So, we're drawing near to the end of Part Two, as they make preparations for Dorne, so I'd just like to add a few notes that will make it easier for you to understand and enjoy the story as we progress. PLEASE READ.

- Due to not having read A Dance With Dragons in it's entirety, once the royal party land in Dorne, I will probably follow the show's (Game of Thrones HBO) plot rather than what GRRM wrote, which I've already started by not including Aegon/Young Griff. Don't get too confused though as I'll also be making up quite a lot of stuff as I go on as well, since I've kept other characters alive that are dead in both book and show, such as Tywin.

- Eventually I'll have to get rid of Stannis, but I won't be killing Shireen.

- I'm going to apologise in advance for Sansa's storyline in this fic. I know a number of fans where unhapoy with her being sent to the Boltons in the show, however I'll be using that in this story as it makes it easier for her to escape and get to Jon (plus I really love seeing/reading her get her own back on Ramsay) and it ensures that she doesn't trust Littlefinger at all and her alliance/friendship with Theon will come in handy later on in the story.

- My battle tactics/strategy and understanding of war is very very limited, so please bear with me. I'm mostly going to focus on the interactions of the main characters and the politics of everything anyhow. I have enlisted the help of IAminiquity though, so she'll help make my battle/action scenes more realistic.

21st of the Second Month of 300 AC

Viserys, Third of His Name

Solemnly Viserys stood in his wide, well-lit chambers, sunlight from his window grazing his face. His bed was well made and clearly hadn't been slept in—the night before, Viserys had chose to sleep in Ella's room. Not together in bed of course, Ella had put a stop to such luxuries as soon as Princess Arianne had arrived. The two had been conversing well into the night, and eventually, Ella had drifted into unconsciousness, leaving Viserys to blearily follow her lead in the chair by her bed. Of course, he had woken well before her. He didn't know if it was the lingering effects of once being a Westerosi highborn lady or that Ella was simply a deep sleeper, that made the maid sleep for hours or if Viserys just rose far too early. Dany always japed that I rose with the sun. Mayhaps she was right.

His sister had also joked that she'd never met anyone who could scowl half so well as him, either. Viserys was certain that he was scowling pretty well right now, as he glared upon the Tyrell seal adorning the parchment. The letter was clearly meant for Ella, and under normal circumstances Viserys' would've had it promptly returned to her. Yet now, he debated with himself tirelessly whether to open it or not. Ever since the big reveal that Ella was the eldest daughter of one of Westeros' richest and most powerful House's, he'd been primarily focused on the fact that her refusal of his hand had not been due to her mot having suitable origins and actually because of her lack of love for him. Or more accurately, for the crown. But what Viserys had failed to notice was that Ella spoke of her family none and no longer entertained him or Dany with tales of the beautiful Highgarden. Based of off what she'd told them before, Ella was quite fond of her home, despite having fled it.

Unlike Daenerys, Viserys had never been too curious about Ella's life before them. He had only wanted to confirm he had no rivals for her devotion and affection, and once he had, his intrigue had been sated. But now he knew who she was, where she came from, and subsequently knew her, much better than he thought he had, Viserys was fervently interested in how close exactly, Ella was to her former family. Previous family? They haven't ceased to be related, just because Dany and I are in the picture. They are still her family. Bonded by blood. And this letter, sealed with the stamp that only a Tyrell would have access to, held the answers to all Viserys' questions. Regretting it almost as soon as it happened, he opened the letter and began to read.

Lady Ella Tyrell,

How wondrous it is to read such kind words from you, sweet sister. I was unsure of how to address this correspondence, since I am unaware of whether you still acknowledge House Tyrell as yours. I do hope so, sister, for we still love you, even if you have shed the name and behaviours of, Lady Carmel Tyrell.

I was warmed beyond belief to find that you still trust me to lend you courage and support in your times of need, as you put it. I have yet to turn away any one of my siblings when they seek my help, and vow never to. You may have disliked my position as the heir, for it took away from our time together, yet it was during those lessons that I learned the true value of family, and learnt that once our father passes, it will be down to me to keep the name Tyrell in high esteem and the members of that House, whether they be wed or knighted, safe, secure and happy and as one. We have all feared what you have essentially confirmed; that these Targaryens are now your family, and if rumours prove true, a dragonrider as well. And our Margaery sensed the affections you might hold for His Grace years ago, even when I refused to heed them and stuck my head in the sand. It seems the women of our family will always be twice as astute and perceptive than the men could ever hope to be.

But I digress sister, for you wrote to me for help and help I should provide. Fear not, you will receive only the warmest welcome from us in Highgarden. None shall scorn you and I shall ensure that none will have any misinterpretations of who you are now. The love you speak of that you wish for all our siblings to share, shall come to pass. A week barely goes by that Garlan doesn't speak fondly of you, and Margaery and I are already smitten. Loras is a passionate lad, and will love you fiercely once he comes to know you. Even your Targaryens shall be welcomed into the fold—Margaery will love another young lady for company, and once the years pass, His Grace and I will be good-brothers via the lovely Daenerys.

I know you fear for what will happen now that Princess Arianne has made her way to Slaver's Bay, yet I urge you sister, to fear no more. You don't love the king, you love the man. When he comes to Westeros, man he will be no more and your love for him will be best left in Essos where it was borne. Callous I may sound, but sometimes, we must be cruel to be kind and that is what I aim to do as I write these words.

Leave your love for him in Essos.

Yours, Will.

P.S. You were always the smartest of us, Ella.

Viserys did not know how to feel. Minutes ran past him as he stood, lifelessly, the letter balancing lightly in his palm. The urge to destroy the letter consumed him for a while, but he chose to fight it, to sift deeper into his feelings. He knew he wasn't truly angry. Only a fool became enraged at the truth. I am sad, he realised, as a daunting feeling of emptiness filled him. He could hear his heart beating loudly, awkwardly, in his chest. He wished, somehow, that he could rip it out, and give it to Ella to keep for eternity. So there would be no doubt as to who his love truly belonged to. Though it seems as if her heart belongs to countless others. Margaery and I are already smitten. It stung to read just how close Ella's family were, how willing and eager they were to have her as one of them once more, and how easily it would be for Ella to slip back into her place at Highgarden and forget him and everything they'd shared. Leave your love for him in Essos, her brother had instructed her, and Viserys was frightened that that's exactly what she would do, leaving him alone on the Iron Throne with only Arianne Martell for company.

Ella wouldn't do that to me, his mind protested weakly. Ella wouldn't leave me. If he wanted, Viserys could probably talk her into staying with him forever. Ella had always spoke of her family forcing her into a marriage or the situation presenting itself with no other way out, but Viserys knew if he truly wanted, he could have her by his side for as long as he needed. I could name her my personal advisor. But even in the depths of his sadness, Viserys recognised what a lonely life that might entail for Ella—no husband, no children, nothing but me, and even then, only in the days. I couldn't dishonour her or Arianne that way. Unless her father allows me to cancel our betrothal. Viserys still held hope that Doran might spare him some pity in allowing Ella to take Arianne's place, but after receiving no reply and growing friendlier and friendlier with the princess, the king suspected he might have to resign himself to a fate with a Dornish queen. Like his brother before him.

"Vis?" Ella's timid voice startled him. Not only was it scarily coincidental that after he'd spent so long with her on his mind she suddenly appeared, but also because Ella had refused to enter his chambers ever since his future wife had shown up. For a moment, he was struck by how beautiful she looked in the moment. Nothing but pure honesty on her face, her lips slightly parted, her dark hair still ruffled. Another man shall soon come to stroke that hair.

"Carmella," he snapped, without thinking. Then, when her face crumpled slightly, "sorry. You scared me, is all."

She grinned, but the king sensed it was forced. "A king shouldn't scare so easily."

Feeling rather uncomfortable himself, Viserys shuffled his feet, forgetting the letter in his hand. "Was there something you wanted, Ella?"

For some reason, she looked hurt. "You left me," she said. Then added, "this morning. I woke and you weren't there."

"I had matter to attend to," he replied.

"Oh really," she said sarcastically. "Like what? Appreciating the lovely view?" She gestured to his window.

"And if I was? Are such activities barred from me?"

The tension in the room was palpable. Thankfully, Ella did not continue with the not-so-subtle digs they were giving to each other, and instead let her gaze drift to the parchment almost floating Viserys' hand. "Is that perhaps the important matter you needed to attend to?"

Suddenly, Viserys remembered the letter in his grasp, and hid it behind his back instinctively, then scolded himself for such a childish motion. Ella was unimpressed and slightly hurt, by the looks of her face. Viserys froze—clueless on how to proceed. He had initially planned to rid himself and Ella of her brother's words with the help of Rhaegal.

"If you didn't want me to see—" She began.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Ella," he admitted.

"I thought. . ." Her voice trailed off. "Never mind, then. I'll leave you to it," and just as she turned to leave, a sudden gust of honesty overcame Viserys who stretched out the hand with the letter in it, hoping that for once Ella might betray her inquisitive nature and choose not to read it. Of course, she did not, and of course, she recognised her brother's hand and looked back at Viserys with accusing eyes. So blue, he thought. Another man shall stare into them as they make love. These little realisations were hurting him more than words could aptly describe and against his logical thinking, he prayed for Doran to accept his request.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out in response to her cold, stony, silence.

She didn't answer him and instead read the letter. It took her longer than Viserys would have thought and so he assumed she had chosen to read it more than once. When Ella looked back up at her him, her eyes were swimming in tears. "I don't want to fight with you anymore," she stated. "But it's as if that's your sole aim."

"T'is not," he said simply.

"Why then? Why hide such a thing? My own brother's comfort for me?"

"I did not hide it, I just gave it to you."

"After deliberating on it for hours, it seems," she retorted.

Viserys remained wordless, infuriating the woman further. "Answer me, Viserys!" Ella yelled.

Viserys was speechless. Not only because he truly did not know how to answer her accusations without causing them both a great deal of pain, but because he'd never seen his Ella like this. Wild and uninhibited and. . . Free. Ella had always been stoic and collected and graceful and calculating, it was Viserys who oft lost his temper. Fleetingly, he wondered if this is how she'd been before she left her home. "I didn't want you to read it," he admitted quietly.

Ella softened immediatley. "Why?"

"Because I thought the letter troublesome," he eventually said.

"Troublesome? Is that the best excuse you could muster?"

"Lord Willas spoke of things we've long put to rest."

"My brother," she corrected. "Offered me advice that I asked him for. Hence why the letter was addressed to me and not you. And I don't know whose flagon of wine you've been sipping, but the matters Will spoke of have certainly not been put to rest—just avoided ever since your little princess came to town."

That made Viserys angry. Her jealousy has finally reached my limits. "The only two princesses I would ever claim as my own both bare the name Targaryen."

"As will this one in a few moons," she quipped.

"This isn't about Arianne."

"Is it not?" She goaded. "Then what is it about, then? You want to have us both, is that it? The lovely Queen Arianne and one your arm and me in the shadows, counselling and comforting you? Utterly in love with you?"

"Of course not."

His short replies seemed to be infuriating Ella, and Viserys couldn't help but be slightly aroused at the sight of such passion in her. "Good, because that is not what will happen," and in an instant, Ella was herself again, cold and distant. "I'm going to heed my brother's advice, and leave anything borne in Essos, in Essos where it belongs."

Before Viserys had chance to answer, Princess Arianne, one of the men her father had sent with her, and Ser Barristan entered the room. Despite her previous anger, Ella blushed profusely. "Your Grace?" Arianne questioned unsurely. "What is going on here?" Her eyes looked slightly hurt, and Viserys internally groaned.

"Nothing," Ella supplied. "I'm finished." Viserys heard the unspoken, so are we.

And then she left, and Viserys felt his heart wither inside him. He wondered if that was how Ella had felt all those months ago when he'd walked out on her, or even when she'd had to refuse his advances despite loving him, and then he decided that if it was, he had a whole newfound respect for her. Because it hurt like hell. Like fucking seven hells. But he knew he had needed to let her go. So she can come back to me.

Queen Margaery

Today was the day. Olenna had already had all of Margaery's dresses, silks, cousins and anything else of importance sent back to the Reach and just a few days before, her beloved King Joffrey had pardoned Loras from his vows on account of being 'unequipped to properly defend the king'. Margaery had made sure to beg for Loras to be allowed to remain part of the Kingsguard and had taken note of Cersei's smug grin when her son insisted that a member of the Kingsguard must be at his prime and not be suffering from crippling leg injury. What a stupid woman, anyone with a smidgen of wisdom would see the benefits of keeping the son of Mace Tyrell as an unofficial hostage, even Tywin had only agreed to it because he hoped the precedent would allow the Kinglsayer to be excused from his vows as well. But Margaery had quickly learnt that Cersei held no wisdom, only misplaced anger and a very inflated sense of importance. Crippling leg injury, my arse, Margaery thought happily. The only thing Loras suffered from was a bruised ego because Olenna has forced him to walk with a cane in front of everyone at court. And now, he was safely riding back to Highgarden, his cane abandoned in some crook or nanny. It had taken weeks, but it was finally time for Queen Margaery to make her great departure from King's Landing, and head from Dorne, where she'd finally be reunited with her sister. And surprisingly, she'd be making it with Tyrion Lannister of all people.

She was currently stood somewhere dark and hidden, not too far from Flea's Bottom. That entire street needs washing, Margaery sniffed, it smells entirely awful. Varys was tittering away, giving Tyrion instructions. Margaery had been listening at first, but soon became bored. Her grandmother had assured her she could trust Tyrion and that Varys would not harm her and risk angering House Tyrell. Margaery had initially wanted to leave with Loras, but Olenna had insisted that was too soon. So Margaery had had to wait, suffer Cersei's presence, Joffrey's groping and Sansa's clear misery. At least I righted that wrong before I left.

"You must free her," Margaery had urged Varys. "Before I leave."

"How would you suggest I do so?"

"Spirit her away in the night. Lord Tyrion will not stop you. Take her away from here, Varys."

"And send her where, Your Grace?"

Distantly, Margaery remembered the war raging in the North against the Boltons, and for a scary moment, thought there was nowhere for Sansa to go. "To the Watch," she said. "To her brother, he's at the Watch."

"The Night's Watch is for men alone, my queen, and once he took his vows, Jon Snow ceased from being Lady Sansa's relation in any form."

"I have asked once already, my lord, and the next time, I will demand, and you would not do to refuse me. Else my sister will have words with the king. The true king."

Varys tittered.

"Send her to the Watch."

Margaery would always have a soft spot in her heart for the poor Sansa Stark.

~x~

"You must be wondering why I so eagerly left my family to join the Targaryen cause," Tyrion Lannister eventually said.

He and Margaery were riding in a wheelhouse behind some of her father's riders. They were still some days from Highgarden and all too close to the Red Keep for Margaery to be wondering about anything but Lord Tywin's wrath when he discovered his son, Sansa and Margaery all missing.

"I wasn't, actually."

"Of course," he took a long swig of wine from his flask. "You're worrying about my father."

"Aren't you?"

"I can't say that I am," yet Margaery saw the flicker of fear in his mismatched eyes. "Cersei will be enraged of course, and when she is angry, she is stupid. Stupid enough to override any of my father's logical decisions."

Margaery had to agree. "My House have officially declared for the Targaryens, Sansa has fled her captors and Varys is working for Varys. What is your excuse for leaving?"

It seemed to Margaery as if Tyrion had longed to tell this story for a while. "Because my father hates me and when he meets his end, Jaime will refuse to take the Rock and Cersei will kill me so she can have it."

"That's quite the assumption. Who's to say Cersei would even want Casterly Rock? She essentially has the Iron Throne, now."

"Cersei wants power," Tyrion informed her. "She wants the Iron Throne, she wants Casterly Rock, she wants all of bloody Westeros to kneel before her. But most of all, she wants me dead and has done my entire life."

The former queen had no decent response and so only offered Tyrion a sympathetic smile. "Varys left the bones of some dwarf in my bed. I believe he wanted to frame my dear wife for the crime," he took another drink from his flask. "But soon abandoned that plan. He has some whore all ready to make a teary confession to the deed on the morn. Poor girl."

Margaery gasped at the plans Varys had initially made for her friend. "And what of Sansa?"

"Sansa? Such a pretty, polite little thing. Though I fear she has hardened beneath her dutiful mask. Perhaps a few more years might've seen her actually kill me and burn my body."

Margaery shook her head. "Did Varys happen to tell you where Sansa is now?" She had to make sure Sansa was safe.

"On her way to the North. But we suspect Littlefinger's absconded with her."

"What?"

Tyrion wore an amused smile. "He didn't tell you? Of course not, Varys has a habit of doing that. Not telling people things. Oh well. I doubt any serious harm should befall her, Littlefinger's been infatuated with her mother his entire life and interested in her since she arrived at the Red Keep."

"He's a slimy whoremonger!" Margaery protested. "He'll defile her!"

"He won't," Tyrion said. "I took you for a clever girl, my lady," he tutted at her. "Know your enemies. Baelish is similar to my sweet sister, in that his goal is power. Ultimate power. Only, he's miles smarter than the Queen Mother and endlessly patient. If he has Sansa Stark in his custody—the current heir to Winterfell, the rightful Wardeness of the North, do you really believe he'll waste time defiling her?" Tyrion laughed. "He's going to use her as my father had planned to, and gain the North. He rules the Vale now, I believe, and Cersei gave him Harrenhall, the fool, he'll likely wed her, or ally with the Boltons and give her to Roose or his son."

Margaery had to admit that Tyrion was very, very, intelligent, and after spending a lifetime being ignored or hated, he'd learned to read people well in order to protect himself from them. And very chatty when drunk, she noted.

"I hope you're wrong," Margaery said. "I hope she reaches the Wall and finds peace with her brother."

"I hope so too," Tyrion said earnestly.

"What will happen to the whore?" Margaery asked after a while.

"I don't believe I understand your question."

"I mean, will your father believe her confession and kill her?"

"I imagine," Tyrion started, quietly. "That she'll go wherever whores go."