DESMERA
Desmera glided through the gardens, largely invisible to those who wandered by. There was far too much on everyone's minds to be concerned with Lady Margaery's cousin. Mera looped through the trellises catching snippets of gossip as she moved along.
There were only five days until the wedding, and King's Landing was quickly filling with guests from near and far. Despite her own stresses with Margaery's never-ending list of wedding chores, Mera couldn't help her own excitement. It wasn't every day a girl from an island had free rein of the largest court in the Seven Kingdoms.
But today was not a day for gossip or dress fittings. Today Desmera's only task was to unlock the tiny box she'd stored deep inside her chest and pull out just a piece of the girl she'd been before.
She placed one hand on the stone archway and peered into the acre of elm, alder, and black cottonwood. If she could quiet the noise around her, she could almost convince herself she was half a continent away. It took all Mera's willpower to step through the gates of the Godswood, but it wouldn't do to linger and be spotted by a gossiping courtier.
Mera found the girl she was looking for in the heart of the Godswood, on a bench before a great oak; there were no weirwoods here. The oak was wrapped with smokeberry vines and circled by dragon's breath below. The pops of red made the hint of autumn that much more pronounced, and Desmera fought back a shutter that wasn't due to the cold.
"Always so diligent with your prayers," Desmera said softly. "I was never so good." Sansa looked up, her wide, blue eyes immediately brimming with tears. "I loved the trees, but perhaps I should have paid more attention to the gods that blessed us with them."
The auburn-haired girl stood and had barely stumbled into Mera's arms before sobs wracked her body. Desmera rubbed soothing circles on Sansa's back as she waited for the girl to calm herself. Mera felt her throat squeeze, but no tears raised in her eyes. Desmera Redwyne did not cry.
"Let's sit down," Desmera said softly, as she escorted the younger girl back to the bench. "I can't stay long; Margaery needs me for wedding preparations." The words came out as an apology, but Mera was almost glad for the excuse.
It was so hard to look at Sansa and keep the box in her chest closed tight. But she had to. If she let it all spill out now, she knew it would never go back. She simply was not ready for the torrent that would follow, not yet.
"How did you get away?" Sansa asked finally. "Did anyone else?"
Mera knew the look on her face was enough to answer Sansa's second question. "Ser Caswell brought me." At Sansa's blank look, she added, "My sworn shield. Formerly one of Renly's Rainbow Guard."
"It seems that I've missed a lot," Sansa said softly. Mera took her hand, holding it between the folds of their gowns in case anyone happened in. Not that she thought they would, there were few Northerners at court these days. But she couldn't risk it. "I wish we were home, before this all began. I wish I could go back and tell myself everything I know now."
Mera looked intently at the great oak masquerading as a heart tree. "It wouldn't have changed anything. We come from the ice, we're as stubborn as sentinel pines. Not even our own warnings would change our minds." Sansa's fingers tightened around Desmera's.
"I knew better, but that never stopped me from plunging into everything headfirst. I could have left, disappeared, gone to my island." The corner of Desmera's mouth quirked up as the parallel struck her. No matter who she was, her story always began on an island. "Maybe things would have been different if I had. But we were young and in love and love always leads us to folly."
Sansa lay her head on Desmera's shoulder. The quiet sounds of the Godswood washed over them, sweeping away all the things they couldn't risk saying. But it was enough to listen to the wind in the trees and hold her sister's hand. It had to be enough.
Mera leaned against the chest of drawers in Margaery's room as she waited for her cousin to finish dressing. She felt lighter after her meeting with Sansa in the Godswood, as if she had been able to release a tiny piece of her pain, no matter how small. But she was glad for Desmera Redwyne and the ease of being her.
Desmera Redwyne had never lost everyone. She laughed easily, especially with her cousins. She could channel her energy into wedding preparations and fretting over Margaery's wellbeing in her impending marriage. Her hair was red-gold and shined like fire in the sun. Almost like a Tully. With a short breath, Desmera pushed that thought from her mind.
As if the gods were watching, there was a knock on the door and Mera was dragged from her mind and given a distraction.
"Would you get that?" Margaery called from the other room. Desmera opened the door to the chambers and a maid gave a small curtsey as she stepped inside. The girl held a tray of tea, the scent of which accosted Mera's nose as the girl scurried by.
The mint caught her first, followed by the floral, earthy smell that reminded Desmera of weeds. A bitter taste filled her mouth and she nearly stumbled. She hardly noticed the maid leave Margaery's chambers, for she could hardly find herself.
I know that smell, her mind was wailing. She fought against the thoughts, fought for Desmera, the sweet, smiling girl. But all she could find was the taste of weeds in her mouth, the feeling of her stomach roiling, and the sticky feeling of blood on her hands. No, no, no. Not now, not here.
She fought back against the memories, willing them to stay locked inside her mind. It was Margaery's footsteps that brought her back to herself. "Mera?" The girl called.
"I'm alright," she said quietly. In truth she felt unmoored, like a ship left to drift out to sea, in neither one place nor another. But Margaery did not need to know that. Instead, Desmera pointed toward the tea. "What is that?"
Margery dismissed the tea with a wave of her hand. "Oh, that's just for Elinor." At Desmera's blank look, she added, "It's moon tea. Apparently, El's been enjoying herself a bit too much since our arrival." Margaery laughed quietly and returned to her dressing room.
Desmera's fingers found the chairback, holding herself steady. She tightened her grip as if her willpower could prevent the contents of her stomach from finding their way up her throat. But she had to know for certain.
With shaking hands, she poured a tiny sip of the tea into a cup and fought her own terror to bring it to her lips. As the earthy, weedy taste hit her tongue, a single silent sob racked her body. She brought her hands to her stomach and pressed. It wasn't enough for them to kill them all, they had to take you too.
She allowed herself a moment to grieve, to feel that tiny part of that girl she'd been before. And then she tucked it away like a secret note hidden in the back of a book.
By the time Margaery returned, dressed and refreshed, with Elinor at her side, Desmera had put herself back together. Mera looked at Elinor with a mischievous expression and motioned toward her waiting tea. "You simply must tell us everything."
Desmera stifled a yawn as one of Margaery's great-aunts droned on about the joys of matrimony and the bright future destined for their little rose. Beside Mera, Elinor nudged her full cup of tea toward her cousin with a smirk.
It had been nearly dawn before the trio had collapsed into Margaery's overlarge bed and finally slept. The eve of the wedding had been full of last-minute preparations followed by the beginnings of festivities. When they'd finally be able to escape, Margaery had found she couldn't sleep, and Elinor and Mera had been only too happy to stay up and assuage their cousin's nerves.
Of the three, only Desmera appeared to show signs of exhaustion. But then, she had been running herself ragged for a fortnight. She took on any task, no matter how small, if only to keep her moving and focused on someone else.
The woman's droning finally came to a halt, and Margaery quickly clapped her hands together before anyone else could offer their congratulations. "Well, I do believe the time has nearly arrived." She looked to her grandmother for confirmation. Olenna nodded. "This has been a lovely morning, and I thank you all dearly for the gifts. I do hope you all intend to stay for a time after the festivities, it has been such a pleasure to spend these weeks in the company of my dearest family."
Elinor and Desmera shared a grin. Margaery's words were pretty and sweet, befitting their future queen, but the girls both knew their cousin was lying through her teeth. Many of the cousins and aunts would be returning to the Reach after the wedding, and it could not come sooner. When they were gone, Margaery's reign would truly begin. She would form her own household and gain a bit of freedom from their family's prying eyes. Even if gaining one freedom meant losing others.
"Is Ser Caswell riding in your litter?" Elinor asked as they made their way toward the courtyard. "And is there any space for me?"
Mera laughed quietly. "Yes, he is, and no there is not."
Elinor pretended to pout. Mera had watched her cousin flirt shamelessly with half the court, but none so much as Aylward Caswell. Her own betrothal aside, Elinor certainly found ways to entertain herself. Not that Aylward had shown a bit of interest.
"You keep him all to yourself, Mera," Elinor reprimanded. "It's very unkind."
In fact, Desmera had seen very little of Ser Caswell since their arrival at court. He'd spent far more time with Garlan Tyrell and his other former friends. In fact, he was with them now, after attending the Queen's breakfast to pay Joffrey his respects.
Elinor grinned as the knight appeared, but tempered her flirtations in front of Garlan. "Ser Caswell, lovely to see you. I do hope you will find time to have tea with Mera and I after the festivities are passed. One does need to find ways to pass the time in this place."
Aylward gave Elinor a polite nod, before turning to Desmera. He motioned toward their waiting litter. "After you, my lady."
Mera waved goodbye to her cousin, before settling inside the litter. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she let her head fall against the cushioned wall and sighed. "How was breakfast?" Aylward asked with a knowing look.
"Impossibly long," Mera groaned. "I can hardly imagine a seventy-seven-course feast. I'll have gone grey by the end of it."
The litter began moving, and Mera briefly considered dozing, but the pull of the city was too much to bear. She tugged open the curtains and peered out at the streets of King's Landing. The bustle of city life had not stopped for the wedding, if anything it had only grown more pressing. Sure, the common folk were struggling during this time of war, but they took the excuse to celebrate along with the court.
Tyrell green and gold decorated storefronts, and vendors hawked rose-shaped sweets. There were signs of the Lannisters as well: a hint of red, a loaf of bread painted to look like a lion, mane and all. But even the celebration could not make the smallfolk forget who sat the throne and neglected the concerns of those below them. Mera was glad to be dressed in green today.
As the litter continued through the streets, the calming rhythm pulled at Desmera's eyelids. She fought to stay alert, to take in the sights she hardly got to see. But in the end, she found herself being lulled into sleep. Across from her, Aylward pulled the curtains closed.
The ceremony passed uneventfully. The Great Sept was beautiful, as were the couple who stood in the middle of it. Desmera and Aylward had paid their respects, and then returned to the Red Keep to prepare for the feast.
Mera emerged from her rooms in a burgundy gown slashed with azure. She ran her fingers over the delicate stitching that hinted at vines and berries along the sleeves. "You look lovely," Ser Caswell said. Desmera touched her hair, carefully checking each of the golden pins holding her braids in place. "Like a queen."
Desmera's eyes snapped to her knight. There was no one here but them, the servants had all gone to enjoy themselves. But Mera could never quite shake the feeling that the very walls of the castle had ears. "Like the cousin of a queen," she said pointedly. Aylward offered an arm without retort, and Desmera took it, allowing the knight to lead her into the hall.
The music poured from the throne room as they neared the doors, followed by the sounds of laughter. Mera closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the moment. Then the herald was announcing their names and a page was escorting them to their respective seats. Desmera was seated near the end of the dais with Margaery's other ladies. Aylward was placed at one of the other tables with the heads of vassal houses, as Lorent had not come from Bitterbridge for the event.
Desmera scanned the crowd, taking in familiar faces. Arywn Oakheart was missing as well. One of her sons had come in her place, a younger one if Mera recalled correctly. He had arrived only a few days past, she knew from Aylward's meeting with the man. The Lannisters were likely to take it as a slight, but Mera supposed Arywn Oakheart was far too old to care much about offending Lannisters.
Mera looked down the dais, finding Sansa closer toward center. Sansa looked stiff next to her clearly intoxicated husband, but she was too polite to cause a scene. The feast began with a toast and a healthy pour of wine, which Desmera sipped from carefully. Though a part of her wished to join Tyrion in his intoxication, she'd long learned how to avoid being in her cups in the midst of those she did not trust.
The feast flew by in a whirl of music and entertainment and never-ending dishes. Desmera joked with Elinor, and Elinor's betrothed, Alyn Ambrose. Alyn drank more than the girls, and Elinor teased him affectionately. For all her flirting, it was clear Elinor and Alyn would make a happy couple one day.
Desmera's attention drifted back to the entertainers, just as a pair of dwarves trotted down the hall. One sat on the back of a dog, the other a fat pig. Each of them bared jousting lances and shields bigger than themselves. The others on the dais found the sight hilarious, even Mera's companions. But Desmera could not pull her eyes from the shields. One was painted with the grey and white direwolf of House Stark.
Mera took a rather large sip from her goblet, before standing up. Elinor reached for her hand, concerned. "The privy," she said, by way of explanation. Elinor allowed her to slip away, more interested in the diversions before her.
Desmera ducked behind a pillar and pressed her back against the cool stone. She took a deep breath. A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped. Mera looked up, expecting to see Elinor or Ser Caswell, but instead it was Loras. "Are you alright?"
She looked at him closely and knew that he knew. Aylward had said as much. "A joke," she said quietly. "All that we fought for, reduced to a joke." Loras squeezed her shoulder. His eyes looked tired; she knew that look well. The tiredness didn't come from lack of sleep, it came from the weight of pretending. "But you know that."
"It gets easier," he said softly. She didn't know Loras well, but she knew he'd been close with Renly. "But this isn't helping you." She knew the this she was referring to. The burgundy dress, and red-gold hair, her presence in this throne room at all. But she had felt better these past weeks, no matter what anyone else thought.
Margaery was the closest friend she had who wasn't dead or turned traitor, and Elinor had become a light as well. She had felt normal almost, like the girl she was. And seeing Sansa each day, no matter how briefly, it reminded her all was not lost. They may be trapped now, but it would not be that way forever. They would get through this.
"It isn't that heavy," she said quietly. "The pretending." Loras did not look convinced. She gave him a sad smile. "I've learned how to carry it; I've been doing it all my life.
Before Loras could argue, a shout went up from the crowd. These were not the sounds of revelry, but true shock and terror. Every muscle in her body tensed as she fought to stay present, to not lose herself to her memories.
Loras pulled her forward to see what was happening. Nearly every guest was on their feet, looking toward the dais. "The king!" Someone shouted. "Save the king!" Loras darted through the crowd. His own memories clearly urging him into action, whereas hers kept her frozen to the spot he left her.
There was a wail, Cersei's, and she knew. The King was dead.