trust this man, no matter what was happening within her stomach, within her throat.
Alayne cleared her throat. "I must… we must get back to the Eyrie, My Lord. My father will be wondering why we've been gone so long."
"Oh… oh, of course, My Lady. Apologies. I do not… my apologies. Yes, let's return." His jaw clenched.
The rain fell, and the moment was over.