Author's Note: I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and how long it took to write, but I've been very busy with my personal life. Thanks for anyone who continues to read this, and as ever, reviews are appreciated!
Complete and utter silence. Olenna stared. Sansa breathed. Between them lay the chest of letters, its gaping lid proclaiming her guilt.
"Hmm?" the little woman stepped into the moonlight so that Sansa could see her face properly. She had a stern set to her face, yet her lips betrayed amusement. "Have you no songs to sing, girl?"
Sansa tried to speak but her throat was dry and all that escaped her mouth was a strangulated noise. I've ruined everything.
"You don't feel like singing I see," Olenna said, glancing down at the chest. "Shall we start off with what you know, or think you might know?"
"I…" Sansa began. "Why are you plotting with Stannis' Hand?"
"I can't tell you that for obvious reasons, Sansa," the woman laughed. "The letters in that chest have a lot of confidential information in them, information that will save these Seven Kingdoms from the brink of destruction. And one day soon, you will know all of it. But not now, not today. Is that understood, Sansa?"
"You mean," Sansa could barely believe it. "You mean, you're not going to send me back to Joffrey?"
"Dear Gods, no," Olenna snorted. "You're much too valuable to us for me to do that. And I suppose you're a little likable too," seeing Sansa's relieved smile, her face hardened again. "But these letters are to be left undisturbed. If I find you have looked through them again, I will make Cersei Lannister look like a hospitable and loving host."
"I… I understand," Sansa bowed her head in deference to the old lady. "Thank you for your kindness; I am forever in your family's debt."
Olenna pursed her lips. "Soon you shall be my family, if my plan goes well. We shall be kin, bound by the Seven and all the laws of our realm."
Sansa nodded, unsure what to say.
"But anyway," Olenna bent down laboriously to pick up the box of letters. "We still must socialise tomorrow, and I like to have my wits about me; some of these clucking hens think to challenge my position on occasion, because they think me weak and frail. I destroy them every time, but they never learn. Go back to bed, girl, I shall join you once I have dealt with this."
She began shuffling through the letters in the box, seemingly sorting them into two groups; but Sansa wasn't only tired, she was relieved and grateful. So she nodded and got into bed and, not looking at what Olenna was doing, promptly closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.
Clear and mild, the next day dawned. Sansa woke past midday and found the tent empty; Olenna must have had private business elsewhere, else she would have woken her. She had to admit that, as she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she seriously considered looking under the old woman's bed again, to read a few letters. But then, sense prevailed. If I look through those letters, she will find out and send me back into the lions' den.
Having decided that she wasn't going to stay in the tent for Olenna to return, Sansa decided that she had best go outside and explore the camp. After all, she was one day going to be the Lady of Highgarden, and they would all owe her fealty. "Best to know your vassals," Ned Stark had always told his children. "Never ask a man to lay down his life for someone he doesn't know." She perused her small collection of clothes in her trunk, deciding which one she would wear today; it was small because the moment that Tywin had given her leave to move to the Tyrell camp she had ordered all of the dresses gifted to her by Cersei or Joffrey burnt or thrown away. What she was left with was a ragtag bunch of dresses that barely fitted her anymore and were many months out of fashion. In the end, she decided on a simple Tully blue dress which was just tight enough to emphasise her feminine curves without making her seem wanton. It should do, for now.
As the breeze cut through its cotton folds, stabbing at her goose pimpled flesh, she knew that she needed to visit the seamstress. But not now - Lord Redwyne's tent was just ten paces away, and he seemed a good place to start. Be like mother, Sansa raised her head to show confidence. You are a daughter of Winterfell. "Lord Redwyne?" she called, tentatively pushing the flap of his tent open. But she wasn't answered by Lord Redwyne.
Instead a woman's voice called, "Enter!"
Sansa did as she was bid and found that, upon entering, she had been called in by a curvaceous woman with long, wavy blonde hair. "Did you want something, Lady Sansa?" she smiled.
"Yes, if I may, my lady," she bowed her head respectfully. "But I regret to say that I do not know who you are."
The lady laughed, tossing her head back and cackling mischievously. "I must say it has been a while since someone has had to ask," she said eventually. "I am Irelia, the Lady of the Arbor, Sansa. I've been looking forward to meeting you much indeed. Would you take some wine?" she gestured to a jug which was on the desk in front of her.
"I would love to, Lady Irelia," Sansa nodded and graciously accepted a goblet which was brimming with, would you believe it, Arbor gold. "I've come to you because I think I should get to know the ladies of the Tyrell court – I'm far too familiar with those from King's Landing, I wondered if perhaps the south might offer richer company. So far Lady Olenna and Margaery have proved me correct."
"Please, sit," her host said. Sansa sat down on a stool, but Irelia simply perched her rear on the desk. "You have come to the right place if you wish to familiarise yourself with the flock of Highgarden, Sansa. But there is one fundamental difference of the Reach which you must understand if you are to know the ladies here truly. Have you guessed what it is yet?"
"Olenna is in charge," Sansa said without hesitation; the Lady of the Arbor's eyes sparkled with approval and her lips curved into a smile. "She controls Mace, and by extension, his lands. She considers men beneath her. Would I be right in guessing that she likes to keep her fellow women privy to the business of the men?"
"Oh, more than privy, Lady Stark," Irelia smirked. "Women are in charge of the Reach. Excusing some chauvinistic pigs like Randyll Tarly, of course. But very observant anyway."
"That is much more encouraging than the North," Sansa admitted, barely thinking what she was saying. "I had accepted my future lot as a wife, mother and administrator of my husband's household."
"You know, my lady," Irelia cocked her head. "You should watch your tongue when speaking to people you don't know. Luckily, I know about Olenna and Margaery's plot to marry you off to Willas, but if I didn't I would certainly suspect something by now."
"What?" Sansa's voice was suddenly strained and she felt her face burning in crimson embarrassment. "I… You know… How?"
"I am one of Lady Olenna's "inner circle", as it were," she explained, draining her cup almost lazily. "I, along with a few other ladies of the court, am privy to most of her plans. There are a few which for now she refuses to tell us, but we have the utmost faith in her – she's gotten us through crippling debt, a civil war and the Dornish Incursion of 271AL. Olenna is a capable woman. More than capable."
"Well then," Sansa gathered her thoughts quickly. "If I am one day to be the Lady of Highgarden, I would know my vassals. Can you help me with this, Lady Redwyne?"
"I am afraid, dear Lady," Irelia stroked her chin slowly. "That Olenna has already trained Lady Margaery to take over in her stead as "Queen" of the Reach, if you will. I fear that the idea of another woman having power over the place might… displease her."
"Queen Margaery will have power over all of the Seven Kingdoms when she weds Joffrey. I hardly doubt she will take offense at me wanting to know my future vassals," Sansa raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Besides, we're becoming fast friends."
"I suppose," Redwyne nodded hesitantly. "I suppose there's no harm in introducing you to the flock. Do not be mistaken though; many will not treat you kindly, and some may be openly hostile. You're a new girl, beautiful and from blood more noble than most, even in the highborn courts. Women are creatures of jealousy, and you should get used to it."
"I understand," she said solemnly. "I oft suspect that Cersei is jealous of me, the way she has treated me."
The Lady of the Arbor cackled her wicked laugh. "The lioness jealous of the wolf pup," she smirked. "She also detests Margaery, did you know that? This Queen Regent sees threats where she has allies and is envious of her prisoners; when she falls, she will fall hard."
Sansa was going to ask what she meant before she realised that she already knew - the Tyrells were indeed plotting against the crown.
"But yes," Irelia continued. "You want to know the ladies of the Reach. Find me at Tarly's ball tonight and I'll introduce you to many of them, does that sound good?"
"I…" Sansa nodded eagerly. "That sounds excellent, my lady, I am most grateful."
"Perfect," she smiled. "Go back to Lady Olenna's tent, Lady Stark, and I'll meet you at the ball later."
"Yes, my lady, I look forward to it," she drained her cup, curtsied and left.
Upon her return to the tent, Sansa was accosted by several handmaidens who fussed over her incessantly; Olenna had taken the liberty of purchasing some new dresses for her this morning with Margaery, and she was required to try them all on to see which she wanted to wear for the ball. Unsurprisingly, most of the new purchases were Tyrell greens and golds and in the southern style that showed much more flesh than she was used to, but Sansa soon got used to them. In fact, they were quite comfortable, and did make her feel distinctly feminine. She was surprised and touched to see that Margaery had gone to the trouble to have a dress made for her – a wispy thing, the colour of overburdened rainclouds, with a bodice scattered with pure white pearls. It came with a cloak which was made of grey wolf fur and had a snarling direwolf stitched into the back. When she was given it she caressed it, amazed at the softness of the thing; was Lady's fur that soft after she was murdered? Somehow, she didn't think so.
In the end she chose Margaery's gift to wear. If Cersei was going to be present she was going to do all she could to flaunt her new freedom and what better way than wearing a dress that screamed Stark?
"A bold choice," Olenna observed wryly, when she saw what she was wearing. "You do realise that Cersei is going to attempt to have you murdered one of these days?"
"She can try," Sansa's said calmly. "I'm sure my brother is a testament to the fact that Starks are not so easy to kill."
"And your father is the exact opposite," the Queen of Thorns pursed her lips. "If you become arrogant, you become complacent, and when you're complacent you are easier to kill. Remember that, girl."
Humbled, she nodded. The old woman's right, Sansa knew. Don't make the same mistake Cersei herself is making – when she thinks she is safe, I will destroy her.
"But we must leave now," Olenna said. "Margaery said she would be at the ball by sunset and it's well past that. You may have to support me as we walk up to the city, Sansa, these old bones are not made for much walking."
Sansa smirked; it was Olenna's favourite ploy to play the frail old lady when around other people. For sure, she was not the most agile of women, but she was nowhere near as bad as she made out.
The walk up to the city was a quiet one, the camp was calm and the night was likewise. As if expecting them, the guardhouse gate swung open when they reached it and they were allowed through by a burly guard who tripped over his feet to ensure that Olenna was happy; she treated him like something unsavoury that she had trodden in. On the other side of the walls, King's Landing was snoozing in the golden lantern light, its slumber here and there disturbed by noble ladies heading up the road, surrounded by retainers and hangers-on – it seemed all the wealthy wives of the city were attending tonight.
Lady Tarly's city house was remarkably unremarkable. Nestled between an armourer and an inn, the place seemed small, almost too small for a family of their power, but Sansa had to admit there was a nice simplicity to it. After spending so long in the Red Keep, she had forgotten the reassuring nature of simple, practical buildings that she had grown so accustomed to at Winterfell. The house was only two stories high, but light poured out of all of its windows and doors and the chatter and laughter spilt out too, yet outside the luminescence and noise seemed to cast the rest of the street into shadow and silence. Shivering, she drew her cloak around her. Winter is coming, as they say.
"Now, Sansa," Olenna turned to her and was about to say something when a tall figure ran from the shadows on the other side of the street and bowled the Queen of Thorns over. Almost immediately, Sansa heard the whoosh of an arrow, which flew past her and landed exactly where Lady Olenna Tyrell had been standing just a moment before.