"She's five months along, and we are certain it is Edmure's?" I asked Ser Gladden.
"Yes, Lady Myrcella. As instructed, we ensured his favorite did not take any other customers."
"Excellent – have her meet with Edmure again and let him know that he is the father. I'll be curious to see what his reaction is. Based on how I read him, this is useful leverage. I want the rest of the Riverlands to join our cause, and this may help. Regrettably, my grandfather has made that very difficult, given the atrocities he committed early in the war."
The sad reality was that it had not even benefited him! Edmure had followed my uncle's command and had not given challenge to Tywin, so the whole affair was nothing but a reputational hit, which now complicated my schemes for the Riverlands.
"I'll see it done, my lady. Are you sure you don't wish to take a larger force to the Bloody Gate?"
"I am sure. Tywin has nominal command, but the Stormlords and the Freys know to follow you and Ser Theo's lead. I mean to move swiftly. Duskendale has fallen. While that was my uncle's holding, it does mean that Aegon has a frightfully large army with nothing to do, now that the Crownlands are pacified. Does he move to subdue the Stormlands, or does he move up into the Riverlands? Or does he send a force once more into the Westerlands. I want my army here ready to move with maximum haste should it become necessary." After some thought I added, "The Trident itself is more apt to flooding, and moving a large host of men across it can be tricky, depending on how the weather turns."
"Understood, may the Seven continue to protect you."
I hid my grimace by lowering my head, miming a prayer. It was time to leave, and I was confident that my able subordinate had things in hand. I was leaving him Ser Theo, who was still recuperating from his severe injuries, and Ser Barlow. With me were coming Ser Barristan, Ser Brienne, Bronn, and Ser Perwyn Frey. At some point, I'd need to get around to knighting Bronn, but given that Lum had faced several battles before being knighted, I didn't want the promotion to occur too quickly. Ser Lum had chosen Ser Jaspar to go with him to treat with Jon and the Night's Watch.
I spent some time with Ser Barristan, who had some feedback on my handling of Lord Stark after I explained my actions and the current plan to deal with the North.
"I cannot say what you did was honorable. You've twisted the most honorable lord of the realm into knots. Your aims are lofty, but this sort of manipulation is not becoming," Barristan chided, but then he sighed. "And I suspect you knew that, and have spoken to me after the fact instead of before."
"There's an old Essosi saying about how asking forgiveness is easier than asking for permission. I value your counsel, but knew what you would say., I replied.
"Honor only comes to play when its demands to take the proper course diverge from the most effective path to achieve your goal. If the upright path is the best path, then there is no question what you should do. It is when that path is thorny and difficult that we are truly tested."
I didn't really care about the most honorable path, but humoring the old man was a means of insuring that he wasn't just going to serve me but serve me with enthusiasm.
"I see." I looked down. "I have treated him poorly, but I take solace in treating him better than many others would. I will endeavor to discuss my potential actions with you in the future. Though I cannot promise to always abide by your view."
He nodded slowly. "I know. It is more than your father would do, and more than the King before him did. I am curious – why seek Lady Catelyn's aid when you were working on bringing Lord Stark to heel so effectively?"
"Because I didn't know if I would be successful. It is always good to have multiple avenues for success, so long as pursuing both paths does not hinder the chances of either. Had Jon not sent his letter, I doubt I would have been successful."
"Then I have no further questions – I am ready to ride with the rest of the Stormguard."
I gathered my soldiers and my hostages. I would be taking two hundred mounted soldiers, only a score of heavy knights, all of which had remounts. If we encountered any large armies, we would have speed. Anything of similar size to us was not something to be overly worried over. My finger had healed well, even without excessive usage of magic – I was still not keen on medical formulae to do too much, as rapid regeneration of cells seemed like a wonderful way to give myself cancer. I really wished I had done more research into how the Empire used magic in medicine beyond the battlefield triage.
The situation in the Riverlands was chaotic. Outside of enemy bastions like Riverrun and Seagard, my enemies had little control. Ser Gladden had done an admirable job of controlling the area around Harrenhal, and making sure many of the local smallfolk could still bring in their harvest. However, much of the Riverlands was now aflame with religious tensions. Reports of another two villages being burned aggravated me since it seemed that most of it was done by people proclaiming me some damned incarnation of the Seven.
We moved out north, avoiding Darry, and planned to cross the Trident along the river road. I sent some of my riders out to see what news was from the small farms, and villages that dotted the Riverlands. One reported back, somewhat uneasy.
"Lady Myrcella, we encountered a village whose people have gone over to R'hllor. There was a battle not two days ago."
"How many fighting men are there? Is there reason for concern?"
"Ah, no, my lady. I believe they number only two score. I was approached by a man who said they intended to travel to the North, but were waiting for… you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, a big man with scarlet robes said that he has seen your coming in the flames and wishes to talk. He says he wishes you no harm, and that he does not serve your uncle. He intends to travel North but says he has business with you."
I frowned. One of the few things I had some concern over were people who had access to magic like Melisandre. With my Valyrian steel dagger, and Brienne's Tidebreaker, I was even more secure against shadow creatures, but those things were still dangerous.
"Did he give you a name?"
"Aye, Thoros of Myr."
I blinked. Huh, that was surprising. When we last met, well over a year ago, he confided in me that he wasn't that great of a priest. Now he was the one who had caused the spread in the Riverlands? Curiosity piqued, I knew I had to make the slight detour.
I left Ser Perwyn Frey in command while I took a few dozen riders along with Brienne, Barristan, and Bronn. Arriving in the village, I could smell the smoke and see the burned buildings. Wary and distrustful eyes followed us as I headed to the town center. There was a small inn and some stables next to a sept. The sept had been scorched, and blood not only marred the doors and walls of it, but also the Seven-Pointed Star, the dominant symbol of the faith of the Seven. Part of the large entry door to the sept was caved in with what looked like heavy blows from an axe.
In front of the sept was Thoros of Myr. He had always been a warrior, but a jovial one. Now his face was set to a grim countenance. A dozen men armed with spears, axes, bows, and the occasional sword looked warily at our party. Thoros wasn't the only surprise; the hulking heavily-scarred man next to him was recognizable. Sandor Clegane, who was thought to have died at the Kingspyre.
I dismounted and advanced with Brienne and Bronn. Barristan was in command of the riders and was at the ready to come galloping in if necessary.
"Thoros, Clegane, I had not thought to find you here."
Thoros gave a slight smile. "When I saw a vision of you riding toward the Trident, I was most surprised, because at the time I saw the vision, word had reached us that you had been executed by the Arryns! Still, I held to the faith, and sure enough, you have come." Thoros's small smile vanished. "A pity you were not here earlier; many lives could have been saved."
"What happened?"
"The village had converted to R'hllor for the most part. A few who did not like this left and spoke out against the folk here. Servants of your Seven came in great number. Were it not for the Hound…"
I glanced at Clegane. Why was he here? There was something different about him; he had a… feel about him that was strange.
A Septa came out from behind the men. "When they came with blade and torch to burn the town down, we let the people take shelter here, hopeful that since the attack came in the name of the Maiden, they would not dare harm the sept." She shook her head mournfully. "It did not stop them but for a moment. They even killed the Septon, who never bent the knee to this Lord of Light. The women, elderly, and children were going to be butchered. The menfolk of the town led a fight, but the numbers were too great. Until he came."
Leave it to religious fanatics to burn their own temple down if it meant being able to kill 'heretics' – these were the sorts of people Being X loved to cultivate and why I hated the cult-like following I was developing. I would make use of any tool to help me survive, much like how I used the Type 95 when pushed to extremis. But I hated it.
The Hound grunted. "Fuckers were burning the village." He spat on the ground.
Thoros let out a laugh; it sounded almost like his old ones with father. "Our bold hero is modest. Sandor fought to his last breath, slaying over a dozen, and scattering the attackers. I missed their departure and Sandor's valiant last stand by mere hours."
"He looks to be breathing fine by the look of it," Bronn said with some skepticism of the tale.
I knew there had been rumors of someone healing people back from death and that it was causing R'hllor worship, but I naturally assumed they were exaggerated tales. Someone being close to death was often mistaken for death. A skilled healer, or even chance, could lead to the mistaken view of death being overturned.
"I still swear by the Seven, Lady Baratheon," the Septa spoke, "but 'tis true. I was moved by his courage. I was weeping over him, commending his soul to the Father, when that one over there came and did something. Breathed into him, and then he was right as rain. I swear it to be true."
I looked at Clegane. "Well? Were you brought back from the dead?"
"Fuck if I know. Maybe he's got healing arts up his red sleeves. All I know is I took a blade between the ribs, and somehow the wound wasn't fatal."
"May I see?"
Brienne stirred, but I signaled to her that it was fine.
"We can move to the Sept," Thoros suggested. "I assume we have your word you will not harm this village."
"You have it." I raised my voice. "Know this! I am Myrcella Baratheon, and I will never penalize or punish anyone who follows different beliefs. What was done here was a vile act, and I rejoice that you were aided in your hour of need. I will arrange for food, medicines, and other supplies to be sent here."
I turned to Thoros and Sandor. "Let us proceed. Thank you for allowing me to look at the wound. But what is your purpose here, Thoros – why did you want to speak with me?"
"To convince you that the threat from the North is true. The Great Other comes to drown humanity in a tide of death. I have seen it in the flames. Westeros must unite and stop the Others and their wights from destroying the Wall. I have seen the Wall fall. I have seen the dead devour the North. From there… well, it is hazy. I have seen strange wonders. Dragons, leviathans from the sea, and armies beyond number gathered."
"I have already sent men to investigate the claims; surely you are aware that there are still two claimants vying to unseat my brother."
Thoros shook his head sadly. "The petty squabbles over a crown are nothing compared to all of Westeros and humanity being snuffed out like a candle."
"I require more proof than visions. This… supposed resurrection you claim to have done is some evidence that your visions may be true. But having one form of power does not mean you have another. It does not mean you are being truthful, either. Or that you fully understand them. You arrived late to save people in this village, Thoros, so clearly your claimed powers of foresight are fallible."
He sighed. "I suspected that might be your view."
My mind was awhirl as I examined the Hound's wound. He had been stuck good; it should have mangled his insides, including his lung. Yet, he was breathing fine. He was hot to the touch, though there was no sign of inflammation or fever beyond that. I narrowed my eyes; I didn't have an accurate way of reading temperature, but he was too warm for good health.
I closed my eyes. This was magic, my third experience with legitimate magical power native to Westeros, and from another follower R'hllor. The first was Melisandre and her illusions. The second was her shadowy assassin. The third was now some sort of healing, or perhaps even truly bringing the dead back to life, that somehow infused the receiver with a heat that did not harm them. It was fascinating to me; I wanted to conduct a hundred different tests and ask even more questions to Thoros. However, I also had a hostage exchange meeting to attend.
"How did you even survive the Kingspyre?"
The Hound scowled. "I don't know. My memory… it's spotty since the fight. I know I wanted to get as far away from you Lannister cunts as I could. I didn't want to freeze in the North, so the Riverlands seemed as good a place as any."
"You intend to abandon what you have in the Westerlands?"
"I figured I'd be hanged as a deserter; on account of the fact that I must have fled before Joffrey burned."
"And you aren't worried about that now with me before you?"
"You hated the little shit; you were probably glad to learn he burned."
It was true, but not something I would ever admit out loud.
"I raised the Stormlands and fought in a Trial of Seven to back his claim, Clegane. But you are right that you do not have anything to fear from me. You helped save these people, and my father has already punished you for your prior crimes against Mycah, I will not amend that punishment now."
Sandor grunted. "Are you done prodding me?"
"For the moment. Tell me, does it feel warm or cool to you right now."
"Eh, doesn't feel much like anything."
I turned to Thoros. "How did you heal Clegane?"
"It was not me, but the Lord of Light."
I narrowed my gaze. "By what mechanism did you channel his power?"
"I wished to honor him for his sacrifice, and gave him the last kiss, a funeral rite in the teachings of R'hllor."
"And it just… happened? Did you feel a physical sensation? Did you will it to occur? Did you enact a prayer? If you kissed a dead farm animal, would it come to life too at your command?"
Thoros sighed. "I… don't have the answers you are looking for."
I weighed the benefits of learning more and being delayed. "What did you say your intended plans are after meeting with me?"
"We are going to the North. The fighting men of over a dozen villages are gathering and will be making the journey. I don't know if Jon Snow is a Targaryen, but he speaks truly about the threat of the Others. After meeting with him, I intend to swear myself into his service, as do the rest of us. However… if you were to take your armies North with me, we could join you. If Tommen as King puts the good of the realm over the war of succession and brings all the might he has gathered, he would be a worthy King indeed."
I had to compliment him – he was persuasive. The passion of a true believer, a fanatic. I didn't like those kinds of people, but I did respect the power they wielded.
"I'm sorry, but no. My own men will see what there is to see. However, Clegane, you mentioned earlier you had no desire to freeze in the North. Care to enter into my service? I promise not to lead you into any fires."
Brienne stirred. "Lady Myrcella, do you really think it is wise to trust someone like him?"
She had a great point, but was missing the real reason. Sure, having such an accomplished fighter joining my ranks was a win, but what I really wanted to do was figure out what changes Thoros had done with his healing of Sandor. I couldn't do that if he went North.
"Yes. I have always been impressed with his skill in tourneys, and judging by statements of the people here, his skills have remained sharp. Well, Sandor Clegane? Will you join me? Harrenhal is well stocked with wine and food, and as the Starks are fond of saying, Winter is Coming. The North will be harsher than when you visited Winterfell almost two years ago."
I caught the small smile that was once again on Thoros of Myr's face as the Hound answered me.
***
Melisandre had nearly frozen in shock when she learned Aegon Targaryen had taken King's Landing. Was this Aegon the true Azor Ahai? Had she misread the flames again?
No, that is impossible. Jon fought the Others. Jon is the Prince that was Promised, the culmination of the Song of Ice and Fire. It cannot be Aegon.
But still, she could not get over her doubts. The prophecies only had a few specific lines.
He shall be born again amidst smoke and salt.
He shall wake dragons out of stone.
He shall draw from fire, a burning sword, Lightbringer.
Death itself will bend its knee.
Azor Ahai will make the world anew.
Born under a bleeding star.
Melisandre thought that some of these could fit Jon, but others were more difficult. Jon had defeated death, brought the cold child, servants of the Great Other, to their knees in battle. Was that what the prophecy was alluding to? His sword was Valyrian steel; an argument could be made that the unique and draconically empowered creation of Valyrian steel justified calling them 'burning swords.' And would not naming a sword Lightbringer qualify?
They had detoured to Last Hearth, the ancestral home of House Umber, before returning to the Kingsroad. Umber had refused to bend the knee, and said they would follow wherever House Stark led them. Despite Melisandre's trick with her flames and the testimony of the Night's Watch companions who had joined them, there was little support. A handful of servants with dreams of following a King and a pair of men-at-arms were the only ones who went with Jon as they continued south.
They had been able to see the result of some of their missives, forwarded in bundles from Castle Black to Last Hearth. Lymond Goodbrook, the young lord of House Goodbrook had been the most positive. He had been willing to bend the knee if Jon Targaryen could free the Riverlands and put back Edmure Tully as the rightful Lord Paramount. Lord Goodbrook thought Aegon was an imposter and wished to back the true Targaryen, but had little he could do to aid now.
That meager letter was all the support they received. Various houses in the North said they would wait on hearing from the Starks, and there was dead silence from most of the realm. They received word from Myrcella that she was sending her Stormguard and fifty men to examine the claims of the Others but stood firm that her loyalties and that of all the Westerlands and Stormlands was firmly behind Tommen Baratheon.
A letter from Jon Connington, the apparent Hand for Aegon, demanded that Jon Snow arrive in King's Landing and submit himself to King Aegon Targaryen for judgment. His letter made clear he doubted Jon's claim, but that even if the claim were true, it would make him the younger brother to Aegon, the rightful King.
From the Eyrie there were only questions. Where was Jon going? Questions about the proof of the threat, and most importantly, what houses had sworn for Jon Targaryen? Most houses had not sent any response at all. Jon's ascension to the Iron Throne seemed more hopeless than Stannis Baratheon's current chances.
Jon himself was growing more doubtful and more restless. He brought up the subject again.
"Melisandre, how can I be King if no one supports me? Maybe your visions are out of order. Maybe my destiny is to fight and win against the Others, and afterwards I'm made King."
She sighed. He was very young and had a poor understanding of the world.
"Your Grace, you must understand, the Night's Watch have not the might to withstand the Great Other and his cold demons. Westeros must unite."
"But how? With my older brother sitting on the Iron Throne, who would support me?"
"He is a pretender. I can see glimpses of the past in the flames. I saw the babe ripped from his mother's breast and his head dashed against the wall. Her wails and cries haunted even me, one who has seen much death."
"What do I do? The Night's Watch is escorting me to keep me safe from Wildings and the odd banditry, but they are here to spread the message of the Others, not to fight my battles. I have less than a score of followers, you, and Ghost."
Melisandre wished the Lord of Light would tell her that as well. What could Jon do? She was at a loss until the visions could properly guide her.
"I will consult the flames; perhaps the Lord of Light will once more bless me with guidance on the path. For now, we continue to Winterfell, who has always been a friend of the Night's Watch."
"I warn you, Lady Catelyn loves me not, nor has she responded to my letter. I would not put it past her to clap me with irons."
"But it is also where you grew up. Many there may heed your call. Our numbers will swell, and R'hllor will guide you to victory. Have more patience, there is still time before the Wall is attacked. You alone, among all men, can claim to have slain the Others. When word of your deeds spreads, you will have your followers."
Melisandre knew Jon did not believe her, but he did not push any further. He bundled under his furs and soon drifted to sleep. Azor Ahai reborn did not understand all her powers yet. His fires would burn even hotter than her former King's, his essence turned to shadow would be unstoppable.
We have not the numbers yet, but once we do, the ability to end a difficult foe will secure victory at a critical juncture. Westeros will be united under Jon Targaryen; that must be R'hllor's will.
***
Sansa knew the wedding would be soon, and she and Elinor had delighted in planning out her dress. The Tyrell girl was a wonderful handmaiden. Jeyne was almost back to her old self as well. Highgarden remained enchanting. The singers, the tales, and all the beautiful flowers were like something out of an old tale. She still fretted over her family, but Elinor and Jeyne were keeping her mind off the wretched war.
Their giggling talk over one of the knights Elinor was fond of was interrupted by Yrma.
"Lady Sansa, your presence is requested by Lady Olenna. Come with me, please."
Elinor winced. "Just remember, she has a thorny demeanor and a sharp tongue with everyone."
Sansa had met the infamous Queen of Thorns, but as part of a large group at the feast. She obediently followed Yrma through Highgarden until they arrived at Olenna's rooms. Two massive guardians stood at the door. Sansa found them handsome but oh so intimidating. Seven feet tall and built as sturdy as the Hound, and there were two of them! They were far comelier with fiery red hair and thick, neatly trimmed mustaches.
They both inclined their heads, then one opened the door. Sansa walked through, and then one followed her in and closed the door behind him. He passed Sansa and took his place behind Olenna's chair.
The small old lady did not look like someone to be feared. She was white-haired, smaller than Sansa, and wizen. She eyed Sansa, looking her up and down, and then gestured for her to be seated.
"Have you found Highgarden to your liking?"
"I have, my lady."
"Call me Olenna, and I will call you Sansa. Or perhaps girl, depending on if you are dull of wit."
"I… as you wish, Olenna."
"You are to be wed quite soon, but my thoughts are toward your past, and not the near future. Tell me, Sansa, about your family."
"What do you wish to know?"
"Do you get on well with your brothers? What are they like?"
Sansa found herself telling her about Robb, how protective and dutiful he was. She spoke of Bran and his adventurous climbing, and of how fierce and yet still heartwarmingly adorable her youngest brother Rickon was.
"Didn't your father sire a bastard? What was his name? Ron? Bron?"
"Jon, and yes, he did."
"You can tell a lot about a family by the way they treat those born on the wrong side of the bed. What was it like growing up with him? Eddard Stark kept his bastard close, that can be wise or foolish, but go on, tell me, don't let me natter on."
"He was raised like a brother to Robb. They were very close and did everything together. I… I wasn't cruel to him, but mother did not like him."
"I would think not! Do you think Jon resented the family for it?"
"I do not know. He was closer to Arya."
"Was he a teller of fanciful tales? Did he put on airs for being the son of the Lord of Winterfell?"
Sansa shook her head. "No, not at all. He was proud when he could best Robb in swords, but he didn't tell lies." Sansa paused for a moment. "Why are you asking?"
"Because I wish to know," Olenna replied sharply. "Does he also have one of those great wolves?"
"Yes, his name is Ghost; he's all white and quiet for a direwolf."
Olenna looked at Sansa like Septa Mordane used to look at her and Arya's needlework.
"Did your father ever say who the mother was?"
Sansa was not sure why Olenna was asking all these questions about Jon of all people.
"No, he never did. At least not to me. I don't think even Jon knew."
Olenna cackled. "Well, he knows now! According to Jon, you two aren't even siblings. He is claiming to be the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen."
Sansa let out a gasp of shock.
"Ah, so if it is true, you didn't know either. Interesting."
Sansa's mind was whirling. Jon wasn't her brother but her cousin? But why wouldn't her father have just told them that? Her mother would have treated Jon better if she'd known!
"Is this true? What does this mean?"
"It means he's thrown his sword into the ring. He wishes to become King."
Jon? A King?
Sansa could not imagine it. He was raised a bastard – a highborn bastard, but still a bastard. How could he become a King?
"Oh, but he can't. He's part of the Night's Watch. I suppose it is good to know who his parents really are, but I don't see how it is all that important."
Olenna shook her head. "The boy claims the Lord Commander has released him from his oaths. As if a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had ever done that! He has written to all the nobility, insisting that the Wall is about to be besieged by the stuff of children's stories. The dead walk again, and he wishes the realm to make him King to fight the Others. I've never heard such dung, but men are oft fools, and who knows how many fools will listen to him."
"The Others? The stories Old Nan told us?"
"I've never met this 'Old Nan,' but likely yes." Olenna shook her head, and Sansa felt the older woman's disregard for her. "I wish for you to write to him. Explain to him that even if his claim is true, Aegon would be his older brother. He must renounce his claim to the throne and urge the lords of the realm to rally behind Aegon."
"Oh, but my father and my house are supporting Stannis! I cannot tell people to follow Aegon."
"Some spine in you, girl? How unexpected. You will soon be wed to the Lord of Highgarden, who has sworn our family to Aegon Targaryen's cause. Write the letter as I tell you to."
Sansa squirmed, but shook her head. "N–No. I apologize, but I cannot betray my family. Lord Willas has told me I would not have to do anything like this."
Olenna eyed her, then gave a sniff. "Good, my grandson shouldn't marry someone weak willed. I will ask you to write to Jon and ask how he can make his claim when his father and brothers have sworn to Stannis Baratheon and Aegon is older than him. I find myself curious as to how he can justify himself."
Sansa bowed her head. "I can do that, Olenna."
Sansa proceeded to write the letter, and Olenna read it and nodded in satisfaction. She even complimented her on the neatness of her writing. As they were finishing up, Olenna's guard who had been waiting outside opened the door.
"Willas Tyrell to see you, Lady Olenna."
Willas walked in, barely slowed by his cane. He looked at Sansa with some surprise but recovered with a smile. "Lady Sansa, it warms the heart to see you and my grandmother speaking with one another. Pardon the interruption, but I do have some news that I must discuss."
"We are nearly done. Just get on with it. She's to be your wife," Olenna remarked.
Willas tilted his head. "Of course. The King has written and seeks to make use of the very best fighters from the Reach in a potential Trial of Seven against Myrcella."
Olenna gave an exasperated sigh. "Margaery should be preventing this sort of idiocy. We have the Golden Company, the wealth of our own house, and great amounts of plunder from the Westerlands, and the would-be dragon wants to fight a damnable duel?"
"Potential trial," Willas corrected. "There is unrest in King's Landing. There is reason to appease the masses, and it may not happen in the first place. We should still be prepared; to that end, there is thought to have Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk as two of the seven."
Sansa saw Olenna give Willas a look of disgust. "I will be writing the King, that oaf Connington, AND Margaery and Garlan. Mark my words, there will be no damnable trial, not when there is no reason to take such risks."
Willas smiled at her. "Please do so, but if there is a trial, I would like my brother to have capable fighters at his side. As a precaution, I will have the brothers sent. I will of course arrange other guards for you."
Olenna shooed them both out in a huff. Willas gave a chaste kiss on her cheek.
"The kennel master was impressed with how Lady behaved. I've approved her being with you, but mind you, if she snaps or bites someone, she will need to be locked away again."
"Thank you! I promise she will be very good."
He gave her a pleasant nod of acknowledgement before excusing himself. "I have matters to attend to. Please enjoy the rest of your day, Lady Sansa."
Sansa gave a soft sigh as Willas left her sight. He really was a kind man, and one she was sure she would cherish. She had wanted to marry a dashing knight, but Willas was almost as good!