Looking out on King's Landing in the early hours of the morning was something that Sansa often did since the Blackwater; it was strangely calming. On this specific night, the waning moon was high above the endless expanse of ocean on the horizon, its pearly reflection rippling on the water. Punctuated occasionally by faint thunder in the distance, or the screech of cats fighting in the alleys of Flea Bottom, silence sat heavy upon the city; there was an unspoken, unmentioned aura of mourning amongst the people of King's Landing. From the lowest of the tavern wenches to the wealthiest merchant, all felt it – the survivors lamented their lost sons. Twinkling here and there in the city below, there were windows of houses where women probably looked out on the darkness the same as Sansa did now. How many of them had lost husbands, brothers, or even sons in the war so far? How many of them were desperate for news of some treasured relative in the Riverlands? How many of them would yet lose them?
Although her situation was more horrendous than anything Sansa had suffered in her life, she knew that other people were less fortunate. At least in the Red Keep she was fed and watered and kept warm; down there, people stole and prostituted themselves out just to stay alive. No, Sansa thought, I am fortunate compared to them.
Starting as a purple smudge on the horizon, day crept up on the sleeping city. Yet again she had not slept a wink all night, but Sansa preferred that to the alternative. Every time she closed her eyes, she was ambushed by memories that she had forced to the very back of her conscious mind.
Kicking the Hound as she had struggled frantically to reach her father before Ilyn Payne could bring the sword down on his bared neck…
Her dignity ripped from her in front of the entire court as Joffrey's cruel face leered down at her…
The Queen laughed at her as she sang a hymn, whilst a burning stag pranced around them. "Tears aren't a woman's only weapon, you know," she drained her goblet. "The best one's between your legs – learn to use it, little dove."
And then the things that she had never seen would suddenly become vividly real to her.
Her brother Robb held out his hand to a small old man that Sansa didn't recognise. The man shook her brother's hand, but as his right hand shook, his left hand plunged a dagger into the Young Wolf's gut…
Alone on a cliff, her mother stood with tears cascading down her cheeks. Hair flying forlornly in the wind, Lady Catelyn Stark stepped into the abyss…
Bran lay in his bed, legs useless, unable to move as Winterfell flooded with seawater. In the water was a kraken…
Always Sansa awoke with the echo of wolves howling in her ears. If only she still had Maester Luwin for she was certain that the old man could have explained the strange nature of her dreams. But like so many, Winterfell's Maester was dead.
Whilst she had been lost in her thoughts, the dazzling disc of the sun had pierced the horizon and King's Landing was already beginning to bustle with fishermen and merchants and Tyrell soldiers, thousands of whom were arriving in the city with each passing week. Sansa was not ashamed to admit that the sight of them terrified her – Robb was said to be a great general, set to become a hero of the songs, but could anything stand against the power that now rallied itself to Joffrey? It was said that the Reach could field over eighty-thousand soldiers, whilst the North and Riverlands could maybe manage forty-thousand between them. Robb and her mother were outnumbered two to one, and she knew that there was a very real possibility that she would never see either of them again.
How would I have reacted to that a year ago? Sansa wondered. A year ago, she would have gone to the Queen, like a good little dove. She would have begged and sang pretty songs to try to persuade her beloved's mother to spare her family. She would have made them all laugh before they threw her songs back in her face.
No. Not now. Sansa Stark would not be belittled and manipulated, not again. Not by the Queen. Not by the Lannisters. And certainly not by Joffrey. When the time came, she would look them in the face and show them that the wolf still lived inside her; she would not flinch when they told her, or show them her tears.
I was a girl then, Sansa told herself. Now, I am a woman.
After a light breakfast on her own, Sansa walked down to the sept, today wearing a grey-silver dress. In the sept, Sansa bowed her head in respect to the Septon before taking a seat on the benches next to a Lannister guardsman she vaguely recognised from Maegor's Holdfast. The Queen had told her that the guards would have sold them in an instant if the city fell. She wondered if this was true. As she began uttering prayers to the Mother and the Warrior for her family, she heard what sounded like giggling children approaching the sept and, turning round, quickly identified the source of the commotion. Margaery Tyrell and some of her highborn cousins had arrived to pray. Sansa knew she should resent the girl for taking away her chance to be a queen, but she wished her only luck – she would need it in plenty with Joffrey for a husband. With an exclamation of surprise, Margaery spotted Sansa.
"Lady Stark," she smiled sweetly and curtsied, her cousins following suit behind her. "I have been hoping to meet you for some time. Even as far south as Highgarden, knights have brought us stories of your grace and beauty."
"Do they also tell you that I am the daughter of a traitor and the sister of a rebel, my lady?" Sansa's tongue moved before she had time to think, and she immediately realised what a foolish thing she had said. "I-I apologise, I have had little sleep these last few weeks and I sometimes forget…"
"My lady, you have nothing to apologise for," Margaery patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Until a few months ago I was the daughter of a traitor and the sister of a rebel myself.
Sansa was shocked at the southern girl's forgiveness of her insolence; it had been so long since she had been able to speak freely to anyone that she had almost forgotten what it was.
"I thank you, my lady," remembering her manners, Sansa stood and curtsied. "But you must call me Sansa."
"Of course, Sansa," she grinned. "But you must call me Margaery."
The Tyrell girls giggled, and even Sansa managed to crack a smile. It was nice talking to this girl, she realised. She had not had much company since Jeyne Poole was taken.
"Now, Sansa," Margaery gestured towards the door. "It is most improper of me, but meeting you has driven all thought of prayer from my mind – the Seven shall wait till later. Will you walk with me?"
Sansa nodded as the other girls sat down in the sept and began to pray, allowing her and Margaery to leave alone.
"I am glad to speak to you alone," Margaery's voice had lost its girlish tone out in the courtyard, but it was not unkind. "First of all, Sansa, I want to give you my condolences for your lord father, who I know you must mourn deeply. I would be lost without my father - I cannot imagine how you must feel."
The girl's words didn't register for a moment, for it was so totally unexpected.
"It is not easy," Sansa had never told anyone in King's Landing this before. "I miss him every day. Every hour of every day. His execution has left a hole in my heart that shall be difficult to fill."
Margaery's eyes were sad as she spoke, yet there was something else in there that Sansa glimpsed. Anger? She could not tell for certain.
"I would also like to apologise to you," the Tyrell girl stared intently at her as she said this.
"For what?" Sansa blurted without thinking.
Margaery smiled knowingly. "I broke your engagement to Joffrey. You were going to become a Queen, and I put a stop to that."
"Oh, Joffrey," she said. "I mean, er, my heart aches for my beloved, but he has set me aside for one more worthy and more fair than myself. I pray that he shall be happy and that you shall bear him many children."
"Thank you, Sansa," Margaery nodded gratefully. "You have answered a question for me that I have long wanted to know the answer to. But anyway, my friend, I must leave you for now. It would however, be a great pleasure for myself and my grandmother if you would join us this evening for a meal in our quarters. She is also most excited to meet you."
"Of course, my lady," Sansa had time to curtsey once more before Margaery was gone, walking briskly to whatever urgent engagement called.
Sansa spent the rest of her day in the city, shopping alone. Many merchants tried to tempt her into their stores, perhaps seeing her as a young girl who was obsessed with beautiful things; that was the old Sansa and whilst she still wanted to look good, it no longer gripped and held her interest as it had once done. Instead, she made her way to Shadowblack Lane, a place she had heard of but never visited before. Much to her surprise, Sansa discovered that the place was actually quite interesting. Twisting and long, the lane was in the shadow of the Red Keep, but even that could not dampen her mood as she explored. In essence, the lane was completely dedicated to knowledge and books and the old men who found the knowledge and wrote the books. Never had Sansa made a hobby of reading dusty tomes, but today she couldn't stop. She found histories of the North, much deeper and in depth than Septa Mordane had taught her and spent hours reading them whilst a Maester from Oldtown paced about, seemingly finding it hard to believe his eyes. "A girl…" he kept muttering. "In my store…"
It was when the sun had reached its zenith and began its slow descent to dusk that Sansa's peaceful reading was interrupted. She had reached the Massacre of Moat Cailin, where five thousand Northmen repelled the King of the Vale and his famed Hundred Thousand Host once and for all, bringing about an end to their constant warring. The door to the store opened and in walked the Imp, one of the people Sansa least wanted to see. He was alone, Sansa noted, but since the Blackwater he seemed to have taken a back seat in the governance of the city.
The dwarf began speaking to the Maester who had now seated himself behind a desk at the back of the room, but then he noticed her. "Lady Stark," he nodded his head respectfully. "I must say I am shocked to see you here. Did you get bored of your fine clothes and gallant knights?"
"No, my lord of Lannister," Sansa spoke calmly and tried to put on the voice her mother would use on the few occasions that she had received bannermen or foreign visitors in her father's stead. "I still dress like a lady and I still believe in knights. It's just their gallantness that I begin to doubt."
Sansa thought that the Imp smirked then, although he seemed to grimace in pain. "Since when did you become clever?" he asked, waddling over to take a seat beside her. He peered at what she was reading. "Maester Undamore's History of the North and House Stark… I found that an interesting read, even if it did over-glorify your house."
"House Stark has held the lands of the North for millennia, my lord," Sansa said, snapping the book shut. "Against eagles and flayed men and krakens and even the Targaryens. My house has earned its glory."
"Against krakens, you say?" the Imp retorted. "Then let me ask you, who has conquered over half of your brother's kingdom? Who has taken the very seat of your house?" He laughed when she found that she had no reply. "I much prefer this side to you, my dear. What made you decide to set aside your dolls and take up the book?"
For a moment Sansa wasn't going to answer him, or at least not truthfully, but something persuaded her. Tyrion Lannister wasn't loved by his family, and unless she was very much mistaken he bore them even less love back. How many times had he saved her from Joffrey during her betrothal? It was perhaps possible to trust this little man with small secrets. "I'm fed up of being laughed at, my lord," she began, feeling her heart rate increasing as a newfound anger welled inside. "Fed up of being laughed at and mocked by your family and all the people in this damned city. Does anyone listen to me when I sing pretty songs? Does anyone care about the meek girl who allows herself to be manipulated and played with by Joffrey? No, that's the truth of the matter. So I'm going to change."
Tyrion watched her as she spoke, scarred brow furrowed in thought. He sat there in silence for a moment before he spoke. "No doubt if you'd said that in my sister's or the King's presence you would have regretted it," he sighed at last. "Lady Sansa, I wish you no harm personally. The crimes of your family do not say the slightest thing about you; why, if they did then I should be the most reviled person in the Seven Kingdoms! Oh, I forgot that I already am."
His following bark of laughter was bitter and humourless.
"You are guilty of nothing substantial I think, my lord, except being kin to oath breakers and murderers."
He continued laughing a second before arising. Even when he was standing, Sansa still looked down on Tyrion. "I thank you for your kind judgement but I have business in the Red Keep which, unfortunately, cannot be postponed," he turned back to the old Maester who looked nearly asleep. "I want the books on the Targaryen dragons brought up to my chambers this evening, if you please Maester. Farewell, Lady Stark."
And with that, the little man was gone. Noticing that the sun was descending in the rapidly reddening sky, Sansa nodded to the old Maester, returned the book and left, making her way back up to the Red Keep where she would find Margaery.
Sansa was surprised when, as she was hurrying towards the Red Keep, she nearly bumped into a green cloaked figure walking in the other direction. When she started to apologise she realised that it was Margaery herself.
"Margaery!" Sansa exclaimed in shock. "I was coming to meet you up at the Keep, I thought we were dining together?"
"Yes, I was just coming to Shadowblack Lane to find you," she smiled as Sansa looked confused. "I've just spoken to Tyrion Lannister, he told me you were there so I came to tell you that we shall be meeting in the army encampment outside the city."
"I thought your grandmother wanted to meet me?"
"Ah yes," Margaery laughed, shaking her head in mock-disbelief. "My lady grandmother is a very… opinionated woman, and she's not too trusting of our Lannister hosts. She requested that her tent be pitched next to Lord Redwyne who is her nephew."
And she is not wrong to distrust the lions, Sansa thought, but she merely smiled. "Am I allowed out of the city then?"
Her friend frowned in thought. "I hadn't considered the possibility that they might not let you out, but perhaps I should have. I will try to use my influence to persuade them, but if that isn't sufficient then we may have to postpone. Come, Sansa, we mustn't keep grandmother waiting, she will have both our heads."
And so they set off through the city on foot, something which would have created a stir if it happened during the day, but the most hassle they received was a shocked bow from a fishmonger and a couple of whispers as they passed.
When they reached the gates they were greeted by the usual burly guardsman in his gatehouse who seemed to be inflated by the fact that he had a spear in his hand and the right to use it. "The gate just closed, milady," he grunted. "You'll have to stay in the city tonight unless you've got a permit from the City Watch or a Small Councillor."
"Oh, really?" Margaery stepped into the light so that he could see her face clearly. "I am Margaery Tyrell, ser, I am going to meet my grandmother."
"Unless you have an official permit—" the man began.
"Ser, I would think that my station as future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms should be enough to grant me permission to leave the city as and when I wish?" she smiled sweetly.
"I…" the guardsman seemed only then to realise exactly who Margaery Tyrell was; Sansa didn't think he seemed all that smart. "Yes, I'll let you through, Your Grace, but… who is your friend?"
"My friend is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell," Sansa stepped into the light too so that he could see her face. "Despite whatever you may have heard or been told about her it would mean a great deal to me if she could leave the city for a few hours to dine with me in my father's camp."
The guard shook his head so strongly that Sansa knew it would take a miracle to get her on the other side of the gate. "I've got strict orders from the Queen Regent and the Hand that the Stark girl is a royal prisoner and is to be let out of the city under no circumstances."
Yet at that moment there was a sharp rapping on the door on the other side of the room, the door which opened on the other side of the gates. The guard scowled and pulled the door ajar. "I am sorry, ma'am, but no one is allowed to enter the city until-"
"What are you talking about, man?" an impatient voice snapped. Next to her, Margaery breathed a sigh of relief. "I am Olenna Tyrell, mother of Lord Mace Tyrell and if you do not open this door right now I will see your head on a spike before you can ask for forgiveness!"
Cowed, the man pulled the door open to reveal an ancient woman with snow-white hair who was only about as tall as the man's breast.
"Ah, Margaery, there you are dear," she hobbled through the door casting a disdainful look at the bemused guardsman. Both girls curtsied when she looked at them, but the old lady rolled her eyes. "I'm not here to have you curtsey at me, I've come to see what's taking you so long. You were meant to be with me over half an hour ago."
"This delightful guardsman was unsure as to whether or not we're allowed through the gates, Grandmother," Margaery nodded towards him.
With deliberate slowness, Olenna Tyrell turned her head on the man and gave him a look so cutting Sansa wondered whether the Queen could rival it. "These are two ladies of families that could destroy you and your little gatehouse like stepping on an anthill. And you intend to stop them?"
It was a hilarious sight; the six-foot tall, spear-wielding man squirmed under the frail old woman's questions. Sansa had to resist the urge to laugh. I now know why she is known as the Queen of Thorns.
"But… milady… the Queen's orders…" he managed at last.
"The Queen!" Olenna scoffed. "Tell me, dear boy, are you aware of what is going on outside this city right now? No, of course you're not, look at you. Well let me explain – the Starks, this girl's family," she gestured to Sansa. "Are tearing the Westerlands into bloody pieces whilst Tywin, Cersei and your King Joffrey hide behind this city's walls like a child behind its mother's skirts. O n the other hand, my granddaughter's family and mine have a host of nearly sixty-thousand men outside these terribly fragile walls. Now, ask yourself whether you want to get on the wrong side of either of them."
And then he gave up. "Just go, and if the Queen asks where she's gone you'll be the one to answer to her."
Lady Tyrell smiled exasperatedly, like a mother would do when her child doesn't get the point. "Come girls."
Sansa froze in sheer shock when she came out onto the other side of the walls.
Row upon row, tent upon tent, fire upon fire, the Tyrell camp stretched further than Sansa's eye could even see. Men laughing, and singing, and drinking, and shouting, men who would one day kill her brother's men, men who one day might even kill her brother. One day soon.
"Big, isn't it?" Olenna said.
"I… I never expected it to be this… huge," Sansa breathed, blinking.
Margaery slipped her fingers between Sansa's and guided her forwards, towards the first row of tents. "We'll speak when we have some privacy," she whispered. "We have something to discuss with you."
"Thank God my tent is nearest to the city, else I'm afraid I would need assistance," Olenna pushed open the flaps of the first tent on the right. "The frailties of age come to everyone, unfortunately." Inside, Sansa was surprised to see that the tent was as big as her apartments in the city and had all the necessary furniture; a proper bed, a chest, a table, four chairs and a washtub. "I had all of this brought down from the city when we arrived," Lady Tyrell explained. "I may not trust our Lannister friends to host us, but I don't think that they have yet mastered the art of using furniture to spy on people."
Margaery lit a brazier to warm the place up and sat down, whilst her grandmother called for her handmaiden. She arrived a minute later with two trays laden with bread, cheese, bunches of grapes and a jug of what Sansa recognised as Arbor gold. "Thank you, my girl," Olenna took the trays from her and placed them on her table. "Now leave us, and ensure that we are not interrupted for anything less than dragons."
The girl nodded dutifully and left.
"Now, Sansa," Margaery began. As she spoke, Olenna took some cheese and a slice of bread from the tray. "Grandmother and I have more to discuss with you than the usual mindless chatter that you are probably used to from the noble ladies in this city."
"Yes, indeed," her grandmother took a small bite. "Margaery here is soon to become Joffrey's queen. Unlike your mother and father, I am not going to allow her to enter into this blindly; my granddaughter matters more to me than any of your kings or your grand cities. No, I intend to know what sort of man this Boy King is and whether I shall need to take precautions to protect our future Queen here."
They intend to trick me, Sansa was certain. They're working with the Queen to make an excuse to get rid of me.
"Joffrey is a noble king and a gallant warrior, my lady," she said, feigning adoration. "He alone should lead this kingdom as he alone has the blessing of the Seven and the gift of good grace-"
"I am sure you've learnt that little song well, dear," Olenna interrupted. "But I am more interested in the truth. I'm sure Aegon the Conqueror himself did not fit that description, and from the little I've seen of our good King Joffrey, he is no Aegon."
"He…" for a moment Sansa was torn – trust Margaery and her grandmother and she risked imprisonment, torture or maybe worse, distrust them and she could condemn her to live as Joffrey's plaything. "When I was his betrothed, he made me look at my father's head, he tried to rape me at court, his Seven would beat me regularly and his mother stood by and watched. That is what sort of man your future husband is Margaery."
Both women listened quietly as Sansa spoke, Olenna weathered face setting in cold determination whilst her granddaughter's became white as snow.
"I thank you for your honesty, Sansa dear," the Queen of Thorns nodded her head, patting Margaery's hand gently. "And don't you worry, girl. Your brother is one of his Seven and a better swordsman than the other six together. As long as I am alive and he is there you have nothing to fear. If Joffrey so much as slaps you I shall see that your father incites rebellion."
"That would be unnecessary, Grandmother," Margaery shook her head. "If I am to suffer a violent husband then so be it, but the Seven Kingdoms have bled enough."
It's amazing how a simple sentence can increase your respect for a person, but in that instant Sansa knew that her new friend would make a great queen.
"Nonsense, girl," Olenna dismissed her noble intentions but then turned to Sansa to show that there would be no further discussion of it. "Now, you."
"What about me?" Sansa asked as both of them surveyed her as if deep in thought.
"What do you know of my grandson Willas?" Olenna asked.
"He is the heir to Highgarden and the Reach," Sansa recalled all the lessons Septa Mordane had taught her on the young noblemen of Westeros. "When he was younger he was crippled in a tourney against Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne but since then has gone on to become a respected academic and a great breeder of dogs and horses."
"And hawks,"Margaery added, smiling. "You should see the hawks."
"I am sure Lady Stark shall be seeing both Willas and the hawks very soon. That is… if you would like to?" Olenna's eyes glinted at her.
"You mean I can go to Highgarden, my lady?" Sansa asked, shocked and excited.
"I am not just inviting you to Highgarden," the old woman's voice was deadly quiet. "I am proposing that you marry my grandson, and one day become the lady of the greatest of all seven kingdoms."