It is both a wonderful afternoon and a terrible one.

Wonderful, because Maester Lomys finally agrees to allow Willas to move onto his back, despite insisting that he could not do so even this morning. Willas is so relieved to be able to take a proper breath again that he laughs, just to prove he can, and then kisses Sansa until she cannot take a proper breath, until she's as red as her hair.

Terrible, because Sansa's brother is at White Harbour, and how is she supposed to remain with Willas when one of her brothers is alive and well and in the North even now?

"It is not forever," she says encouragingly, curled under his good arm and refusing to meet his eyes. "I will remain with Rickon until- until-"

"You may have to remain until he reaches his majority, my love," Willas points out. "He has seen how many name days? Six?"

"Six," she agrees miserably. "Ten years, Willas! They cannot expect us to remain apart for so long, can they?"

She does not say who they are, but he knows – her sister, her brother, those lords of the North still loyal to House Stark, whichever king emerges from the oncoming winter and the accompanying war the victor. All could order her to remain at Winterfell for as long as they feel her brother needs her, whether by outright edict or through the sort of emotional manipulation Willas knows Arya Stark to be capable of.

He feels sick at the thought of spending ten years without her. He can hardly stand the notion of ten days without her, how is he to manage half his life-span again alone?

"We will manage," he tells her. "Even if we are forced apart for that long, we will manage – we might visit one another, and we can write to each other as many letters as there are ravens enough to carry, and... I know not, Sansa."

"I don't want to leave you," she whispers, pressing her face into his shoulder, above the edge of the bandages winding around his torso. "I can hardly stand to think about being away from you for such a long time, Willas, it willkill me, I know it."

"No," he says sharply, terrified at notion of Sansa's death. "No, you must not allow anything to kill you, my darling, I could not bear your death."

"Nor I yours," she says plaintively, turning her face up to look at him once more. "What are we to do, Willas? I cannot abandon my brother to the care of strangers, not after all he must have suffered since last I saw him."

"And what of all you have suffered, Sansa?" he asks gently. "Sweetling, you must consider your own safety and health, your own sanity – they say Winterfell is near a ruin, after Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay Bolton's less than tender care. Will you be able to stand seeing it as such? Will you be able to bear being in the North with only your sister and one of your brothers? Will you be able to stand by while, by necessity, some of those who betrayed your brother and mother to their deaths are welcomed back to Winterfell?"

"I will do whatever I must," she says, her eyes huge and sad and firm and lost. "I am my mother's daughter as much as my father's, Willas, and she put a great deal of stock into the Tully words."

Family, Duty, Honour,Willas thinks, and he thinks they suit his wife better than Winter is Coming ever could.

"You are a Tyrell now, my sweet," he reminds her, tipping his nose against her own and teasing her in for a kiss, short and soft and pointed. "Remember to grow strong whilst doing your duty by your family – honour is worth nothing to the dead."

Willas' youngest uncle, Ser Humfrey Hightower, is both nothing and everything that Sansa expected. He was absent from Oldtown when Willas brought her to meet his grandfather and Ser Baelor, and so she is near as unprepared for Ser Humfrey as Arya.

He has that same almost sharp-featured face as Ser Baelor, as Lady Alerie and sort of like Willas, who seems more like his father now that Sansa has seen Lord Mace smile genuinely and frown in concern, now that she has seen him and Willas together for more than a moment at a time. Ser Humfrey is, Sansa thinks, the most handsome of Lord Leyton's sons, smiling and confident and easy in his beauty, with a thick shock of fair hair and bright, bright eyes.

She likes him immediately, if only because her first impression comes in the form of him stretched out on Willas' bed alongside her husband, his boots off and his arms folded behind his head as he regales his nephew with tales of Lys, where his sister apparently resides.

"- like a highly paid whore, if truth be told, but she seems happy enough, and it seems to be a position of some honour and renown in Lys, so Father said to leave her to it – ah, this must be the famous Lady Sansa!" he exclaims, bounding to his stocking-clad feet and sweeping an extravagent bow. "An honour and a pleasure, my lady, truly a pleasure – I have heard so much about you! My father was extremely taken, which is an achievement if only because he loathes most everyone not a Hightower by blood."

"Ser Humfrey," she says demurely, curtsying as low as required – it is a strange thing, to be officially of higher rank than this man who is so much, even after just these few moments, and so to need only curtsy just enough to acknowledge him and no more. "The honour is mine."

"And the pleasure surely yours alone, fool," Willas calls hoarsely, and though there are black-dark circles around his eyes, he is grinning. "Sit down, Humfrey, you're bothering my wife."

"I am not!" Ser Humfrey booms, settling gently back down on the bed beside Willas and then making a great show of folding his arms huffily. "I am merely introducing myself – I cannot help my innately exuberant nature, nephew."

Sansa takes her customary place on the edge of the bed at Willas' hip, so she might hold his hand, and does her best to hide a smile – they bicker as Willas does with Garlan, as she remembers Robb bickering with Jon, and such a normal thing warms her when thoughts of her upcoming journey chill her to the bone.

"I have asked something of Humfrey," Willas says, bringing her hand to his mouth, pausing a long moment with her knuckles pressed to his lips. "I would have him care for the most precious thing in my life when I cannot."

Sansa's mind goes to Gardener, and she wonders at that – the idea of Willas allowing anyone but himself to ride his beloved horse is laughable, after all – before he speaks again.

"I would have him go north with you, my lady," he says, looking up to meet her gaze with earnest, near desperate eyes. It frightens her for a brief moment, that intensity, but then she realises that she is holding his hand hard enough that it must be hurting him, and she feels as if she is drowning at the thought of being apart from him, for ten years for such a long time. "I would have him guard you when I am stuck here without you. He will ensure that no harm comes to you – I would send Garlan, but my father needs Garlan."

"I- I would be honoured to have Ser Humfrey with me," she says, confused – Lady Alerie implied that Ser Humfrey was coming to Highgarden for Willas' benefit, and Sansa assumed that he was to command the guard here while the majority of the men were away. "But Willas, surely you will be as great a target as I? Would Ser Humfrey not be better served-"

"One of his bastard cousins will keep an eye on Willas for us both, my lady, have no fear of that," Ser Humfrey says easily, rolling onto his front and leaning up on Willas' chest the way Sansa herself sometimes does when they talk before sleeping, although it does not seem quite so affectionate or intimate – and he jumps away the moment he remembers Willas' current infirmity, rolling somehow to his knees. "Regardless of any horror stories my siblings or their children may have told you, I am not a terrible companion, and I am more than capable of wielding my sword, which I suspect is my dear eldest nephew's primary concern."

"Bastard," Willas grumbles. "I'll have your balls if you try to become overly companionable with my wife, Humfrey, you see if I don't."

"And here I thought incest the purview of Lannisters and Targaryens," Humfrey teases, "and buggery to be more Loras' habit than yours – what an enlightening evening this is proving to be!"

Arya stares at Gendry in amazement.

"What do you mean, staying here?" she demands. "You know full well you can't stay here, stupid, you have to-"

"I have an honest living here," he says, shrugging. "The smith is good, the board and lodgings are the best I've ever known, and I'm getting paid more in a week than I'd see in a year if I came back north with you, m'lady – and I can be eyes and ears here in Highgarden, that'll be a help-"

"It might be if you could write enough to send reports," she snarls, shoving against his chest. "You were sent to escort Sansa and me back north with Lady Brienne-"

"But because you didn't manage to sneak her out, you'll have an escort of Tyrell men with you the whole way," he points out. "They'll be better at looking after her than I would, won't they? And you'll get her north easier if you've a whole bunch of men loyal to her-"

"That's not the point!" Arya fumes, and she's so angry that she can hardly stand it – she thinks, no, she knows that she is overreacting, but she was so genuinely afraid that Sansa would choose to stay with her beloved husband rather than come north to Rickon, to home, that Gendry's decision to remain at Highgarden has left her feeling confused and almost sick – she was so certain that he would return with them! Gods, Alla has offered to accompany them, but Gendry, who has a life further north than here, is refusing to do so!

Sansa is off with Mother and, Willas thinks, Father, discussing provisions and protection for the long journey ahead of her, likely with Grandmother somewhere nearby, offering her advice on how to keep control of a bunch of strong-headed men, when her sister sneaks through the door of his bedchamber and sits very calmly on the footboard of his bed.

"I need to know if Sansa has picked up any habits that will put her in danger on our journey," she says without preamble, something he likes about her. He thinks her forthrightness will serve her and Sansa both well, in the days to come, and he cannot truly dislike something that may be good for Sansa. "Anything at all that may endanger her in any way."

"Her compassion," he says simply, shrugging and immediately regretting it – anything at all that causes his back to move is painful, even through the haze of poppy. Humfrey is sitting under the window, on the floor, for some reason, and watching Lady Arya curiously – Willas has a sneaking suspicion that she reminds him of Lynesse. Every young girl who is even vaguely unhappy seems to. "She may try to help where she cannot, and will give herself away by it – be practical on her behalf, my lady, and she ought not cause you much trouble."

Lady Arya stares hard at him, as if trying to understand something difficult, and he sets aside his book.

"I believe we have needlessly made enemies of one another," he says thoughtfully, watching her with as much interest as she regards him with at all times. "For all that we see it as two wholly different things, I do believe that we both want only what is best for Sansa, yes?"

"I suppose."

"Then let us call a truce, my lady," he offers. "If you will protect Sansa for me – from herself as much as from those who might want her dead – then I will see that every possible help that is mine to offer will be the North's, regardless of whether or not you prevail in convincing Sansa to divorce me. Would that content you?"

She looks suspicious now, and he wonders what he is supposed to do to earn anything but her distaste.

"Why should you offer the North help even if Sansa is not your wife?"

"A number of reasons," he says, thinking of how closely it would bind them to the Reach and, through the Reach, Prince Aegon's cause, by obligation. "But primarily because I love Sansa, and I would see her happy even if she does not love me."

It takes just three weeks for all the preparations to be completed.

Sansa can hardly believe it – it seems only yesterday that she was arriving at Highgarden, terrified at the thought of marrying a stranger, but in reality she has had two years, give or take, to come to know and love her strange husband.

He looks just as lost as she feels, in this awful moment.

"I wish I did not have to go," she whispers, holding his hand tighter and moving closer, if that is possible. "But I must."

"But you must," he agrees, eyes bright and voice heavy. "Would that I could at least accompany you, my love, but with Father and Garlan riding out with the prince, there must be one of us here to rule Highgarden."

"And your health would not allow for it either," she points out, resting her free hand on his bandages, over his heart. It is beating strong and steady, and the tears lingering in her eyes spill over at the feeling she had feared lost so short a time ago. "I wish I could stay to help you recover."

"Your brother needs you," he reminds her, albeit reluctantly. "I daresay every man and woman in the North still loyal to House Stark has need of you just now, Sansa – you must be everything I know you to be for them. It is... They need you more than I, Sansa, for all that I know that I want you more than they ever could."

She leans in and kisses him, hard and fast, and she relishes the tight pull of his fingers in her hair and the sharp edge of his teeth on her lip, and then she pulls away and runs for the door. If she does not leave him now, she will never do so, and she knows that he is right – she is needed elsewhere, no matter that both he and she would rather she might stay at Highgarden with him forever and a day.

"I love you," she calls from the door, backing out quickly and blowing him a kiss. "Be better, Willas, for me – heal, darling."

"I love you," he calls after her, watching the end of her braid swing as she darts away, feeling as if he cannot breathe. Humfrey is lingering by the foot of his bed, fingers tapping the seven-pointed star pommel of his sword.

"I will keep her safe for you," he promises quietly. "She'll come home, Willas – she's just as dotty for you as you are for her. She'll come home."

Willas will never admit it aloud, but he fears that Sansa is going home now, and that once there, she will never want to leave.