A week had passed, and Alayne could not forget her shared moment in the stables with Willas Tyrell. How foolish she had been, letting him see her frivolity, her idiocy. Her freedom.

A week had passed since their last proper séance in the hay. She was hurt, though she knew she had no right to be; Willas had not so much as spoken a single word to her besides "Good morrow." At supper he avoided her eyes, though she felt his on her as she looked away. He spoke of matters dogmatic with Petyr, matters in the North, Kings Landing, Essos, and she had noticed the brightness of his eyes had weakened with every passing day, the pain of his leg worsened with each step.

Alayne often heard Lord Tyrell, Petyr, Lord Royce and interchangeable Tyrell knights conversing on matters of politics and war; Alayne was not permitted into the chamber wherein they discussed tactics to hold off the impending Ironborn ambush, but Petyr gave her insight afterwards; the new Ironborn 'king,' named Euron Greyjoy intended to ensnare the Reach, having successfully taken the Shield Island for himself.

"What are his true purposes for invading the Reach, though?" Alayne enquired at hearing this. Her stomach twisted when she realised this was Theon Greyjoy's own uncle. As much as she wanted to hate Theon, she could not, for Petyr had enlightened her of the fact he had not killed her brothers, and was caught in a rather sorry situation in a destroyed Winterfell with the ruthless bastard of Roose Bolton.

"He wishes to seize the Iron Throne for himself, sweetling. As all newborn monarchs do. According to Lord Tyrell, who has heard word of mouth from Hewett sources, he also wishes to conquer Westeros with Daenerys Targaryen's dragons," Petyr chuckled at that. "To me, he sounds as ambitious as myself yet with the wits of Lollys Stokeworth and the brutishness of the Mountain. However, he is a threat, as he is a dangerous man, as all Greyjoys seem to be."

Alayne pondered this information carefully. "So what is the plan of action?"

"Lord Willas has sent word to Leyton Hightower to increase the Oldtown defences, alongside sending a raven back to Highgarden for Garlan Tyrell to send out defence to all strongholds, Tyrell supports or not, around the Reach. Lord Royce has sent word to Kings Landing about the matter, but it is supposed that Tommen would not be of much use. Cersei, however, may see reason, if she has not fallen into madness as of late."

Alayne was nauseated at the sound of the Queen Regent's name. Her palms were slick with sweat. "Lord Royce does not… know…"

"About what, Sweetling?" Petyr winked. "That I have a bastard daughter named Alayne? Indeed he does. What else might he know?" As he stood up from his seat, he kissed Alayne's forehead. "You are safe with me," he whispered, his breath cool on Alayne's face. Mint, always mint. He swept out of her chambers without another word.

How difficult for Willas to be so far from home when his stronghold needs him most, Alayne thought. Surely Petyr had enough men to supply them with to hold off the Ironborn.

After supper that evening, Alayne had put Robin to sleep with a sweetmilk and a story. She had learnt how to gently fight him off her breasts as he searched for suck, but weaning him proved incredibly difficult; even Myranda struggled. "Alayne, he starts to shake when I don't, I just have to," she had whispered to Alayne as he dozed off.

Alayne wandered down the spiralling staircase to the winding corridors that led to her chambers. It was dark already, and her footsteps made echoes around the emptiness as she walked.

The silence was broken when a hand suddenly grabbed her arm from behind her. Alayne yelped, startled, spinning around to see Willas, his large eyes even wider with shock.

"Apologies! Apologies, Alayne, I did not set out to frighten you," he drew his hand away sharply. Alayne's stomach flipped; she had not seen him properly since their folly in the hay. His golden eyes crinkled at the edges as he beamed at her.

"No, do not be sorry, my Lord, I simply was startled," she replied gently, a smile creeping onto her face, unbidden. "I… I feel as if we have not talked for a long time."

Willas walked with her down the dark corridors. She was wary of this; she had often been told by her septa as a child to not walk in the dark with men she hardly knew. But Alayne did not feel in the least danger with Willas Tyrell, whose cane clacked rhythmically against the stone beneath them.

"I agree, Lady Stone. Too long," he smiled. "I have been so busy, I'm sure your father has told you what is amiss near Highgarden."

"He has. I cannot imagine how much stress that puts on you, my Lord." They had reached her chambers. Willas looked at his feet.

"I'm not sure if I am allowed to feel stress, Lady Stone." His voice was tinged with melancholy. Alayne had heard it as soon as he spoke, for it was a contrast with his habitually bright and vivacious personage.

"My Lord, is ought amiss? You seem… sombre this evening." She opened the heavy door to her chambers. Willas shook his head, his curls glossy in the candlelit threshold.

"I cannot enter again, Lady Stone, it is… improper of a man such as I," he smiled sadly, and it almost broke Alayne's heart. She wanted to see him smile again, as he usually did. She took a deep breath, feeling brave. She rested a tender hand on his wrist.

"I only want to hear why the brightest soul I have met has been dampened."

Willas' eyes caught hers, his lips twitching up at one side. "You truly believe that my soul is bright, Lady Stone?"

"I only speak the truth, My Lord." Alayne entered her chambers, whilst Willas feebly protested, eventually following her in. He sat on her large, supple leather chair beneath the window whilst she sat across from him on the edge of her featherbed.

"Well?" She coaxed. "You have been different as of late, Lord Tyrell. I wish to understand, simply that. Nothing more. This is a conversation between… friends. I hope you consider me a friend." She was intrigued by him, though she knew she couldn't be. These were dangerous waters she sailed. Alayne was braver than Sansa Stark, it seemed.

Willas tented his fingers, fidgeted. "I have not spoken to you for the last seven days. I feared we had become too… close." His dark eyebrows formed a crease between them. "I hope I had not offended you with my absence, Alayne, or my seeming avoidance of you."

Alayne gaped. He had called her Alayne. She wondered briefly how another name would sound on his scholarly tongue, an old name… not her name, another girl's name. "I understand that you have been busy, my lord. I am not a priority in your life; I am not of importance to a lord of Highgarden, and I know that, I accept that. You have not offended me, and I am flattered, my Lord, truly." She swallowed, paused. "I was slightly… I cannot describe it. Not hurt, because I had no right to be, but confused, I suppose."

Willas ran his hand through his hair. "You have every right to be hurt." His hands travelled down to his chin as he looked at Alayne. "I cannot stop thinking about our folly in the hay. The way you helped me down the rocks, our ice incident." He laughed softly. "I wished to separate myself from you, but I saw you leaving Robin this evening and I could not…" he sighed heavily.

Could not what? "I understand, My Lord. You are a Lord; you are not obliged to spend your evening with me, or any time at all. You have important matters to attend to, Euron Greyjoy being foremost."

Willas guffawed. "Obliged?" he shook his head, angry, not at her but at something. She was taken aback. "I am not obliged to spend time with the illegitimate daughter of Littlefinger. I was obliged to avoid you because it is not right of me. I have other matters to attend to and a stronghold I must needs return to and a battle to organise. But Alayne, I must say, all that is forgotten when I am near you. Euron Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister, everything."

He was breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Alayne's heart was thrumming at those words. "I did not mean to be a distraction."

"Of course you did not. I do not blame you. This is but a harmless flirtation to you, I suppose."

"I do not flirt, my Lord." Alayne stood up, clasping her hands together as she approached her mirror. The girl in the mirror's blue eyes were alight, but she could see red roots creeping in at her part, betraying her. She could see him behind her mirror, watching her intently; she was wearing her blue dress with silver silk trimming, which hugged her figure but not too closely. "And there is no harm in our friendship. Do you think there is harm?"

Willas, grabbing his cane, followed her, clack, clack, clack. "Yes," he whispered over her shoulder.

Alayne turned from the mirror to face him. Willas' face was not as beautiful as Loras'; but it was sharp, angular, with soft eyes that searched Alayne's own desperately. "There is harm in this." Willas was so quiet, and Alayne was overwhelmed by the look of him, the closeness of him. His hand tentatively rose to graze Sansa's cheekbone, so soft it was hardly there. "

His lips were so close. Willas' hand was a ghost on the small of her back. It was so dark, but Alayne's body had ignited. Alayne's breath caught in her throat. His eyes were burning into her, questioning. She could not lie to him. She had to lie to him. She could not do this. She pulled away. "I… My Lord, I am sorry, but I…"

Willas turned from her, his hand scratching the back of his neck. "Idiot," he said to himself. "No, I am sorry, Lady Stone. I truly am, I should not have acted so… improperly. Just know, I would never touch you unless you allowed me to. I would never. You are my companion, that is all." He shook his head at his own actions.

Oh, but I would allow you to, Alayne thought. The words rested behind her lips. "I am sorry I have made you sad, my Lord."

Willas hovered by the door, leaning heavily on his cane. "Tis not your fault, Lady Stone." He paused. "I… must needs return to Highgarden on the morrow."

Alayne balked. She felt a lump in her throat block her airways. "Oh," she managed. "I understand."

Willas nodded. "I just… needed to tell you tonight. That is the true reason for my sombre demeanour. But Alayne," his voice was shaking, "you are magnificent. Intelligent. Beautiful, and so kind. You have been a truly wonderful companion, I must say." He bit his lip. "Thank you. For everything." He took her hand, kissing it softly. He lingered there for a moment too long.

Alayne's eyes burnt. "It has been an… honour, My Lord."

Willas winced. "Please. Say my name, once more."

"Willas." Alayne's voice cracked as his smile engulfed his face, all features taking part. But his eyes were sad.

"Goodbye, Alayne."

And with that, he left, shutting the heavy mahogany door behind him.