Only A Northern Song ~ Game of Thrones / Willas Tyrell ~

Chapter Sixty: Nameday Celebration

Riverrun wasn't equipped for a feast, not in the middle of a war, not while so many men were away fighting in the Westerlands, but Willas refused for his son's first nameday to go unrecognised. After months of travelling with a war camp every evening meal in the Riverlands still felt like a luxury, but after returning back to the keep from the godswood he headed straight down to the kitchens to request that no expense be spared, that the word be spread around the whole keep, and soon Riverrun was abuzz with something that almost resembled excitement at the idea of a celebration, such festivities going forgotten in a time of war.

It felt wrong to ask for people to celebrate, it felt wrong to ask them to be happy, but there seemed to be a sense of relief in the air, as if everyone in Riverrun had been silently looking for any excuse to cast aside the gloom and doom. It didn't matter that it was for something as foolish as a first nameday feast, the people in Riverrun were merely happy to have a reason to be happy. Besides, Uther was the great-grandson of their liege, he had attended more meetings and councils than most men, and had inherited the Tyrell charisma and likability even at his young age. It didn't matter that they had previously been in a period of mourning, nor did it matter that they were at war, with the King in the North far from home and injured. When word was spread that the consort of the Princess of the North had asked all to be present for a celebratory dinner, from the men who stayed behind to guard the keep to those who served the keep as workers, no one saw fault, and everyone agreed to attend.

The only one who did attempt to oppose was Eddmina. Willas thought at first that it was her grief and worry causing her resistance. Even her mother thought so, because no matter how depressed the past few weeks had made Lady Stark, she knew she had to hold herself together for her daughter's sake. When she heard about Willas' proposed celebration, Lady Stark spent the rest of the day trying to encourage Eddmina, who faced it with stubborn disregard. Lady Stark dismissed Eddmina's handmaidens and helped her get ready herself, styling her hair in an intricate style of curls with a braided bun at the top of her head, helping her into a gown of cotton satin. It was a dark blue, so dark that it could be mistaken for black, yet the sleeves were home to a hundred running direwolves embroidered with thread so silver they shone, and with her Stark locket hanging around her neck and her crown upon her dark curls, she looked the picture of pure royalty, a true example of northern beauty. She had put on a brave face while her mother was there, yet the moment Lady Stark had left and Eddmina was stood in front of the mirror staring at herself, her expression turned into a scowl.

"Why've you done this to me?" she muttered, glancing around to Willas, folding her arms across her chest. "You know I hate feasts."

Willas stared at her for a moment, almost wide eyed. Then, he cracked a smile, and began to laugh. Her scowl quickly faded into confusion, especially as he moved closer, placing a hand upon her waist and a kiss onto her forehead.

"What is so amusing?" she demanded, rolling her eyes.

"You," he told her simply, still chuckling, still feeling relief and joy course through him. "You sound like you again."

His wife didn't like feasts. She didn't like parties or large gatherings, especially not grand celebrations. He remembered how she sat at their wedding feast, sipping at her wine and picking at the food brought to her, and though he knew that was down to nerves he knew it was also partially down to her preference of a quiet life, since he'd seen her behave similarly at every other feast the two of them had attended. Perhaps to everyone else she looked content and entertained, but he always noticed the slight way she rolled her eyes any time someone made a fool of themselves, he could see the tight thin smiles she pulled to be polite whenever she had to acknowledge someone she would rather not speak to. Willas knew that she piled a second plate high with food to pass onto her half brother, banished to the outside of the hall, and as much as he knew she did it out of love and rebellion, he wondered if she had ever done it as an excuse to dismiss herself quickly, even subconsciously.