Okay, wow.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I did not expect you to receive this story in such a way. It means a lot. The follows, the reviews, everything.
I was thinking of letting it simmer for a while, but it's just too good of a story to put it on pause, isn't it. I will be juggling this and my other GOT story, Running up that hill, so I'm not sure how often will I be able to update, but I have big plans for this. And the best part of this is, SO MANY CHARACTERS! I am not focused on one particular family. I hope I do them justice.
Let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy chapter 2! :)
I run down the corridor, fully aware that I was late. With my hair done and wearing nothing but a night gown, I run to the only person that could be my rescuer in this situation.
Margaery jumps up in surprise when I storm into her room, not bothering to knock.
"I need a dress," I tell her, breathless from the running. "I need a dress now."
"What? What kind of dress? Don't you have any dresses of your own?" She asks me with a frown.
"You speak as you do not know the Queen of Thorns," I say, still struggling to breathe properly, winded from the run. "If she sees me wearing any color other than the ones of our house, she will have me strangled in my sleep."
"Fair enough," Margaery agrees with a smile. She walks into the room where she kept her dresses; that is how many dresses she had. I wait for her, knowing that she would be my rescuer. "Green or gold, low cut, I would imagine?" I hear my sister ask.
"Yes," I agree. "And one that is not so tight. You know you are smaller than I am."
"Only in the chest, you lucky girl," I hear her comment and I laugh as I shake my head. With a face like hers, one would lose all the rights to complain. "Ah, I found the perfect one." She announces as she walks out of the room, holding a dark green dress with pale green, floral broidery. "You can keep this one as well; dark shades suit you better than they suit me, with that hair of yours." She smiles.
Margaery and Loras are like twins. Light brown hair, brown eyes. Willas and I are similar to one another as well; dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. All but our skin was a shade darker than on Loras and Margaery. I cannot complain with what my family and the Gods gave me. Perhaps I could not be Maragery's equal, but I am not difficult for someone to look at.
"Could you help me with it?" I ask as I stumble out of my night gown. I could not afford to be embarrassed in front of my own sister. She helps me, tying the dress in the back. "Darling, this is too tight." I say, looking down at my chest and how exposed it was.
"Did you not say low cut?"
"I did, but I also said not too tight."
"Ah, stop complaining," my sister laughs at me. "If anything, the Queen of Thorns will be proud of you, catching eyes of possible suitors."
"Which one, dear sister?" I jump up as she tightens the dress more, with the strength I never would associate with her. "Were we looking at the same crowd of men, over these last few days? Because I have not seen anyone remotely interesting."
"To you, perhaps," she agrees. "To Grandmother, however… she will find you a husband by the end of this, Clara. The only question is whether or not she chooses someone you like."
"You might be right. Let us hope someone suitable arrives soon." I joke.
"Who? Almost everyone is already here," Margaery informs me. "The only ones that are yet to arrive are the Lannisters, and we know them well. The Starks as well. And a handful of knights."
"More than enough to improve this existing mess," I complain, making my sister laugh. "I am not asking for much, am I? I wish for an interesting man that is not much older than me. Finding him attractive could be an added benefit, but it is not necessary. I just wish to not marry someone as old as our father, if not even older." I admit.
"Whoever they end up choosing for you, I hope you end up happy," Margaery takes me by the shoulders and turns me around, so that I can look at her. "Who would have thought that with all the differences between two of us, you would be the one looking for romance and a charming knight?"
"You want power and I do not," I give her a small smile. "We simply want different things."
"But why?" She asks me. "Why don't you want power?"
"If I wanted it as well… we could not have power in the same place. And if having power meant going up against my sister, I would never want it."
The truth is, I thought about it. Of course I have. Would I like to be a Queen? I have no particular desire to rule, but I would not find myself complaining if that was to become my life. However, in Westeros, there cannot be more than one Queen. And my sister was born to be one. I was born to be someone else, someone different, someone of less importance.
"It will never get to that," Margaery gives me a reassuring smile. I do not have a chance to respond and say that I hope so as well; I am interrupted by a horn, a horn signalizing that more guests have arrived. Margaery lets go of me and runs up to the window. "It's the Lannisters." She informs me.
"Let's not keep them waiting then," I suggest. We link arms and make our way through the castle, to wait for them at the grand staircase. We were the only ones there, but that did not come as a surprise to us. Willas is entertaining some of our other guests, and father is doing the same. Loras has not yet arrived from King's Landing. Mother is following father wherever he goes and Grandmother is probably plotting away in the comfort of her quarters. That leaves Margaery and me with the task of greeting some of our most important guests.
I do not have a particular love for the Lannisters, but that was mostly because I do not have a particular love for Cersei Lannister, our Queen. Her brothers were alright in my eyes. They have been nothing but kind to me, even the Kingslayer. I saw no reason to openly dislike them, despite the rivalry between our houses. A slow simmering and well hidden rivalry, at that.
The first one I see is Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. He looked as handsome as ever. Perhaps even too handsome for a man, with the golden hair and green eyes. And, of course, that famous smirk.
"Lady Margaery. Lady Clara," He greets us as he walks over to us, kissing the back of my sister's hand before taking my own and doing the same. "It is a pleasure to see you both again."
"Welcome to our home, Ser Jaime," Margaery smiles at him. "We hope your journey here was safe."
"Safe, yes. Unfortunately, not as comfortable," Jaime smiles at here. "Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to be here, Lady Margaery. You and your sister are as lovely as I remember."
"Thank you, Ser Jaime," I speak up, smiling at the man. "I hope you enjoy your stay here and the tournament. The servants will take you up to your chambers. A warm bath, comfy bed and delicious food are waiting for you."
"Thank you, Lady Clara. I look forward to seeing you both later." Jaime nods as he follows a servant into the castle. As soon as I turn around to look at their cavalry, I notice someone else approaching us.
Tyrion Lannister. The Imp, the dwarf, the disgrace of the Lannister name.
And the funniest, smartest man I have ever met.
"Lord Tyrion," I smile at him. Ignoring the rules I should uphold, as a Lady, I lower myself to be closer to Tyrion's height and I hug him. When I pull away, he smiles at me. "It is so nice to see you again."
"It is nice to see you as well, my dear Clara," He smiles, and then moves on to greet my sister; she does not do the same as I did; she simply offers him her hand, which he kisses. "Lady Margaery, as lovely as always. Finally, I will have a chance to enjoy the beauty of Higharden."
"It is about time, is it not?" I ask, making the man smile. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Lord Tyrion."
"Our servant will take you to your quarters, Lord Tyrion," Margaery tells him and with a nod of his head, Tyrion follows the servant into the castle, just as his brother did. There will be time for a conversation. "Now we just have to wait for the Starks and for the knights." She sighs.
"Like our town isn't overcrowded as it is," I sigh. I did not agree with this tournament from the beginning. The last time we were a part of a tournament, my brother was unhorsed by Oberyn Martell and ended up a cripple. And the biggest tournament in Westeros history started a war, a war that gave us a new King and too many dead to count. "It will be over soon enough." I say, unsure if I was trying to reassure my sister or myself.
"That it will," Margaery agrees. "Oh, this does not look good." She sighs and I look up, trying to see what she was looking at. It did not take me long to realize. Oberyn Martell was standing, leaned on a wall and staring down at the Lannister men. I could see the distaste in his eyes, even from this distance. Oberyn is not an easily readable man, but now, he was an open book. Knowing him, this was a reason for worry. Margaery, who barely knows the man, could see it as well. "Will you handle that?"
"I will," I sigh. Willas and I are the only ones in our family that do not look at Oberyn with dismay, and we are the only ones he actually… likes. If anyone was to give him a warning, it would have to be Willas or me. And Willas is nowhere to be seen. "Go on, I will join you later." I tell her.
"Good luck," she tells me with a small smile.
I take a deep breath and I make my way to Oberyn, avoiding the Lannister men as I walked. He did not even notice me, not until I stood right in front of him. He tries to hide his anger, but he does not succeed; I have already seen it. I smile and I link our arms.
"Walk with me," I tell him, and not waiting for him to respond, I pull him by the arm and make him walk with me. I smile at those who pass us buy, nodding at them if they nod; it was nothing unusual about this. A prince and a highborn lady walking together; it is hardly something unexpected. Oberyn was silent and so was I, until we were in the garden labyrinth and away from prying eyes. "I understand why you dislike the Lannisters and while that is understandable, I must warn you. Be careful of what you say or do while you are here, Oberyn. We do not want an incident in our home." I warn him.
"I will do nothing," Oberyn shakes his head. "They may be Lannisters, but it was not the dwarf that killed and raped my sister." He tells me.
"Oberyn, I understand your desire for revenge, but I beg of you, don't do anything stupid."
"I will not," He reassures me again, smirking down at me. "Dorne is patient. Dorne can wait. The longer Dorne waits, the sweeter revenge will be. See, my love, revenge is like… Dornish wine. The longer it waits, the better it tastes. Revenge is like… a lover. The more experience he has, the better lover he will be." He explains, that smirk still present. Only Oberyn Martell could find a common thread between revenge and passion.
"Why does every word that comes out of your mouth sound like it has a hidden meaning?"
"Because it does," He admits, without shame. "It does and you know it, my love."
"Oberyn," I warn him, unlinking our arms and stepping away from him. "We have had this discussion. I am not insulted when you speak like that, but you will not bed me."
"You were a different person in Dorne," He sighs. This time, he was no longer smirking at me. "You were free. You were wild. You were yourself." He reminds me. He is right. I was free and wild and I was myself. That is what a person is, when they are away from home. That is what someone becomes, when they are having fun. For that one month, I did not need to be Clara of House Tyrell and I took that chance. I took that chance and I would take it again.
"Yes, I was," I agree. "I am home now, Oberyn. There is a way I need to act. There is a façade I must keep. It is not my choice; it is a rule. I refused you time and time again, in Dorne and here. And you know why. I am to be married, Oberyn." I remind him.
"Yes, you are," he says, and I felt relief when I saw that smirk of his reappear again; I thought I might have angered him. "And that is a shame."
"You make it sound as if you would want to take me to Sunspear yourself." I laugh.
"Yes, I would," he confirms. "I would marry you straight away. I would take you to Dorne. I would offer you all of my riches and make love to you every night, and watch you give me eight more children." He sighs; his words came as a surprise to me. It takes me a moment before I could find the right words.
"I'm flattered to know you have obviously considered that possibility."
"I have considered that from the moment I laid eyes on you," He laughs. "Alas, I will not do it."
"Why not?" I ask him. "I am not hurt. I am curious." I explain.
"For one, there is not a woman in this world that would make me give up Ellaria," he smiles, thinking of his lover. "Not even you. You know Ellaria would never have a problem with you, but I know you, Clara. You would not like that. And I would rather not have you than to put you through that misery. Besides, no matter how good my offer would be, your father would never give me your hand."
"He might," I tell him, shaking my head. "Willas and I changed his mind, if only a little. He might do it."
"But you would not be happy, would you?" Oberyn asks.
"No, probably not," I answer, honestly. Neither he nor Ellaria held back when it comes to their offers. I knew very well that I could share their bed, if I only wanted to. I'll admit, the thought is… intriguing. The two of them are beautiful and kind, and tales of Oberyn's conquests in bed were well known through the land. As intriguing as it might be, it would also be overwhelming. And I will only ever belong to the man that marries me. I grew up with that notion and that is the way I want it to be. My husband will be the only one that beds me, whoever he might be. And just as Oberyn said, I would not be happy with the notion of sharing my husband. "She is your love, Oberyn. No woman will ever come close to her, nor should she. You do not need a wife."
"No, I do not," He smiles. "That doesn't mean I don't want you."
"Flattered and intrigued I may be, but I will have a husband, Oberyn. I will belong to him." I tell him.
"You belong to no one, woman," he warns me. "The sooner you learn that, the better. Only in Dorne, women are not one's property. No wonder they leave you unsatisfied, when you should be treated as equals. You will never belong to your husband. Marry. Do your duty and I will do mine. You will be more than welcome to Dorne, when you come searching for real passion." He smiles.
"Why are you so certain that no one else would please me?" I laugh.
"Who could it be, then?" he asks. "One of the Northern boys, those whose blood doesn't boil, but is frozen? Or maybe the young Baratheon, who wouldn't know how to handle a woman for the life of him. Who else is left? They are all either children or old men. Your father would never give you to a lesser house. My love, you will either go north or to the Imp. Would you marry the imp?" He asks.
"I would."
"Of course you would, if your family tells you to," he agrees. "Would you ever do it by choice?"
"I would." I repeat.
"You would? Why?"
"Because he can make me laugh." I reply.
"Ah, my love," Oberyn sighs, shaking his head at me. "You are too good for this wretched world."
"I am not," I disagree, shaking my head. "I just do not know what it is that I want. I grew up knowing that it will be the call of my family, Lady Olenna, to be precise. And I am alright with that. That is the world we live in. If I was born in a smaller family, as a common girl, it would be my choice. But now that it is not, I cannot worry myself about the choice, when it will not be up to me."
"You are different when you are with your own people," Oberyn tells me. "I'm not sure if I like this Clara." He adds. I was unsure how to react to that.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You hold yourself back. Your laugh isn't as loud as it was in Dorne. You do not smile as wide, or talk as honestly. What happened to the woman that wielded that spear with such ease?"
"Oberyn," I give him a warning look. "That is not common knowledge." I remind him.
"You think people will judge you for learning how to use a spear?" he asks through laughter.
"It is not judgment I worry about," I shake my head. "I am a Lady, Oberyn. I am not… a warrior princess."
"Why did you do it then?"
"Because it was fun. Fun, different and dangerous. And I was curious. I did it because I wanted to do it, not because it was a skill I would ever use." I tell him.
I remember it with such clarity. I remember the sun burning my skin, I remember the sweat from under my hair; I was foolish enough to keep it lose, even in the Dornish heat. I remember the ease and elegance with which Oberyn moved as he was teaching me, not only how to use the spear in my hand, but how to avoid the one he used. It was more like a dance than it was a fight.
I remember that I could never perfectly imitate his moves, no matter how hard I tried. I remember Willas, Ellaria, Trystane and the eldest Sand Snakes, watching us and cheering for me, reassuring me as I was embarrassing myself. No one could ever match Oberyn and his skills, especially not a girl that never held a spear before in her life.
We practiced almost every day, and by the time Willas and I set off on our journey back home, I knew how to handle the spear quite well, having learned from the best.
I could still not match Oberyn and his skills, not even close, but that was not my goal to begin with. As I just told him, it was never about mastering a much needed skill; it was never about knowing how to defend myself. I had a completely different goal.
I wanted to do something fun, something I could not imagine myself doing, not even in my wildest dreams. Something that I know would stop Olenna Tyrell's heart, if she only knew about it. That was my own little rebellion. I never planned to continue with it.
"My love, you are such a contradiction," Oberyn smiles at me. It was not a seductive smile, the one he usually wears, at least when he speaks to me. I think it might be pity. He looks as if he is feeling sorry for me, which is not a look I am used to. "You want to be wild and to have fun, but you also want to do what is expected of you. You will marry whoever they chose for you, but you want to fall madly in love. You are dear to my heart, you know that. You do not have to share my bed to have my love and support, Clara. I worry for you. You need to decide what will it be. You can never be happy, not until you chose one. Follow others and do what is expected, or do whatever it is that you want to do."
Not even his sultry voice could make it seem less terrifying. And it truly was terrifying, because I know he is right. Happiness is something I hope for, yet at the same time, I am saying goodbye at the possibility.
I cannot be wild and free, while at the same time, I am what my family expects and more than that, what my family needs me to be. Our land is not a safe place. We went to war easily, not that long ago. We might go to war again. And for that, my family might need me.
Would I ever say no to it? And for what? To run around the fields with flowers in my hair? To become known as the one who found no one good enough to be her husband? To wield a sword or a spear and to curse and laugh in the most unladylike fashion? No. It is not worth it.
"Perhaps happiness is not achievable. Perhaps happiness is not realistic. Or it is simply not for me."
"My dearest Clara, if you do not have happiness, you have nothing."
When I was a child, no more than 10 years old, I was still too young to travel. Father and Mother would leave us behind with Grandmother, while the two of them traveled all around Westeros, even Essos.
We would stay behind and at first, we would only ever travel to our vassal Houses. The result was that the four of us formed strong bonds amongst us, some stronger than others. Also, the number of our childhood friends was quite low. Apart from the children living in our town, the children we would spend most of our time with were sons of Randyll Tarly, Samwell and Dickon and their eldest sister, Talla.
I was young and… simple. And that resulted with me falling in love with Dickon Tarly when I was still a child.
Gods, I thought I would love the boy until my dying day. He was handsome and easy on the eye, strong and capable, favored with his father. I thought I was going to marry him one day, that he would be my prince and that we will live happily ever after, together, at Horn Hill.
When I grew up, I realized just how foolish I was as a child.
Dickon Tarly is a self-centered, self-absorbed idiot. Oberyn would use the word "cocky" to describe him, but I would prefer the word "mean". All other flaws aside, I could never forget the way he would treat his older brother, Samwell.
Samwell, who is the kindest person I have ever met, with a heart and mind too large for this world.
Dickon was favored with his father, but that was no excuse. Margaery has always been the favorite in our family, and not once did she use that against me, not once was she as despicable as Dickon was with his brother. My young and foolish hopes were soon shattered. Dickon was not the fine prince that would make my life a fairytale.
Being seated next to him for the grand feast, the first of many, was pure torture.
"Do you think I will win?" Dickon asks me.
"Win what?"
"Well, the tournament of course," He laughs. "Many great fighters will be present. It will not be easy, definitely not, but I think I stand a chance. What about you?"
"Where is Samwell?" I ask him, disregarding his question. "Why is he not here?"
"What, so that he could participate?" Dickon laughs, looking at me as if my question was stupid. "Sam can't even hold a sword, let alone wield it."
"He is the heir of your House. He deserves to be here, does he not?" I ask. Dickon avoids my eyes, obviously not agreeing with the opinion I just shared. I am not surprised by it; what I am surprised is that he did not even bother to deny it.
I can only worry about the sitting arrangements. I am not seated next to him by accident. I have never considered him as a possible husband to me, simply because he is from a lesser house, and I thought that Grandmother would rather die than waste her grandchildren to lesser houses. Now, seeing that I am attached to him, I wonder if I was mistaken.
Perhaps Margaery would be enough? If that is the case, if my marriage would not be a necessity, why is it not my choice then? Marriage to Dickon Tarly sounds more painful than falling from the highest tower.
"Lady Clara," I hear a voice and when I turn around, I see Tyrion Lannister standing next to me. "May I borrow you from Lord Tarly? If only for a moment? He asks.
"Not a problem at all," I speak up, jumping from my seat and putting my hand on Tyrion's shoulder, following him through the crowd and away from Dickon. "Thank you for that rescue." I say in a low voice, careful not to let anyone hear us. We sit down at a small table, possibly the only empty one, as the hall was crowded. With all the noise, there was no need for me to bother with keeping my voice low; I did so nonetheless. If there is anything that my Grandmother taught me, it is to be careful, at all times. Even when I am in my own home.
"You looked as if were moments away from drowning yourself in your goblet." He tells me and I laugh.
"I'm afraid your observations were correct." I sigh.
"Is it possible that I am better company than the gallant Lord Dickon Tarly?" He asks.
"At any given moment," I admit, smiling back at him. "A capable warrior he is, I am sure of it. Being a capable warrior has nothing to do with one's ability to have a decent conversation. I am afraid Dickon Tarly is not a man complete."
"Will you be sentenced to a lifetime of that, Lady Clara?" Tyrion asks me. I was not aware that my marriage was the affair of the entire Kingdome; I thought that only my family bothered with that. With Oberyn asking me about it and now Tyrion doing the same, I realize that perhaps my family is not the only one looking for an ally.
"Hopefully not," I admit. "I find that highly unlikely. It would be like planting seeds into the ground twice; Tarly's are our vassal house. Why make an alliance when you already have one?"
"Are you not worried they will send you north, into the cold of Winterfell? Or south, into the boiling heat of Dorne?" He asks me.
"Afraid is such a strong word," I shake my head. "Fear… if I am to feel fear, I will feel fear for something that should induce fear. Marriage is marriage. A long time ago, it must have had more meaning. I am sure that some marriages in Westeros are based on love. Most are based on deals. I grew up knowing it would be a deal and perhaps, with any luck, I would enjoy the company of my husband. I am not afraid of that. I am not particularly joyous either, but I am not afraid." I explain, earning a small smile from Tyrion. "And what of you, Lord Tyrion? Are you not afraid they will marry me off to you?" I ask.
Sometimes, I am too bold on the tongue. I take too much from my Grandmother.
"Afraid is such a strong word," He repeats my words and I chuckle. "No, my Lady. That will not happen. Your family knows better, I am afraid. And I am not such a good man. A lady like you deserves better."
"What is better?" I ask him. "Is it Dickon Tarly? The Stark boy? Renly Baratheon? Better?"
I have no particularly desire to marry Tyrion, no more than I would want to marry Oberyn. Chances are slim with both, but out of all the possible matches, I would be the most satisfied with these. Oberyn I know. Oberyn I like. That marriage would give me plenty of difficulties, but at least I would be sure of my own safety. I do not know Tyrion as well, but I know he has a kinder heart than the rest of his family. That much I could see on numerous occasions. A dwarf he may be, but he is not a monster.
"Yes," he nods his head. "You are too young to understand, Lady Clara."
"Enlighten me, then." I reply, leaning over the table. "Money means little to my family. We have more than enough of it. Looks are of even lesser importance, given that I am the only one that will bed my husband. It won't be my Grandmother, or my father. It all comes down to a name. All I can hope for is to marry someone who will be kind. The rest is useless."
"Perhaps you understand after all," Tyrion looks at me, frowning, as if he is trying to discover something that my words won't reveal for themselves. "There are very few good people in this land, Lady Clara. You are one of them."
"Good? Good is such a strong word," I sigh, looking away. "I don't know if you are right about that, Lord Tyrion. I am smart. That I can assure you."
He looks at me for a long time. I could not read him, no matter how hard I tried. We simply stare at each other, not saying a word to one another, ignoring the crowd, the cheers and the songs around us.
"Clara," a voice calls out for me, and when I turn, I see Margaery standing close to our table. "Clara, come. I need your help," she smiles as she waves me over. I give Tyrion a nod before making my way to my sister, who links arms with me and starts walking as soon as I get to her. "You are welcome."
"Come again?" I ask her, confused.
"People would talk," she warns me, smiling at those who we passed by, not looking directly at me. "It is not in your best interest for people to see you friendly with Tyrion Lannister."
"Why not?" I ask her in surprise. Out of all the people who could have come up to me and say those words, I never would have expected it to be Margaery.
"Your future husband might be in this room, Clara," she explains, still smiling around at people, acting as we were simply two sisters, having a light, carefree chat. "And he is not Tyrion Lannister."
"Being friendly with the son of one of the biggest Houses in Westeros could hardly ruin my prospects."
"It could if people start talking, and you know people love to talk," she tells me, finally turning to look at me; she was not smiling anymore. "I have had to play this game for longer than you have and believe me sister, it is not an enjoyable game. Be careful with how much time you spend with Tyrion Lannister. And with Oberyn Martell as well. When people start to talk, not even the truth could stop them."
A part of me was angry at my sister for saying this. As someone who has known me her entire life, she should have known better. It does not take me long to realize I am not the issue in her story.
If I am to play the game, I must learn from the best. And the best just happens to be my sister.