A/N: This story picks up shortly after Persist in Folly ends, but I intend it to be quite different. This is intended to be fluff, pure and simple. I tried my hand at writing something more serious in Persist, and now I'd like to attempt something a bit more light-hearted, especially as I'm in the middle of writing something much more literary of my own creation. If you haven't read Persist, the scenario is going to be confusing. Fair warning since I think I accidentally created an alternative universe. Does it need to be flagged as such? Let me know.
The night air was still sultry, but there was a refreshing thread of chill to it. Katryna Ashford wished she could enjoy it, but she found the swirl of people overwhelming. Her great pleasure in the night was watching her cousin, Alys, soak up the excitement of the festival with her dark head thrown back in laughter.
They'd spent months on their costumes, and Alys was radiant in her moss-green gown and the mask made of velvet leaves. She really was a wood-sprite, Katy thought, her dark hair falling down her back in a fall of smooth darkness. The music was looping through the grounds of Highgarden, the high notes of the flutes and the laughter of the revelers bouncing off the pale stone walls, and Alys was radiant with joy.
Her enjoyment was enough for the both of them. Not one to delight in such things, Katy kept to perimeter. She sat at their empty table in her half-hearted representation of her family's arms. Really, it was just an old yellow gown that she'd hastily embroidered with orange suns. She'd been far more invested in helping Alys with her own costume. Alys cared, Katy didn't. She was lucky that orange looked well enough on her, it didn't sap her skin like it did Alys'. Katy didn't look well in many things, but her hair and skin suited the color. Unlike her cousin, there wasn't much extraordinary to Katy's looks. She was a bit taller than average, lean from riding and getting her hands dirty in the garden but not thin, her features regular enough but not painted with beauty as Alys' were, as her sloe-eyed Tyrell cousins' were. She had freckles across her nose and all up and down her arms, which she usually kept hidden. Her only attribute of note was probably her hair, nut-brown with a sheen of red that fell in persistent ringlets. Tonight, she'd grown tired of them getting in the way of her eating and drinking, and she'd tied the whole bloody lot of it into a knot at the base of her head to keep it at bay.
Her carelessness wasn't exactly in keeping with the beautifully clad revelers around her in their carefully constructed costumes, their teeth flashing white beneath their masks. Katy hadn't even bothered with one, though she had taken care to help Alys with hers. There was no one Katy was trying to lure in with mystery, and she'd much rather been able to tuck into the roast chicken and pork without worrying about damaging her garments.
The invitation to the Harvest Festival at Highgarden had been expected. The Ashfords always received one. They were, after all, close cousins to the Tyrells and the Redwynes. Katy's own mother had been a Tyrell, a cousin once removed of the current head, Mace Tyrell, and while their blood always earned them a place at the festivities, they had seldom attended.
In fact, Katy was quite sure they hadn't attended since her mother died, and that had been nearly fifteen years ago and before Alys had joined their household.
Sweet, lovely, Alys Flowers. The bastard name for the Reach suited the girl even when it was spoken in insult. Bastard. The very word made Katy's skin crawl. That such an epithet should be used to describe her dearest cousin and only friend brought on a wave of indignation like a thunderstorm. In the past, it might have excluded her cousin from coming at all, even though she had just as much right to be a part of the feasting as Katy, and she was much better suited to it.
Things had changed in Westeros.
The end of the war had brought about a strange and stilted peace, like the people of the Seven Kingdoms were just remembering that they were all kin, like they were waking up from some long nightmare that had overtaken them for time out of mind. There was a new King on the Throne, and King's Landing had been destroyed and rebuilt again. King Jon they called him, though he'd been crowned Aegon, and his Queen Myrcella Baratheon, had begun their rule quietly, somberly, mourning along with the rest of the Kingdoms as they and their councillors began the tedious and risky work of stitching them all back together.
Olenna Tyrell, however, was not about to let tragedy and mourning rob her of her favorite diversion. The invitations for the Harvest Festival went out as scheduled. The Winter had passed and it was spring. This first harvest of the new season promised to be a bountiful one, and Olenna had truly outdone herself. Highgarden looked its best, the white walls of the castle gleaming in the golden light of the harvest moon, the leaves with their fresh foliage winking with the gleam of lanterns. She'd even managed to assemble some of the most notable personages in the Realm, all seated at the high table with her arranged in a neat row like baubles on a shelf.
There was the Commander of the Kingsguard, given leave to attend by the King himself, though she didn't look pleased at the arrangement. Brienne of Tarth was a fascinating creature, and Katy had watched her with interest throughout the evening. From their family table on the lawn she had a good view of the high table. The Commander would have been an impressive figure if she'd been a man, but she was an even more intimidating woman. Impossibly tall and straight of spine, she sat stiffly at the edge of the table, one hand perpetually on the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning the crowds and only occasionally distracted by her dinner partner.
Jaime Lannister was more handsome than Katy had expected, but also older and more worn looking than the stories had led her to believe. In them he was always brash and charming, but this man was much more subdued. He was seated next to the Lady of Tarth, and he'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to command her attention for the entire dinner. His focus, Katy thought, seemed confined to the table top or his seat mate. The light of the torches and the braziers picked out the silver strands in his hair and beard, and he had the aspect of a sad and disappointed lion.
There was Willas Tyrell among them as well, Katy's own cousin, and his father, and of course the great lady herself, Olenna resplendent in green in gold. To her right was lovely woman who Katy could not longer call young, but who was not yet old either. She'd heard the stories about the Mistress of Coin. She was, they said, uncannily intelligent, and there was that whole scandalous business about her abduction during the Battle of the Blackwater by the hulking brute who sat beside her. However, when Katy looked at her, the impression she got of Helenna Manderly-Clegane was one of quietude with a broad streak of kindness. It had been Katy that had first opened the letter written in Lady Helenna's hand informing them of the deaths of her brothers in the fall of King's Landing. Though short, the missive had been gracious, the expressions of condolence sincere. Katy could well imagine the woman seated at the high table had written such. She smiled easily but she spoke little unless Olenna turned to her. Sometimes the massive man with the eye patch and twisted skin who sat to her right would lower his head and speak in her ear. She would flick her gaze up into his face and then lower her lashes as she replied to him. He would humph and grip his tankard more tightly, clearly unhappy about being there at all as evidenced from the glower on his face.
Katy enjoyed watching them from her spot on the edge of the light, especially now that the dancing had begun. She was not one to dance, but she did enjoy watching others make such fools of themselves. Several of her Tyrell and Redwyne cousins were drunk past the point of standing, and she relished seeing them trip over themselves and wondered if they knew how entertaining they were to watch.
Alys danced, of course, letting herself by twirled about by the boys and young men they'd known since childhood. She was everyone's favorite, beautiful, fairy-like Alys with her black hair and eyes, her rosy lips. Her father had been a Redwyne, captain of one of the trading galleys, and he'd brought his dainty little daughter home from some years'-long excursion or another. Alys had come to the Ashford's when the captain died, a comrade of her father's from childhood with no other family prepared to foster the girl. Katy had been nearly twelve when the child was brought to their home, only six. Prickly from her birth, Katy had immediately softened toward her new companion, surprising both her parents. Despite the difference in their ages, wherever Katy went, there, too went Alys.
And now it was wherever Alys went, there, too, went Katy. Half-standing, Katy looked about the party. She could not see her cousin. Just a moment ago she'd been there in the center, twirling merrily with the others, but now she was nowhere to be seen.
Keeping her eyes on the ever-moving mass of people, Katy began a slow circuit as she searched for her. She was very nearly at the head table when she found her way blocked by a wiry man wearing a sword at his hip that was very much not a part of a costume.
"I beg your pardon, ser," she said, thinking that would be enough for him to stand aside and let her by.
"Given freely," he replied with a lift of his brows. Still, he did not move.
"If you would be so kind as to let me pass," she continued, a sizzle of irritation in her gut that threatened her ability to remain civil.
"Nothing to do with kindness, but I'm not inclined to change my position." She looked up at him sharply. He was not a young man, perhaps just a year or two older than Jaime Lannister himself. From the look of him, though, he'd not led such a luxurious life as the Kingslayer. He wasn't particularly tall, nor was he handsome. His face was a quarry of lines and crevices, the skin deeply bronzed and lined by the sun. The hard eyes that were fixed on her were a pale, washed-out blue, and they were studying her as closely as she was studying him.
"I need to pass," she said, swallowing. She didn't like not being able to see Alys. The two young women were there on their own with no escort and Alys was far too trusting for her own good.
"Not so as I can see. You've no need to go near the head table." He bit down on the inside corner of his lip and threw his eyes back out onto the throng of people dancing.
A guard, she thought quickly. He didn't look like a guard, and he wasn't wearing the livery of the Tyrell's.
"I'm looking for someone," she said, a little more solicitously.
"Who?" he asked, glancing back at her briefly.
"My cousin," she began, about to explain, but he cut her off again.
"They at the head table?"
"No," she replied, flustered.
"Then you don't need to pass." He shook his head and then, to her disgust, aimed a slug of spit at the ground near his feet. Katy balled her fists at her side and prepared to tell him just what she thought of his manners.
"Bronn," a low voice cut in, "is there something wrong?"
The guard's face softened immediately and he turned his body toward the speaker. Katy did not miss the look of chagrin that passed over his craggy face. He looked almost ashamed.
Helenna Manderly-Clegane was a few steps behind them both. Up close, she was prettier than Katy had thought, though the word pretty didn't seem quite right either. Handsome, perhaps. She was nearly as tall as the man she'd hailed as Bronn, her dark hair in a simply twist over her shoulder and falling to her waist. She wore little adornment, though she rouged her lips and kohled her eyes. They were a most perplexing color, shifting in the torchlight.
She quirked a dark brow at the man and he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his browned neck with a roughened hand.
"Just some girl tryna gawk at the fancy folk, Lenna," he replied. "Sending her on her way."
"Some girl, Bronn?" the lady laughed. Katy didn't know what to make of the man addressing the Mistress of Coin so familiarly, or the lady's reaction. "This is, if I'm not mistaken, Lady Katryna Ashford. My cousin." The guard's face fell.
"Cousin," Katy replied in shock, mouth going dry. "My lady-"
"Yes," the lady continued. "My grandmother was Lady Olenna's sister, Malleah Redwyne. Your mother, I believe was a Tyrell, and her mother a Redwyne. See, Bronn, we are all family." The guard grunted but he did let the women pass, Lady Helenna tucking Katy's hand into her elbow.
"I should have introduced you," she said, then stopped abruptly. "I didn't even introduce myself."
"Lady Helenna Manderly-Clegane," Katy supplied, awkwardly curtseying while still holding her arm. The other woman laughed.
"It's far too wordy," she replied. "Better Lenna instead." She paused. "Would you like me to call you Lady Katryna?"
Katy shook her head. "My family calls me Katy." Coming out of her mouth it sounded childish in her ears. Perhaps she should have asked to at least be called Katryna. Katy was more apt for a girl of thirteen instead of an old maid of five and twenty.
"Then Katy it shall be. Now," Lenna continued, looking around them, "who was it you were looking for?"
"My cousin, Alys," she replied, her voice dropping. "Alys Flowers."
"Ah, yes," Lenna replied. "She's been quite the toast of the evening hasn't she? Perhaps we can find her by the punch."
To Katy's own astonishment, Lenna led her through the throngs of people in the direction of the tables. Few people marked her, but it wasn't all that surprising. However, the search was futile. Alys was nowhere to be found.
"She can't have gone far," Lenna pronounced as she settled onto Katy's table. The Ashfords had only been afforded three places. Only two were occupied. "My aunt was surprised that you both came to the festivities."
"Lady Olenna noticed me?" Katy asked in surprise. She didn't think herself quite interesting enough to be noted by the hostess.
Lenna cocked an eyebrow at her, much as she had the guard. "Lady Olenna notices everything."
"Like you." Lenna nodded her head briefly in acknowledgement. "Why are you talking with me? We've never met before and I am not some grand lady."
"You are heiress to House Ashford," Lenna replied succinctly, "and never thought to be." Katy felt her blood recede from her cheeks. Lenna looked down. "I remember writing the letter about your brothers. I was there when the capital fell. And then I heard that the estate would be passed to you, that your father was ill. I meant to offer friendship, should you need it. I know something of what it is the be in your position."
"You are heiress to White Harbor," Katy bit out, not at all appreciating the look of pity on her companion's face. "My holdings are an old pile of rocks and a few dozen peasants."
"Your holdings are the same as mine," Lenna replied curtly. "The well-being of your people and their defense." Katy sat back on her bench and put her hands in her lap. Lenna took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I had not meant to speak with you like this, not here. Perhaps not ever. But I saw you tangling with Bronn and I thought to kill two birds together."
"Bronn?"
"That man back there," Lenna continued with an exasperated exhalation that was half laughter. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He's not your average knight, and he doesn't hold much with 'fancy folk' and their ways."
"I was handling myself well enough," Katy replied stiffly, thinking back to the insolent man with the slicked back hair.
Lenna laughed a little more genuinely. "Aye, you were. Whatever were you about to say to him when I cut in?"
"That he was a beslubbering blackguard who should know better than to pollute the ground with his filth."
Again, Lenna laughed, only this time she threw her head back and chortled like a girl and not one of the most powerful people in the Realms.
"I'd have paid fifty golden dragons to see it, and his reaction," she said, wiping her eyes. "We are a motley assortment, aren't we?" She turned over her shoulder and glanced at the head table. "Brienne of Tarth, the first woman commander of the Kingsguard. Jaime Lannister, erstwhile a Kingslayer and now a cripple, Willas- where did Willas go?- yet another broken thing, and of course, Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns who enjoys a party more than most things and would hate for you to know it." She paused, glancing at Sandor Clegane. He was staring straight back at them. "Not to mention myself and my husband."
"Did he really steal you?" Katy asked, unable to help herself.
"He did," Lenna replied with a fond smile that was almost conspiratorial. "But don't believe everything you hear in the ballads." She sat up a bit straighter. "Isn't this your cousin coming?"
Katy turned and there was Alys, her mask in her hand and her cheeks blooming with roses.
"Katy," she breathed, "isn't this just the most marvellous thing?" She threw her arms out in excitement as if she meant to embrace the whole world.
"I am glad you are enjoying yourself," Katy replied sincerely. "Alys, this is Lady Helenna Manderly-Clegane. She's our cousin."
Alys dipped a curtsy, her eyes wide as moons. "My lady."
"Join us," Lenna said. "Please. And put off with the 'my ladying.' The purpose of a masquerade is to be rid of such foolishness."
"None of us are wearing masks," Katy replied, taking a sip of her wine. Lenna smiled widely.
"No," she replied. "Indeed we are not."
The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly, even by Katy's standards. Lenna was not at all what she expected, in turns serious and then suddenly merry. She asked all manner of questions about Katy's home, her father, even her dead brothers. Through it all, she sprinkled the most intriguing morsels of her own experience as if they were nothing. The time she went to Dorne to fetch back Queen Myrcella, her friendship with Sansa Stark, the Wardeness of the North. She even slipped in details about the 'motley assortment' at the high table, about Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister and her own husband. Throughout her time at their table, he kept his eye steadily upon the three of them with an air of dark forbearance.
"He hates these sorts of things," Lenna said, rising to go. "I should put him out of his misery. Unfortunately for him, it is only beginning. How long are you staying?"
"We are to go back tomorrow," Katy replied. Though the festival would go on for a week, she did not want to say that they could not afford more than one night's lodgings, and it had been a trick to get that much from her father.
"Where are you staying?"
"At the inn," Katy replied, purposefully not naming which one.
"No," Lenna replied with a motherly tsk. "That won't do. Not at all. Don't move from here."
The girls looked at each other and watched as Lenna went deftly to her aunt and bent to whisper something in her ear. The old woman's eyes settled on Katy and Alys and her thin lips turned up into a smile. She nodded in their direction like a decision had been made.
Lenna came back to them and stretched out her hands.
"You will stay here," she said. "Rooms will be prepared for you and your things sent for. I will go face the wrath of my husband, but you should enjoy yourselves as long as you please. When you are ready, just ask one of the servants which way to go. Breakfast in the morning, if you please. I'll meet you on the terraces."
Katy wanted to say that Lenna was breezy, but everything about the exchange had been businesslike and efficient, though her warmth had been genuine. As she disappeared back into the crowd, her hulking husband rising to his feet with a lopsided scowl on his face, Alys slipped her hand into Katy's.
"What is happening?" she breathed.
Katy squeezed her hand but the same question was echoing in her own mind.
"I don't know," she replied, but when Alys pulled her back into the throng of people, she went reluctantly, even bringing herself to clap along with the music. When one of the young lords of the Arbor, Horas or Hobbard, presented himself as a dance partner, Katy found herself letting him slip an arm around her waist under the harvest moon.
A/N: Worth continuing?