As the decorated wheelhouse creaked and groaned, Lord Mace Tyrell huffed and grunted while shifting his weight every few moments. It had been seven and twenty days with Mace Tyrell as her traveling companion, and it was right to say that Sansa fared far better than her soon - to - be father in law.
"I say child, I will be quite happy when we reach Highgarden, I have grown tired of this wheelhouse. Even riding horseback would be more enjoyable." He pulled at his collar, clearing his throat. Sansa could agree, but she had learned early on in their journey that Mace Tyrell had no intention of riding horseback unless absolutely necessary.
Their journey took them along the Roseroad, an almost eight-hundred-mile trip that seemed to go by at an astonishingly slow pace, until Sansa began to think she would die of anticipation or boredom. Too soothe her nerves, she would think of each place they had passed, knowing it put her further and further away from the capitol.
Most days the sun shone brightly and the weather was calm and still. They had experienced a few unpleasant bouts of storms, though nothing too severe. With nothing but time to spare Sansa contemplated every decision she had made up until that time, over and over again until she made herself sick. It was so easy to place the blame on herself. It seemed like almost every horrible thing that happened had been cause by her somehow. She should have trusted her father and Arya more. If she had, they might have made it out of that city whole. Instead, Sansa was left all alone. Any family she had left alive was half way across Westeros, and it was likely she would never see any of them again.
The circumstances that took her to Highgarden were mostly unknown to her. The Tyrells were the second most powerful family in the Kingdom, and although she had grown to thoroughly enjoy Margaery's company it had been difficult to trust her. After the death of her father there had been little very little kindness in Sansa's life, and she had certainly given no one her trust. In fact, the day that Margaery and Olenna proposed their idea was the first day that she had even wanted to.
Margaery admitted that she had already brought it up to Joffery, which meant they had a very small, but open window of time. If Sansa wished it, they would take her on a 'tour' of Highgarden where upon her arrival she would marry Willas Tyrell in secret. She could still feel the sharp twinge in her chest as she had agreed almost immediately, the words flying from her lips. To refuse a match of that standing would have unbelievably rude and incredibly stupid, and completely impossible to do. It was the first and only way out, and she had to take it. Afterwards she couldn't help but panic as she wondered what kind of man she had agreed to marry. Her chest tightened and her heart raced, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Was it possible for him to be as cruel as Joffrey, or could be really be as kind as Margaery insisted he was? It was the greatest risk she had dared to take in years.
The evening before her departure, Sansa received a personal farewell gift from Joffrey in the form of fresh bruises around her neck. He visited her chambers in the early hours of the morning, the sky still dark. She woke to his nails digging into her skin, his hand wrapped around her throat. He squeezed and she began to choke, the fear welling in her heart. There was little for her to do but try and pull his hand from her neck while his other hand pulled her hair taunt. It went on and on until the edges of her eyes began to blur and darken, until she felt herself slipping away. Then suddenly the choking stopped and air rushed back into her starved lungs. She coughed and held her throat, rolling to her side. Joffrey yanked her back by her hair, his menacing beet red face almost touching her. His voice was low and sickening. "Remember, I can have you back any time I wish." He pushed her back down to the bed, moving to leave. She'd word a cloak drawn tight to hide the marks, her hair laid over anything that wasn't covered.
Sansa had cried when she finally left the gates of King's Landing, and it had taken all the strength she could muster not to when she spied the first glints of the golden roses in the distance. Highgarden was known for its imperial beauty that was rivaled by no other place in the Kingdom. It was surrounded by fields of golden roses that stretched on and on, leading up to the great castle. She yearned to see more, but her line of sight was frustratingly constricted by the tiny wheelhouse windows. Mace chuckled, his face filled with relief. "Thank the Seven. The first sign of home." Sansa smiled, nodding her head.
It took some time before Sansa could see the great castle, and another hour passed before they crossed through the first gates. The castle itself was simply captivating, a massive white stone construct. The smallfolk seemed almost happy. There was no air of unrest or suffering, a vast contrast to the atmosphere of King's Landing where people were dying in the streets and actively revolting.
They traveled through several more gates until they were at the innermost point of the castle where the Tyrell's themselves resided. After a quick farewell from Mace, Sansa was led directly to the chambers that had been prepared for her arrival. The room was huge and elegantly decorated. Beautiful feather pillows lay on an enormous bed and green velvet draperies hung beside large windows. The windows opened onto a balcony littered with roses and furniture meant for lounging. Upon further exploration Sansa found a carefully bound piece of parchment that bore the Tyrell seal in golden wax. Sansa took a deep breath as she picked it up gently. She opened the doors the balcony, standing in fading light of the sun. The air was fragrant and cool, the view breathtakingly perfect. The sky was streaked with pink and purples, giving the castle a surreal atmosphere. The balcony over looked an extensive rectangular garden filled with fountains, gazebos, and bursts of countless plants.
When Sansa finally found enough courage to unroll the letter, her stomach was in knots and her heart panged wildly. The hand writing was neat and bold, and her eyes drank the carefully penned words in.
'My dearest Sansa,
Welcome to Highgarden. I know that your journey will have been long and tiresome, but I must confess that I have impatiently awaited your arrival. Your letters have been a greater treasure than you could know. I count the moments until we meet at last.
W'
She gasped softly, feeling the heat rise to her face. Every one of Willas' letters had been so charming and wonderful, their exchange beginning after she left the confines of King's Landing. They left her awestruck and made her completely smitten for a man she had never laid her eyes on, a supremely conflicting feeling. She thought of Willas then, suddenly much more aware of his proximity. Mere hours stood between them now, nothing compared to what had passed.
Sansa's hands were still clutching the letter firmly to her chest when two women bid entrance to her chambers. The handmaidens introduced themselves and lead her to an adjoining room where she was treated to a deeply satisfying bath. Scented candles burned all around her, soft pink rose petals floating in the water. They scrubbed her clean and brushed her hair until it was dry, the entire process leaving her thoroughly exhausted. The room was quiet and the sun had already set by the time she was left to her own devices again, but sleep pulled at her body. She closed her eyes for a few hours, but woke restless to a moonlit room. Every time she closed her eyes she imagined a thousand different Willas Tyrells, each with their own personality and face. She even found herself whispering his name so there would be no chance of fumbling her words in the morning.
Margaery had done her best to tell Sansa as much as she could about Willas, and had turned out to be a plethora of information. He was most obviously eldest son and heir to Highgarden, but so much more than that. Margaery depicted him as a kind man, loyal to his family and his people. A positive, yet truly biased opinion. It mattered not, in a week's time she would be wed to Lord Willas Tyrell, and if there was the smallest chance of happiness behind the walls of Highgarden, Sansa owed it to herself to find it.