"Spring and autumn are wed today," Margaery said, clasping the bride's hands to her heart. "Your wedding was a song and so I hope your marriage shall be."

The groom stood tall and straight in his mud-and-water cloak, handsome still even with silver in his hair and beard. His bride, barely sixteen, was a doll in moonstones and Myrish lace. The Blackfish had trained his face to careful blankness, even though a tempest must have been raging in his mind. The Westerling chit kept her eyes low, her voice an anxious whisper.

"Your Grace is kind," Ser Brynden said in that disconcertingly even voice of his. "Lady Jeyne is very young and I am very old, I fear. But we hope to make a happy marriage."

"Not so old as all that, Ser," Margaery said sweetly. "If I were in your lady wife's place tonight, I could think of a great many things I might do to you." She let her voice trail off suggestively and was rewarded for her efforts by a true smile. "I am told that innocence and experience are best yoked together - why, you have only to look at myself and His Grace to see it."

"What is Your Grace then? Innocence or experience?"

"Innocence. Always." She snapped her fingers and the harpists picked up their instruments. "A poor wedding it would be without dancing. Ser Brynden, Lady Jeyne, you must take the floor first."

Jeyne lifted her eyes up from a thorough examination of her shoes. They were very pretty shoes, Margaery had to admit, but not so pretty as to warrant inspection for four straight hours . "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I cannot. I am ill." She did look very sickly, Margaery thought. Mopey little wench. I had the grace to glow on my wedding day though I feared it as well. "If you and His Grace would take our place?"

She did love to dance. "I will not press you then," Margaery said with a smile and kissed Jeyne's cheek. "Ser Brynden, I charge you with the task of whispering sweet nothings into your bride's ears."

"It will be an easy task, my lady, for one so fair as my bride." They were hollow words, nothing beyond what courtesy dictated, but Jeyne looked up as though startled. Do you expect tenderness? Margaery thought scornfully. Best sit down for a long wait then. If he had not a mask on, the Blackfish would truly be black in the face.

"See that you do not neglect your duty then. I am particularly tender of my Jeyne's welfare," she said and went off to find her lord husband. He found her first though, and with a courtly bow asked her for the pleasure. He must have had little heart for the festivities but it was his grand-uncle's wedding and who should be the first to put on a brave front but the instigator?

"How is my uncle?" was his first question.

More kingly than you will ever be. "Gracious," she said. "I wish I could say the same for his sweet bride but she was so fearfully wan... one might think her heart was not in it, though we all know theirs was a marriage of love. Certainly it could not be one of gain, not with her unfortunate dower."

He threw her a sharp look. "I am told Lady Jeyne has fared poorly of late."

How delightful. "How sad. You must console her, husband. I would not want to see the roses fade in those fresh cheeks of hers."

He sighed. "Are you enjoying yourself, Margaery?"

"It is the custom to, at a wedding."

"You shall have a surfeit of them then. It seems to me that the governance of the realm is to be given wholly over to merrymaking. My Uncle Edmure and sisters must soon be wed."

"And my brothers too," she reminded him. "I have three of them. Two are said to be quite skilled with sword and lance." And one with a quill.

He switched track. "Winterfell has been retaken."

"By Lord Karstark, yes," she said. Did he think her a fool? She had known soon after the raven had alighted at the maester's tower. "Not a victory to sing of, though. There were only two handfuls of heads to lop off."

"Yes, the other spikes must have been quite lonely," he said dryly. "I was sent a token by the Bolton bastard as well. He seemed quite proud of it."

"Does he think that a token might wipe the taint of bastardy? His father might soon marry. I think Lady Roslin should do nicely for him."

"I leave such matters of the heart to your discretion and careful planning," he said. "The token he sent was quite unusual. It put a smile to my face."

It was the way he said it that made her uncomfortable - she had never heard him sound so flat before. "Joy is rare in times of war. We should snatch it while we can."

"Should we?" He looked tired. "I shall show you what you he sent me. Perhaps you might recant your words."

He kissed her hand at the end of the song and escorted her to the high table. One dance was clearly enough - he had never been trained in the arts of chivalry, it seemed. Not for me though, she thought sullenly. There had been nights at Highgarden when she had danced her slippers to shreds. Propriety demanded that she sit with her husband. For a time at least.

He must have seen her twitching, even with her hands folded demurely in her lap, for the ghost of a smile graced his face. "I am sorry."

She raised an eyebrow.

"For everything," he clarified. "I was a poor son and a worse brother. Why would I be any better as a husband?"

She covered his hand with hers. She might feel little but contempt for the man but she could sense his pain. This was not a time to cut deeper into it, regardless of what her grandmother might say of lost chances and striking while the iron was hot. I am not a blacksmith after all. I am a queen. "You avenged your lord father and you will your brothers. You marched south for justice."

"Not justice, Margaery. Vengeance," he said. "It will not bring back Bran and Rickon. My lady mother was right when she said so - but I was too proud to listen and dismissed her wisdom as crazed grief. If I were wise, I would have swallowed my pride and bent the knee to Joffrey, ploughed my fields and kept my brothers safe."

"But then you might never have had me," she said, with a smile.

"Mayhap that would have been for the best too."

That made her angry. "Are you a gelded septon or a king, to speak so?" she demanded. "You have taken a king's liberties with the wench you've given to your uncle tonight. The bones they pile up in your name would be enough to build bridges. You are a king, anointed in blood. Have the courage to own up to it."

"And you are twice queen." He squeezed her hand. "I am sorry to distress you so, my lady."

"I am not distressed," she said haughtily. "You speak as though I am a whimpering girl - but perhaps that sort of woman is more to your taste? You are the one who should be tucked up in bed with a hot posset and a lover to simper at you while you moan and groan."

He laughed at that, good humor chasing away his gloom. "Perhaps you would care to be that lover?" he said sweetly.

"I feel that you have made it abundantly clear that I am to be your queen, to give you counsel and bear your sons. Not your lover, to be dandled on the knee and kissed in corners." She looked him in the eye. "If its lovesick mewling you want, have Jeyne bedded now. No doubt your uncle will be good enough to slip out of the room while you slip in."

Abruptly he said, "She is not carrying my child."

"What?"

"She... took care of it, she told me. Before the wedding. She had no wish to shame any of us." He swallowed. "It was a hard decision and she made it herself. I never..."

"A pity she did not think of it before she took your seed."

"That is why she has been so ill of late."

A pity she did not die of it. "Is that supposed to gentle me towards her? I have no love for her, knowing what she is, and never will."

"She will be out of your way soon. The Blackfish intends to send her to Riverrun soon."

Not soon enough for me. "A good start but a woman like her will soon try to worm her way back into my life, I think."

"A woman like her?" Perhaps she had spoken too boldly even for his woebegone mood for he flushed in anger. "How can you say so when you are no better?"

She put down her cup. "Excuse me?"

The words spilled forth from him as though he had held himself in check for too long. "You fed me lies when I gave you only the truth. Do you remember our wedding night? You swore to me that you were."

"And I was."

"But you never bled," he insisted and then blushing more deeply in mortal embarrassment, "and you were... practiced, it seemed. Skilled."

She threw back her head and laughed in scorn. So this what had been troubling him? Merciful Mother, grant me patience. "You might be a most puissant warrior but when it comes to the arts of love, you seem to have no more sense than a babe in swaddling. Go ask a maester why I did not bleed. Or your mother. And remind them that I have been riding horses since I could walk. As for skill... I have an imagination and I am not ashamed of it. I was told to please you and it seems I did. Perhaps too well. A man would have known a woman better, but then a crown and a sword do not make a boy what he is not."

He looked at her suspiciously. "You have addressed every doubt that might have crossed my mind."

"That is because there are so very few that seem to," she said tartly. It is not my consummate skill but your inherent stupidity. "I cannot make you trust me, no more than you can. You thought I betrayed you and in turn, you did the same, is that the way of it?"

He looked away. "No. It was lust that led me astray."

"Well at least you are honest," she said bitterly. But the words themselves were hurtful. It was lust that led me astray. You were not enough.

They sat in silence, watching the dancers. Northern warriors and girls from the Riverlands and the Reach. Smiling, laughing, flirting. Maybe marriages would come of it. It would do much to mend the fractured realm, she thought.

"I am sorry," he said finally. "Again. I had hoped that we might make a fresh start... if it is not too much to ask for?" He looked at her appealingly, so sweet and boyish that any other girl's heart might have melted. Hers did not.

"I would like that," she said, meaning not a single word of it.

He looked relieved. "I am glad of it," he said, picking up her hand and kissing it. But are you? she thought shrewdly. Perhaps he had put on a show, just as she had. "My lady, if you would care to dance?"

"But you don't like to dance," she pointed out. He did not, she knew. He must consider it fearfully frivolous. As he does tourneys. And singers and flowering gardens, no doubt, and every little joy that is to be found in life.

"No," he said amiably. "But you do."


She plucked the gold pins from her hair herself, having given her handmaids leave to enjoy the remnants of the feast and the bedding. No doubt they would wish to conduct private ceremonies of their own, she had told him with a laugh, there was nothing to raise a maiden's blood like a wedding, to remind her that her youth and beauty and freedom would not last.

Curls came loose, with each pin that she scattered on the table, until finally her hair fell down in one great wave to her waist. It was dark and glossy, the color of polished oak he thought. She smiled at him over her shoulder, as though she could read his thoughts.

"Is the view to your liking, my lord?" she asked sweetly.

"It is perfect."

"That's a pity," she said, fingers darting over the laces that criss-crossed her bodice. She tugged the gown off, baring her shoulders and the tops of her small, white breasts. "I had only just begun and yet here you are, already sated." It pooled at her feet, pale green silk shot with golden threads, and she turned to him clad only in her fine lawn chemise. "Now how shall I entertain Your Grace? Shall we try a game of cyvasse?"

"If you like." He watched as she pulled a chair to the fireplace and began to run acomb through her curling hair. The scent of rosewater filled the air. "Doesn't it ever tire you? To be obliged to flirt so relentlessly?"

"I imagine that I feel as you do when you are in battle. You were trained to it, as I am to... the dance of courtship, one might say. After a time, you cease to think of it at all."

"It becomes a part of you," he agreed. "Does our marriage feel like a battle to you?"

"I've seen worse," she sighed. "You said you would show the token the Bolton bastard sent you. Pray do. I have never had a chance to recant my words before."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Quite. You will not offend my delicate sensibilities." She smiled. "I have heard tell of Roose Bolton's bastard from the man himself. Nothing he sends his liege will shock me."

He fetched it for her. It was never far from him, for some morbid impulse kept him from throwing it down a latrine pit as it so richly deserved. Father would have been disgusted and rightfully so.

"Is it skin?" she asked, studying it.

"Theon Greyjoy's, to be precise," he told her. She opened her eyes very wide. "Now you know why the Boltons keep a flayed man as their sigil, Margaery."

She put her hands to her mouth and he slid the raggedy strip back into the pouch with which it had come. "Are they still- no, I do not need to know. He was a traitor and he deserved it." She swallowed hard and he felt the sudden urge to put his arm around her, to shield her. He had never seen her look so young, so vulnerable. "Why do you still have it?"

He shrugged.

"Does it bring you joy?" she prompted. "No, I can see that it does not. Robb, this is-" she seemed to struggle with the words. Gingerly she put her hand on his shoulder, as though fearful that he might snap at her. Does she fear me now as well? "-this is not worthy of you. Put it away and forget about it."

"I wish I could," he said. "It makes me... not happy, I suppose, but-"

"Vindicated," she decided. "Is that the way of it?"

I send you a piece of prince. He had named his little brothers princes too. "Yes."

"It is repulsive," she said. "If you will not throw it away, I will."

"You are welcome to it."

Something in his face must have given her pause for suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him. She smelled of summer - rosewater and spices. "Robb," she whispered and it was only then that he realized that the tears on his face were not hers, but his. She cradled his head against her shoulder and when he shook, she rocked him gently and mouthed words that he did not understand. She might have sung him a lullaby, she might have whispered to him that a king ought to have courage. It did not matter, save that she was there and he was in her arms.


"Prince Doran writes to congratulate King Robb on the happy occasion of his ascendancy in King's Landing," the maester said. "He also adds that in Dorne, they do not harm little girls and most regretfully, that he cannot deliver Princess Myrcella to the capital."

"Does he call her princess?" Brynden demanded.

"Yes."

He could feel a headache coming on and he had not even broken his fast yet. "Tell him that we are not all monsters. The girl will be treated with the deference and courtesy that her upbringing entitles her to. A match will someday be brokered to her but surely a Prince of Dorne will look for a better-born bride than a bastard. Which she is."

"Am I to emphasize that point?"

"You are. Not that it will do us any good," he said sourly. "If Doran still calls her princess, the child is long since fled - no doubt he has sent her to join her mother and brothers, wherever they are. Perhaps he expects King Joffrey's happy ascendancy sometime soon." It had been months and Lady Olenna had still not been able to unearth any trace of the vanished Lannisters. "What next?"

"Some lords of the westerlands-"

"And more to come on the morrow, I am sure." The lords of the westerlands were all but tripping over themselves to skitter over to the winning side - the ones that felt themselves wronged by the Lannisters at least. "Have Tarly look in to it, he will know the lie of the land better. And tell me who should be next in line to the Rock - a worthy candidate, if you understand me."

"Your meaning is plain, Ser. I will look into it."

The westerlands must be dealt with, but it would be better if they were taken from within, as seemed hopeful at the moment, than through battle and siege. Robb and I will have to give it the attention it deserves soon. The east had thankfully been dealt with, Lysa having finally come to her senses. She might have been my daughter. We seem to share the same pig-headed stubbornness.

"You may show these letters to the queen, if she asks."

"She always asks, Ser."

"Clearly she has little to occupy her time with." A baby would have been best, he thought but so far Margaery showed no signs of proving with child. He tumbled Jeyne once and Margaery half-a-hundred times. It was most unfair, the Blackfish decided. "I shall want to see the letters of appointments after I have broken my fast. Make sure that you keep them ready."

Before he went to the Great Hall however, he made a detour to the courtyard where his wife and her guards had already saddled up. She was wrapped in furs and the red-and-blue cloak of the Tullys, waiting only his leave before she rode for Riverrun. She looked as sickly as ever, a pale, frightened child. He did not blame her for her plight, not as much as he did Robb at any rate. If she roused any emotion in him it was only pity.

"Are you comfortable, my lady?" he asked her gently.

"As well as I will ever be." She forced a brave smile on her face.

"I hope you will recover your strength at Riverrun. Princess Arya dwells there with her mother. She was ever a child of spirit - perhaps she will teach you to laugh again."

"I fear my laughing days are over, Ser," she said wearily.

"You are too young to say that." He squeezed her hand and turned to the captain of the guard. "Travel slowly with her ladyship and see to her every comfort. Her person is precious to us all."

The man bowed and then there was nothing to do but step back and watch his pale young bride ride away from King's Landing and out of his life. Hopefully forever, he thought grimly. He had nothing against Jeyne personally but her very presence in all their lives was an embarrassment. She will be happier in Riverrun. In time she might find someone to love there, for he would certainly never maintain a normal married life with her. He had made that quite clear to Robb. She will never be my wife, save in name, and she will never be your mistress. I will wed her under those conditions and none other.

There had been nothing else to be done - the Tyrells would have erupted in fury if Robb had openly acknowledged his bastard. I have cleared the path for you, Margaery, he thought, feeling somewhat aggrieved at all the hassle. Now it is time you did your duty.

He found his queen in the Great Hall, in a flowing white gown with summer flowers in her hair. Playacting like some sprite of the meadow, he thought sourly. As though she had nothing better to do than prance around in pretty gowns. She was circled by her devotees, among them, surprisingly his squire.

"Ser Brynden!" she exclaimed when she saw him and beckoned him over. He could very well have done without it. A man liked to have a bit of piece and quiet in his life, every now and then, without having to dance attendance on a mayfly queen.

"Your Grace looks especially lovely this morning," he said. Margaery liked a touch of gallantry and expected him to vary the words every time he met her.

"Thank you." She beamed at him. She looked especially happy this morning, he thought. Fresh and bright and shining. Had she and Robb reconciled? He prayed that it was so. They spoke sweetly to each other in public, but he could see that things were not right between them. And no, why should they be? "Have you seen Lady Jeyne off?" she asked.

"Yes. I hope the climate in Riverrun will agree with her."

"King's Landing is unreasonably warm," she agreed, fanning herself with a hand as though to emphasize her point. "I pray she recovers her strength quickly so that she might join us as soon as possible. I so miss having her attend me. But I will soon have my cousins to console me for sweet Jeyne's loss - Alla, Megga and Elinor are all to join me here. My mother and good-sister Leonette too. I will enjoy their wisdom and experience now."

"Surely your lady grandmother is most meet for that task, Your Grace?"

"Grandmother is very dear to me," Margaery said, with a secret smile, "but it has been years since... oh never mind. It was a piece of women's gossip that would not interest you, Ser."

He supposed that it would not. "My niece, Lady Arryn, will join us soon as well to swear her fealty."

"My, won't the castle be bustling then!" Her eyes sparkled. "If only our good neighbors in Dorne and the westerlands would join the festivities."

"Some in the west might be tempted to soon, we feel. Perhaps Prince Doran as well..."

"I have always wanted to visit Dorne," she said. "My brother Willas speaks sometimes of it, and fondly."

That surprised him. "Does Lord Willas bear no grudge towards the Dornishmen, considering what passed between him and the Viper?"

"Oh no," Margaery said easily. "He and the Viper correspond endlessly. They are both great connoisseurs of hunting dogs and horseflesh. Willas has often spoken of how he dreams of visiting Dorne someday, to see the fabled spice markets and horse bazaars. The Water Gardens too are said to be especially lovely, though I do not believe that any gardens in the world can rival those of Highgarden. Perhaps I will take him there someday. Soon." Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

She let him savor a few bites of his breakfast before piping up again. "Perhaps we might suggest that your other niece, Lady Stark, visit us again? Arya will soon need to be wed, to seal our alliance with the Freys. Her mother should be with her."

"Catelyn?" He shook his head. "I fear she is too deep in her grief to care... and she will want to be with my brother Hoster. Who is-"

"-dying," Margaery finished sadly. "I know." She tapped her fingers against the table. "But perhaps we will be able to send her happier news soon."

"Soon? I fear, my lady, that the westerlands will prove more recalcitrant than-"

"Oh I wasn't talking about them," she said, laughing as though he'd something endearingly amusing. "Oh no, no. No I meant something else. Something else entirely."


A/N: Yes I know its been a while. And yes, its a short chapter with nothing much going on but I will add to it later.