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

Chapter Thirty Eight: Sleepless Nights

Father had briefly mentioned to him about how jousts could go wrong. He'd made a fleeting comment once when his grandmother had asked how he'd prepared for if he'd fall from his horse. Father had merely laughed and said a boy who loved horses as much as Willas would never be in a situation where he had to worry about falling from his saddle. He boasted with confidence how he was not only the greatest swordsman in the whole of the Reach but would quickly become the greatest jouster in all the seven kingdoms. Father's overwhelming confidence was almost catching, and just as Willas began to consider the slim possibility that he might just make his father proud, all those dreams came crashing down at the same exact moment Willas' horse crashed onto his leg.

Willas was sure he would die from the pain. Surely he should be dead already. Part of him wished he was. The overwhelming burning feeling that consumed his whole body had made his vison haze over. He couldn't see anything at all, not that he was sure he wanted to. He couldn't remember how he got from the arena to the medic tent, but considering the only voice he could hear despite his mother's screams was Garlan, he assumed his brother would have had something to do with it. As if he didn't owe him enough. He didn't want to die, not if Garlan and his mother were nearby, he didn't want them to see that. Out of bitterness he wanted his father to see it though, it was his fault he'd entered the damned tourney anyway.

Someone else was screaming too. Oh gods, not Margie. His little sister certainly didn't need to see him like this. Couldn't someone get her away? Where in seven hells was Loras, surely he wasn't off flirting with Lord Renly when their sister was sobbing like that? He opened his mouth to say something, to call Garlan's name to ask him to clear everyone out, but instead the only noise he could make was a howl of pain. It was the first time he'd even murmured, and it was like opening a barrel of worms, unable to stop himself. Suddenly he couldn't hear Margaery or his mother, not over his own sobs, and it only got worse when he felt someone touching his leg.

He wanted to scream at whoever it was to just leave him alone, leave him to die, but then someone was holding him down to stop him moving. He could hear Garlan speaking to him, his tone desperate and hurried, but he couldn't break through the haze to focus on what he was actually saying. He felt who he assumed was the maester grip onto his leg, the crushed one, and he let out an ear splitting scream, and that seemed to snap him into focus more. He managed to see the chaos around him, his father stood over by the tent's opening, red faced in fury as she shouted at someone, his mother and younger two siblings huddled in the corner, Garlan leaning over his body with a tight grip. Perhaps he was only holding him so tight as to keep his soul in his body, keeping him firmly grounded in the world.

"I'm afraid there may be too much damage... to waste time on the leg would cost his life..." a strained voice explained, though it was only met with cries of outrage from around the tent.

"You're not letting him die," Garlan hissed through his teeth at the maester before looking down at Willas. When was the last time he saw Garlan cry? When they were children, perhaps? "You fucking here me? Don't you dare die,"

Willas certainly didn't want to die, but perhaps he'd know peace upon death. There certainly wasn't peace in that gods-forsaken tent, not while his father was still shouting at whoever it was that insisted on entering the tent. It couldn't have been his grandmother, she would have just barged in by that point surely. The curiosity of a newcomer was the only thing distracting him from the pain, but not even the curiosity could drown out the noise of the maester sharpening his tools. That snapped him to attention, and he managed to see through the haze that the maester was in fact sharpening a bone-saw, the evil steel glinting in the few rays of sunlight managing to break through into the tent.

"Get that thing away from me!" he managed to blurt out, his words coming out as one jumble, yet loud and clear enough that surely someone would understand and put a stop to it. "Please, you can't, it doesn't even hurt! Please!"