Chapter Text
Seed
"Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed... Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders," Henry David Thoreau.
The people of the North, Willas has found, are not warm people.
They are wary, of strangers, of foreign customs, and are ill-versed when it comes to the niceties of the South. Not necessarily barbarians as so many of my countrymen say, but instead a touch coarse and unrefined to our ways, but warm to their own, loyal to their own. Looking at the Stark children looking at each other, I see that. Seeing the lords and ladies look to Eddard Stark, I see it. Fever and care and love. They do not welcome change, and they do not welcome strangers.
The scandal of the sewing circle of the previous evening had made that very evident. And it is evident, for all the time that Catelyn Tully of House Stark has spent in the North, and raised her children, there is a friction between the sensibilities present in her Northern children. Interesting friction to be sure. Margaery had never seen a child scream so, she had told him, gleefully, as Arya Stark raging at her Lady Mother over her sword use.
He could believe her. He had been in the magnificent library, conversing with Maester Luwin, and even he had heard the little wolf's softer snarls as she had stomped past, her sister and the Stromlander girl by her side.
The expression on Lady Sansa's face had stunned him. The stillness in her face had been abnormal, in comparison to her sister, sobbing angrily next to her, pressing against the side of her older sister. The small girl's face had been red, and tears and mucus had streamed from the younger girl. The older girl had been still, her face as pale as the untouched snow, her eyes glittering with emotion as they had made to the Lord's Solar.
For all the girl looked like her Tully mother, she has the same careful and cool distance that anyone else of the kingdom of her father, and stubborn pride that sneaked up on you due to her polite nature. His lady sister had described with great detail and a frown pulling on her mouth, the way that Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn had spoken to one another. The embarrassment that Lady Stark had faced was nothing, Margaery had said, softly, to the utter perfect stillness on Lady Sansa's face as she had defended the Northern way of life. As she had defended her sister, against her Mother. As she disrespected her mother in front of their guests for the simple defense of swordplay in a young lady.
The fact that they had left the room, with barely a glance to their lady mother, and went in search for her father, his Grandmother had said, had been evidence of this clear divide. The fact that sought protection from their Father seemed to displease his grandmother. I suppose this makes Lady Sansa a less promising bride, and that is why grandmother is cross. I am marginally surprised she has chosen me such a faraway bride. And one so young. The North is large and the increased trade between us will fill our coffers, but with as much as Lord Stark seems to love his daughters, I doubt he will sell her for more grain.
"Are you really going to ride with the Stark children?" Asked Garlan, grinning at him from his place on the bed. Sprawled, hands behind his head and bare-chested. The warmth of the Keep never failed to surprise Willas.
He adjusted his brace, slightly, making sure that the rods were in the correct position. He hummed, and Garlan followed the tune easily with his own voice.
"I will not let Margaery gallivant unknown wilds with our fair cousins. They are not responsible enough."
Willas trusted very few people with the care of his family, and his cousins of the Goldengroove were especially silly in his eyes. They were careless, ridiculous flirts, and honestly, he found them rather tiresome. The only reason they had been allowed on this outing had been because they were adventurous enough to venture to the North for a diplomatic visit, and miss a season of tourneys. He wished he could have at least convinced Lady Leonette. She was sensible, and perhaps have kept Garlan from annoying him too badly.
"No trust to those Northern girls, then?"
"The eldest is barely ten namedays, Garlan."
They seemed responsible enough, and Willas commended them for it, but the age definitely led to little confidence.
"She seems to have it good hand beside her age. You should join the hunt. Leave them with our guards, and let Margaery have her fun with the Stark girls."
"Our fair sister invited me."
"She wishes to throw you to the trout-wolf still?" His voice was endlessly amused.
Willas, for a brief moment, wished that Lord Stark had no daughters at all. That he had born only sons. Then he would not have his siblings clumsily attempting to weave a bramble about a child and himself. Margaery because she wished for a pretty toy, Garlan because he thought it a fine jest. But of course, their little attempts to seed about him was not the most dangerous one, or even something more than an annoyance. His Grandmother's own inclinations were much more concerning. It wasn't that he was opposed, per say, it was more that he could not understand his Grandmother's thoughts in this manner. Was it the young Lady's sharpness, that attracted his Grandmother? Was it her breeding, of the famed Stark line that has held the North for near eight-thousand-year linage? Or was it the fact that Margaery had mentioned she wished to be queen one day that made her think to eliminate the clearest candidate for the crown?
"It is her fondest wish to have a red-headed sister. Something about how fetching golden roses will be in her hair."
Garlan chuckled.
"Too Lannister for my taste, I say. White will do. If not for history, I say Winter Roses would be far more appropriate for the girl. She has the bluest eyes I have ever seen, beautiful and wasted in anyone so far from fun."
Willas rolled his eyes.
"She could have eyes made out of jewels. But I am not interested in a child."
"I agree, brother. But a child she won't be forever, and her Mother is devastatingly fetching. I suspect Lady Sansa would be even more so."
If Willas had been younger, the comment would have made him flush. For one, he agreed. And had found himself admiring the fair woman more than he thought appropriate to think of a married woman. For she was obviously beautiful, but it was the manner in which she conducted herself beyond that he found attractive. Poised, and adept at browbeating the men of the North. She was a touch rough, a touch stubborn, but still a strong woman. Growing to manhood at the feet of Olenna Tyrell had meant that anything less than a strong woman would never satisfy him. It was the reason he was unwed, despite being ten and nine, near twenty, while his younger brother was already set to marry. Garlen had found it easy to find a bride, someone from a well-off family with a fetching dowery, beautiful, and very eager to play the graceful lady to his gallant knight.
He was lucky, and part of Willas did indeed envy him to have fallen in love with a lady perfectly politically acceptable. But he also was not eager to follow in his footsteps without his own personal requirements being met. The next Lady of the Reach, gods willing he would live to become the next Lord(and more than in actions, but in name), would need to be many things. She would need to be strong in all the ways that mattered; poised, well versed in handling men and women alike, level-headed, flexible, intelligent, and dare he hope, someone he could converse with. If she was beautiful, all the good, if she was from a family that would bring them prestige, better, if she came with a sizable dowry, perfection. But it was the previous attributes that had left Willas without a bride. For no one had been all of that in good measure.
"You will find your own lady love, Willas. I know it."
Willas smiled.
"Not yet, Garlen. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to attend my horse and that of our sister."
"Good day then, my Lord."
Willas made his way to the stables of Winterfell in the quiet morning. And just as he arrived, he realized he was not the only noble to do so. Somehow, he was not surprised to see red locks, so brilliant in the morning light it looked like spun copper, of Lady Sansa Stark as she attended a horse, with Lady Brienne of Tarth next to her.
"Good morning, I did not realize anyone else would be preparing their horse so soon!" he called, cheerfully, ever the picture of easy manners and uncaring calmness.
Both ladies turned.
Ah, it is as Garlan said. The bluest eyes, near like jewels actually. But they are fathomless eyes on a girl so young, thought Willas, startled slightly as Lady Sansa looked at him.
Her face was expressionless, giving nothing away, even as she gave him a polite smile. It felt automatic and practiced, and was only quite sweet because she was such a pretty child. It wasn't even stiff, nor forced, she was that composed.
"Lord Tyrell," her Northern accented voice was a measured thing, smooth and high, she gave a small, respectable curtsy for someone of their rank to another, "Good morning."
Formal and poised, but not stilted, poor sister must be jealous.
"Lady Sansa, Willas will be appropriate. Lord Tyrell has me turning my head to search for my father," he told her with a disarming smile and gave a gallant bow in return. He was nearly ten namedays the girl's senior, and he was confident that he could put the overly polite and reserved girl at ease.
The girl inclined her head, just a fraction, before returning her attention back to the horse she was attending. A finely cared-for creature, if a little on the older side. Too large and stout. A fine animal, with little delicateness. Willas would wager that the horse did not belong to the girl directly. He could see her on something much prettier, much more delicate, and more refined. Or thought she deserved such a creature, at any rate.
"You attend to your horse, my Lady?"
The Stormlander, Lady Brienne of Tarth, was leaning against the walls of the stables, watching him like a hawk, he saw with amusement. Like a sworn-shield she technically was not. It would become her position in the household, Willas was sure. She shifted each time he did, and he made sure not to crowd the girl she saw as her charge even as he dared to walk closer. She was young, Brienne of Tarth, barely younger than Loras, yet she should have been wed. Her fleeing North gave him the indication that her unconventional looks and her own intentions would prevent that.
"I am learning to. It is important to care for your own mount, I am told if you are to become an avid equestrian."
"I admire your intent. Not many would agree with you. Personally, most allow their stable hands to care for their mounts."
"I heard you are a lover of horses, my lord, and you seem to find it prudent to care for your mount despite the early hour."
Despite himself, Willas was impressed to see the girl both compliment him, yet not bring awkward attention to his lame leg. Most would have praised him for attending his own horse despite his leg, but the girl's eyes had not even flickered in its direction. She was excelling at inane small talk, a skill he did not think all that important in the North. Lady Catelyn had taught the girl well, despite the friction between them. She was focusing on a subject that was pleasing to him and asking all the good questions. Despite himself, Willas found himself vaguely charmed by her poised way of speaking.
"Indeed, I am. I go as far as to breed them, for sale. No horse is swifter in the seven kingdoms. However, the Northern mounts are far stronger than any of my mounts. I will have to inquire for some breeding stalk, what with the Winter to come..."
"I would point you in Lord Manderly's direction, Lord Willas. He knows of most trade in the North."
He tilted his head.
"Curious, considering most trade in the North is land-bound? Is House Manderly not seated upon the coast?"
"Indeed, my Lord. But House Manderly keeps itself abreast to most trade in the North. Many imports come from the Mermaid's seat, and Lord Manderly is an unofficial trade master within our lands. He will direct you in a favorable direction."
A wealth of information thought Willas with a curious tilt of his head. Strangely, he also knew that it would be common enough to inquire for the information himself if he was so inclined. He would do so to verify it, but it was still startling to have it given. However, he had a feeling that the girl was pointing him in a specific direction nonetheless. A helpful direction, for both himself, Lord Manderly, and anyone he would be directed too. He flattered a lord of import in the North, and he got exactly what he wanted. Willas beamed at the child and wondered if this had been something she had been told to tell him since his love of horses was common knowledge. Or was it just a child being extremely helpful? Northerners were the honest type, and Lady Sansa was keenly a Northern girl, for all she looked like her mother.
"Thank you, Lady Sansa, you have helped me immensely."
The young girl looked at him and surprised him by giving him just a nod, despite his own enthusiastic smile.
"I hope you find what you need, Lord Willas."
Despite himself, Willas was indeed delighted by her. Even when she turned her back to deliberately and dismissively attend her stout Northern horse.
"My Lady, would you perhaps wish for a chance to ride a Dornish Sandsteed?"
The girl paused, and looked over her shoulder, blue eyes careful and measuring.
"My Lord?"
He kept his smile even.
"I have half a mind to steal my brother Garlen's horse and allow you to ride it for the afternoon. It would do you well, I think, to try a new type of steed."
Blue eyes went icy. Near grey, as they narrowed.
"Are you trying to sell me a horse, my lord?" her voice was even, not offended, and if it would turn lighter, it mayhaps would have been seen as teasing.
Willas blinked. And burst into unintentional laughter.
"You have caught me, my lady," he said, choking back more laughter, "I assumed riding one of my horses would make you inclined to purchase your own."
A tilt of her head.
"I fear a mount of your stock would do ill in the North. Winter is Coming."
She smiled. And it was truer than any she had given before. Calm, and just a touch small. But it was a pretty one. She was a pretty child, Willas granted. He own smile turned softer at the sight of her's.
"Indulge me, Lady Sansa. Garlan will do me the favor of testing Northern Horses. "
"Will he not be displeased to find his horse taken by a child?"
Willas suppressed a snicker.
"It is, technically, my lady, my own horse. I just let my brother borrow it. Please, indulge me."
"If you insist, I will be delighted."
"My Lady-" began Lady Brienne of Tarth, voice hard.
"It's alright Brienne. I'm as curious as Lord Willas is to see how southern horses measure to our northern ones."
He smiled as charmingly as he could.
"If it will help, My Lady, I am accompanying your ride. My horses act most well when I am near. Your friend will not come to harm."
The older girl frowned fiercely at him. Her own eyes, a brilliant blue that was probably her most pleasing feature glittering with something he could not name. She shifted a touch and sent him a tight-jawed stare. Willas realized with curiosity that Lady Brienne did not like him. It wasn't even distrust or clumsy manners. The girl did not like him, especially since he was lingering around who she saw as her charge.
"If you say so, my Lord," she replied tightly. Almost spitting back to him.
Willas was completely taken aback. It was rare that anyone, let alone a stranger act so hostile to him. He was further taken aback when Lady Sansa reached back to touch Lady Brienne's wrist. A signal or a reprime that had the armor-clad Lady. They were good friends, Willas surmised. And Lady Brienne was fiercely over-protective of the younger Lady. A trait she shared with nearly all of the Stark Household.
There is such a fear for you. Such wariness. Lady Lyanna you haunt your house, I think, and your nieces will suffer for all of it.
"Sir, if you will direct me to my borrowed stead?" inquired the girl, calmly.
She smiled again. And Willas could not help but think her, again, to be a pretty child.
I can see why, someone would wish to defend this girl to an extreme.
What little beauty that Willas had thought of the North, he realized, as they went riding out, the opposite direction of the Lord hunting parting, was not in its keeps. Those were indeed functional rather then decorative. The beauty lay in the land itself. In the wide, moors and hills that took one's breath. It was not the cultivated splendor of the Reach-
It was wild, open, and free.
And that in itself was a foreign, exotic beauty to him. He could see why the Starks were proud to have held this land for all this time.
"Gods it is cold," said his sister, "But you were right Lady Sansa, this cloak is marvelous!"
His sister beamed. Sent to the girl who looked all too right on his sandsteed mare, a delicate thing of white and black. She controlled the mare with a beginner's hand, but it was a tender one. Soft and kind. It was quite different from the firm look she sent her happily chattering sister, who merely grinned wider, next to their not-sworn-shield. Lady Sansa sent his sister a nod, brows furrowed as she smoothed a hand down the mare's neck. He could see her growing ease on the unfamiliar animal. And he could see that Bright, the mare, was coming to adore the tender hand on her neck.
"I am glad, my Lady. I would not wish for you to be uncomfortable."
"The Reach never gets this cold-"
"It does in Winter," he told Margaery, voice calm.
He did not want her to throw the North into such a negative light with girls so obviously proud of their homeland... And perhaps he wished to prepare Margaery, even minimally, for when Winter finally reached them after this long, long Summer.
"Worse, I'm afraid," he continued, he smiles grimly, "This is but a breeze in comparison. And that Winter was mild, I suspect, in comparison to the one to come. You need to not belittle it."
Sansa Stark smiled.
A soft, gentle smile that had Willas blinking.
"Indeed, Lord Willas."
Margaery frowned, shifted and bounced in her saddle.
"Well- I think your cloak is lovely and fair for this cold," she said brightly, clumsily. She pushed a glove hand over her blue wool cloak, trimmed by white fur. It's quilting looked of fish scales, and it looked fetching against the dusky rose and cream of his sister's skin, with a trail of riverland wildflowers knotted in fair red crowning about the hood.
Sansa's smile turned… Not as warm, not as true. More polite. He wondered, with some surprise, if the girl wasn't fond of his sister. His sister had been all kindness and eagerness- He would think everyone would respond well to that. Perhaps a clash of personalities- Perhaps dutiful, calm and stoic Sansa Stark only saw a troublesome guest as she tried to navigate an overfilled Keep with many responsibilities placed on her young shoulders-
Then he was surprised again.
"I thank you for the dress for the hunt's feast, Lady Margaery. It's a beautiful gown. It was much too much of a gift. The embroidery of roses must've taken ages."
God gods, Margaery, please do not tell me that you gave the Stark girl a gown covered in roses. Please do not make it-
"I just knew the blue would look perfect against your skin and eyes, Lady Sansa."
His sister beamed. Willas felt himself blanch even as his stupid Golden Grove cousins giggled. All the blood left his face in a rush at the very thought of anyone seeing Sansa Stark covered in a 'gift' of winter roses from another House.
Fucking gods damnit it, Margaery. Not fucking Winter Roses. Fuck .
Sansa Stark looked at him and raised a single red brow. Her eyes, which had been warm at his words, looked flinty now. Her lips curled back in a single moment, a she-wolf snarling before they smoothed over a polite line. The girl was furious- And he could no doubt hear the rest of the Northern Lords screaming over the sight of another Stark girl gifted with more Winter roses. The message was hostile, unintentional on his sister's part, he knew, she no doubt thought the gift to be a beautiful thing to give to her hopeful friend…
He frowned.
Lady Sansa's gaze was heavy and waiting.
Fucking shit. If I had gone to the hunt and not known of this-
Lady Brienne jaw was locked, furious, her hands holding her reigns were clenched into tight, tight fists. He breathed. No wonder the girl hated him- It would seem like a message that he too, would steal a Stark girl, with his family's approval. That was a hateful message, and not the one meant to be sent.
"There are other gowns," he said smoothly, "I thought the purple one with the white trees would look fetching on Lady Sansa."
His sister frowned.
"No- The blue is the best one I brought, Willas-"
Commissioned, Willas knew. On a fury and fervor of more than a dozen Reach seamstresses' hard labor. Margaery had been in charge of that. His grandmother had entrusted her with the gifts meant for the Stark girls. Seeing that they were similar in age. Same as Garlan had been in charge of the gifts for the boys and the Hostage- Now Willas wondered if anything else had been stamped with more of Rheagar's ill gift to Lady Lyanna.
"The purple is graceful in its cut, styled for the Reach gown that my mother favors. The white trees could be akin to the wirewood. Is it not what you pray to, Lady Sansa?"
Her face softened.
"Indeed, I do pray to the old gods. I would love to see that gown, Lady Margaery."
Margaery frowned at him.
"I would be delighted for you to have it as well, Lady Sansa," she said slowly. It seemed that his sister had realized something was a miss with her choice. But she seized his correction and Sansa's with her sweetest smile.
Sansa Stark beamed in return.
She's going to be so much fairer then her mother.
He breathed.
Crises averted… That was… That was well handled by Lady Sansa. She was furious- yet she brought this to my attention to curve Margaery's unknowing blunder. Clever girl, level-headed, when she had the right to throw this back to our faces.
They rode to a small meadow. Far off, Willas could hear some sort of brooke. Flowers, small and industrious over the lightest dusting of summer snow, breathed color into the green space. The party's tension smoothed over with Lady Sansa invoking her younger siblings for a game to play, little Bran and Arya bringing life and merriment. Willas settled the horses himself, pleased with the task to busy his hands and to calm the fury he held. Margaery hadn't meant for this as an insult, the crown of Winter Roses of Rheagar's folly was not something she would have thought of. No matter the history, Margaery would have been intent one what would look best on the other girl. Their knowledge had leaned her to be of the Tulley coloring. The fact that Winter Roses was a native plant to the North would have enchanted his sister-
"I take it was not meant as an insult then," said Sansa Stark.
Willas did not jump. But it was a close thing. A small hand reached, pale and delicate, smoothing through his horse, Glory's mane with care. He breathed.
"Forgive our mistake, Lady Sansa," he said just as soft.
She sighed.
"If I had not meant to, you would have seen me appear in that gown at the feast, Lord Willas."
And he would have watched as the entire North took insult. No doubt, Sansa Stark wore, on occasions, something of blue roses. It was a local plant and it would compliment her well. But as a gift from a different, Southern House, wearing such a blatant symbol of 'possession' would infuriate the realm. Sansa was a Northern girl and as such, she was honest to the core. Her words were not a threat.
They were a promise, that such insult would not be taken in such stride ever again.
He huffed a laugh.
"Thank you for your discretion."
"I do not take kindly to threats, my lord. The gown could have been seen as one. But I did not take you to covet a child. Nor do I think Lady Margaery to be so ill verse in history. Tell your Queen of Thorns that the North will discuss betrothal at our own pleasure. Not her's."
He couldn't help it. This time he did jump.
"It was a mistake on my sister's-" He stopped mid-word.
Lady Sansa simply looked over with a raised brow.
"My mother was gifted a rather fetching set for tea. The river swirls were akin to blue roses. The cuttings your grandmother brought for our glasshouses, most were new cross breeds of grains, save for one- a heart-fruit shrub. Native to the Reach, said to grow in abundance in High Garden, deemed the fruit of fruitful summer, love, and promises," her words were dry.
For the first time in a long time, Willas lost composure in front of someone not of his immediate kin. He swore in front of a lady. His face flushed and he felt not a man of near twenty years, but instead a green boy in front of the solemn girl.
A small smile twitched.
"But the blame is not solely on your kin. My mother may have hinted at a possible match, my Lord, which gave your grandmother reason to be pleased and give Margaery reason to present me with the gown in particular. A threat. A mends, for a Southern House devastating our House once before. For that, I beg you to forgive us with this overstep on my mother's part. "
He breathed. A clusterfuck on the part of two scheming mother's-Well, grandmother on his part. He blinked.
"Am I so odious that your father would overturn this match? Be so furious with Lady Catelyn?"
Sansa laughed. Musical and high. It takes him a moment of stunned realization that he had never heard that sound.
It is a pity it is so rare.
He thinks that Sansa Stark should laugh more often. It is a beautiful sound.
"No indeed, Lord Willas, rather, my Father is determined to not broker any marriages for his children. The choice is ours. The fact that my mother sought to take that away, and give insult to your House in the process is what caused his fury."
He blinks. A rather… Singular thing to declare for a noble house, let alone one of the Great ones. To be utterly fair, his own parents had stipulated pretty much the same, with the only implication that any marriage candidate for any of them will have to meet the approval of his grandmother, the only true gauntlet. He blinks again.
"And the dress would have been fuel to that fire."
"Yes. I rather think it would have been. I ask for your cooperation, Lord Willas, to reign in our mother and grandmothers alike. My poor father is under enough stress as it is."
He thinks for a minute. The people of the North wish for not pretty words or shadowed implications. They wanted honesty.
"Thank you. For giving us a chance to prove ourselves, instead of taking insult, Lady Sansa. And I will do my best with my Grandmother."
She really has beautiful eyes. Clear and forward. Measured by her kindness and intelligence. The blue was quite fetching.
"... Second chances are important, Lord Willas. And I saw nothing of ill intent in your sister's actions."
Northerners were an honest bunch. Yet it seemed something of the South had made its way to Sansa Stark.
"Yet you see ill intent on my Grandmother's actions?" He volleys back.
She bares her teeth into a smile. Willas cannot help his startled blink at that.
"No, my Lord. I find her actions done in ill taste. She thinks to remind the North of my Aunt's tragedy of a girl being taken away from a betrothal. Of setting the 'stage' of a more political match than simply one sun marrying a foreign noble house and another running off to the wall. I assure you, The North remembers."
He shivers.
"Yes. I can see that. You do not see me in ill light. You only think my grandmother crass, which is true enough, and I will apologize for that.."
"I was once told that you would bore me to tears, Lord Willas."
He laughs.
"Who on earth told you that?"
"A fool who did not understand me," she said softly.
She ran another gentle stroke down Bright's neck. He smiled.
"So, I am not a bore."
Her small smile was back. Soft and kind.
"No. Simply a kind man that wishes the best for his family… As far as I can astern, at least. And that, good lord, is not boring. It's refreshing."
He flushed. How a girl so young could make him feel… Bashful was mortifying. He swallowed thickly.
"Thank you, my lady."
She's an intelligent girl. Mature, and practical… What an interesting woman she will grow to be.