Author's Note: Hey folks, sorry for the wait. Thanks for all the reviews and follows whilst doing so! Your comments really make my day (sometimes they make my day angry, but that's pretty rare lol) Shoutout to my friend Annabelle, who withstood a sudden torrent of inspired messages blowing up her notifications where I outlined the plot for the rest of the story, and didn't kill me even one time. Thanks to her sacrifice I now have most of the loose plot tied together, even if I suck at actually writing it down.

I finished writing this like five minutes ago so there's probably a few grammar mistakes in there. I hope you all enjoy this update regardless! Ya'll rock.

His cousin was certainly secure in his friendship with the king.

"It's reckless, Damon. Reckless and stupid."

The two of them were in the midst of over five hundred knights and freeriders yet they were in a world of their own. A wide bubble had been formed around the king, encircling him to ensure his protection but staying out of immediate earshot to allow him and his advisor/cousin/friend to have it out. Poor phrasing. They're really just allowing Tyrek to rail and complain. Or I suppose I am, being King and whatnot. I don't have to allow it.

There was no chance in any of the seven hells that Damon would stop him, though. Tyrek was his friend. He'd let him complain and advise against it all he wanted, for in the end Damon had no doubts Tyrek would be by his side when the king did what he was going to do anyway.

Damon sighed. "You've said that, Tyrek. Many times."

"I can't say it enough. Going beyond the Wall? Through an army of savage wildlings?" He gestured shortly towards Damon's ankle. "They are the reason you limp now. They are the reason Balon is dead. You're going to march through them and leave them at your rear? I have no doubt we can best them in a fair battle, but if we're surrounded and unable to use lance…I don't like it."

You'll like this even less. "I'm not bringing the army, Tyrek. I'm bringing only a handful from our side."

There was a long pause. "What?"

"Rayder has stated he will go north with me. That means the figure holding his army together south of the wall, keeping the majority of them in check, will not be with said army." Damon looked at his cousin then, emerald eyes locking. "I'm leaving our forces on this side with uncle Jaime, who will catch up with the infantry any day now. If wildling bands start trying to leave, he will stop them." Damon gestured around him. "And he'll have all kinds of room to use lance."

"If these things are real—"

"If these things are real, then we will have a much more important war on our hands than this business with the Wildlings. And if that is the case, I'd rather fight them from behind a seven-hundred-foot wall than from in front of one."

Tyrek stared at him, jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Damon held the gaze and waited.

Finally, his cousin spoke, voice much quieter than the one he'd used in his earlier reprimands. "Will you at least remain yourself and send someone else? Garlan. Me?"

Damon shook his head, though the fact that his cousin volunteered meant more than Tyrek would ever know. "It needs to be me."

"Stories of glory won't matter to a dead man."

Damon flushed. He did tend to think of what would be said about his actions—and he would admit to himself if to no one else that he enjoyed the stories of his bravery being told, even if they were almost all exaggerated—but it vexed him that Tyrek would think he'd do this solely because of what others might say about it. The iron in his voice when he responded reflected that anger, though he attempted to explain his thinking instead of barking Tyrek down. "They attacked the Wall and destroyed most of the Night's Watch. If the threat they speak of is real and we won't be killing them all in retaliation, I need to see it for myself. I need to tell them of something I have seen with my own eyes. Not so they'll tell stories about it, Tyrek, but so my men might trust me. And so the Wildlings will trust I intend to honor our alliance in the face of it." He gestured towards the shadowskin around his own shoulders. "Symbolism means something, after all."

Tyrek was silent a long time before letting out a sigh. "Whenever you speak that much about something, I know there is no swaying you from it. I don't like it."

"I don't either. But I feel it must be done."

"I'm going with you."

"I never thought otherwise."

"Sorry for the 'glory' bit. It was a low blow on my part."

Damon had forgiven Tyrek before his cousin had even finished the chastisement. "Think no more of it. You were right to make sure I was thinking clearly, and sometimes a low blow is the only way to win."

"We've learned that the hard way, haven't we."

It wasn't a question, and Damon did not answer.

"Do we intend to honor it?" Damon turned in the saddle to face Tyrek's words, cocking an eyebrow in question. "The alliance with the wildlings. Do we intend to honor it?"

Damon nodded. "Yes, if what they say is true. If these…things are out there, I do not want to waste the experience of those who have fought them."

"And if they aren't?"

"If they aren't then this is all a trap by Rayder, and I'll likely be too dead to worry much about it."

Tyrek frowned deeply. "Yet you're still going, despite knowing that that is a very likely threat."

"I thought you said you weren't going to try and sway me anymore?"

"Humor me."

Damon shrugged. "It is possible, but I don't think it will happen. I saw the truth of their words in their eyes and faces. And even if I'm wrong and they kill me, with my army still here and a very angry Jaime Lannister at its head…well, I'll certainly be avenged."

Tyrek snorted. "We'll be avenged. The only way you'll die is if I'm already dead."

Damon smiled. "I know, cousin. But I believe we can avoid that."

"I hope." His cousin shifted uncomfortably. "I received a letter at Winterfell. It was from Ermesande, written a couple of moons ago." He swallowed uncomfortably. "She has…she is…she's…"

"Bled." He said it to end Tyrek's misery, though it brought about no small amount of embarrassment and discomfort in the King himself. He'd seen more blood then he could measure and shed plenty of his own, as had Tyrek, but when it came to moonblood and women…well, that was a separate matter he refused to think about, much less discuss.

Tyrek, as red as his shield, nodded. "Yes."

Damon, perhaps just as red, grunted. "Um…congratulations?"

"Don't say that."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything but that."

"Is she coming north?"

Tyrek stared at him slack jawed. "Gods no, Damon, she's still so young!"

The king threw his hands up. "Then why did you even tell me?"

"Because you need an heir, Damon."

He whirled to glare at his cousin. "Where the hell did this come from?" He held up a hand. "No, forget I asked."

Tyrek urged his mount closer, lowering his voice further. "Margaery Tyrell will be waiting when we get back, Damon."

The King pulled the reins so hard that his mount reared up in protest, Damon shifting his weight forward in the nick of time to avoid an unkingly fall. The destrier came back to all fours with a snort and a nicker, Damon rubbing its neck in apology with one hand while using the other to wave off the knights who had started closing in at the mount's outburst. Once the beast was sufficiently calmed, he returned his attention to Tyrek. "Come again?"

His cousin plowed ahead. "Margaery Tyrell. She will be waiting when we return."

Damon swallowed once, mind sprinting through a stream of memories. Hands touching at dinner, flirtations, looks, culminating in a few sordid hours in his bedchambers. The memory was followed on its heels by a flow of more sobering ones, his tongue in knots, a terrifying Queen of Thorns, an entire evening spent trying to find the correct words for a letter that even he knew was sorely lacking. "On who's orders?"

"Her own, it appears. It certainly wasn't the idea of the rest of the Tyrells, or Garlan would have had something."

"And you know this how."

"Scouts reported her coming in shortly before we left."

Damon clenched his jaw. "And you kept this information to yourself?"

Tyrek shrugged, though his eyes were apologetic. "We had a meeting with a savage, Your Grace." When Damon simply continued staring, Tyrek sighed. "I trust you implicitly in all things, Damon, you know this. But Margaery Tyrell throws you off, more so than anything else I've seen. You have my sincerest apologies for making the decision and not consulting you, but if things went poorly and turned to violence…it seemed a bad time to be distracted."

Damn his practicality. Damon knew Tywin Lannister would not have accepted this type of…treachery? That seemed a harsh word for something done from a concern for Damon's welfare, especially one with solid grounding for concern. Still, his cousin had overstepped, and Damon chose to focus on that instead of the fact that Margaery Tyrell was but a short ride away.

Though I am not Tywin Lannister. I appreciate the reason behind it even if I'm pissed that it happened. Taking a deep breath, Damon lowered his head just slightly. "I appreciate your concern, Tyrek. Truth be told it was probably a good decision." His voice became ice. "One you will not make again. I trust you, but I do not like being kept in the dark."

Tyrek bowed his head, suitably chastened. "I understand, and again I apologize."

Damon realized he hadn't spurred his horse forward again since the abrupt stop, both golden men and their confused retinue sitting in a stalemate as they spoke. With nudge he started forward again, hearing the rattle and creak as the others around him did the same. Tyrek fell in beside him, waiting a suitable amount of time before speaking again. "So what will you do?"

The king shrugged and told the truth. "I'm not sure."

"Was there an…arrangement between the two of you?" When Damon turned to him and raised an eyebrow, Tyrek gave a shrug of his own. "It's an awful long way with a lot of risk for nothing, Damon. It's no secret the Tyrell's set their ambitions on you once Joffrey was gone."

The king returned his attention to the road in front of him. "You could say an agreement was made. Unofficially."

"Unofficially?"

"I haven't told grandfather."

"Lord Tywin was in favor last I knew."

"I haven't told mother."

"I don't believe she would approve of anyone, Damon. No disrespect to the Queen of course."

The king paused. "I haven't told Margaery."

His cousin was quiet for a long while. "Well that's certainly...well." He cleared his throat. "She's here now, though. So that bodes well. Can I ask your hesitancy? She's certainly attractive enough."

He'd had this conversation with Bella a lifetime ago, though his mind was too wrapped up in the fact that she was here and what he was going to do about it to rehash it with his cousin. "A long story."

The Lord of Hayford waited, then seemed to realize Damon wasn't going to continue. The fact that Tyrek chose not to ask for clarification told Damon how well his cousin had gotten to know him. "I doubt it is as long as the list of reasons to marry her and have an heir with blood-ties to the Reach."

He was right, though Damon didn't say it. "Perhaps."

"Is it Sansa?"

Damon looked at him in surprise. "Sansa?"

"The reason you haven't agreed to marry Margaery. Is it to do with Sansa Stark?" Tyrek shrugged. "She's as attractive as Margaery if not more so. The North fights for us now but they have tried to kill you many times over the past year. Plus Lord Tywin wanted the match to begin with."

Damon shook his head. Sansa was attractive, so much so that calling her so was an understatement of great magnitude, and they had grown less guarded if not quite comfortable around each other over the moons since he'd absconded with her. But there was one glaring reason he would not agree to that. "She was Joffrey's betrothed for a long time, Tyrek. We both have a good idea of what that means, what she went through at his hands. I'm his twin."

"Not identical. You're Jamie's mirror, not your brother's."

Damon liked that comparison, though the recent rumors around his mother and uncle made him wish Tyrek wouldn't say it aloud. "I look close enough that she'll constantly be reminded of him. Sansa doesn't deserve that. She said herself she wanted to come north and stay there, and without her I don't know that Robb and I would ever have made peace. The least I can do is honor her wish and leave her be where she belongs." He chuckled shortly. "That was a lot of words. I take it you know that means I won't be swayed from them."

He heard the smile in his cousin's voice. "You're plain talkative today, Your Grace. You'll be hoarse tomorrow." He waited a moment, then sighed. "Look, Damon. I follow you in battle, I'll follow you in this. But we need the Reach and you need to solidify your hold on the throne. She is here. Whatever your and your mothers hesitations, I think you should settle the matter. Besides, what was it the Queen said when the Tyrell's first came to the city, after the Blackwater? Something about the need for Margaery to come all the way to her betrothed?" Damon turned in the saddle to see his cousin's shrug. "The Wall seems a long enough way to me."

The king who left the night after their rendezvous was not the same king who entered the small dining hall of the tower a few hours later.

The Damon who had left looked like a proper Southron royal, clean shaven and tall and graceful. The one who returned seemed more like a warrior king of an old tale, face covered in a thick golden beard and some sort of striking black and white animal skin cloak around his shoulders. He still stood tall but he limped noticeably on his right side, and he seemed broader than before, even taking into account the furs and cloak.

Those eyes were the same though, green and piercing, and they were focused completely upon her as he stepped through the threshold. Margaery and her cousins immediately dropped into curtseys, Loras bowing his head. "Your Grace," she said, smiling through the…whatever it was going on inside her. She'd been chasing the man so long she didn't rightly know what to do now that she had caught him. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

The king peered at her a moment longer before seeming to remember himself, nodding in greeting to each of the others even as he spoke to Margaery. "Lady Margaery, Ladies Elinor and Megga, Ser Loras; the pleasure is mine. And an unexpected one."

The Rose of Highgarden couldn't truly explain the myriad of emotions and urges she was experiencing, though she was much too good at this to let any of them show. Relief at catching him before he managed to get himself killed, concern at the limp indicating that that may have been a close thing. Anger at his leaving without settling the political-turned-physical dance they were involved in. Apprehension about what the hell his reaction would be to her inviting herself on campaign. "I realize this must be surprising, my king. But there is a matter of some urgency and…delicacy that I felt warranted a face-to-face conversation."

Her smile became a knowing smirk when the king's eyes immediately dropped to her middle, though it was a mistake on his part; if the others hadn't already known she and the king had had a dalliance, they certainly knew it now. He swallowed, dragging his eyes back up to her face. "Of course, my lady."

Margaery didn't let the following silence linger, turning to her cousins. "Elinor, would you please fetch the king some wine and a meal? I am sure he is hungry after his ride."

Damon shook his head, glancing away only briefly. "Wine only please. Not yet on the meal, my lady."

Megga, completely by Margaery's design, pulled out a chair close but not too close to her own. Damon, with only a slight hesitation, took it, waving for her to be seated as well. Loras moved to the door as Elinor poured the wine, Megga winking at Margaery from behind the king and drawing a slight smile from her cousin.

Margaery studied the king as he took a long drink from the wine glass, Elinor topping it off without needing to be told. Closer now, she could see the weight of his crown was a heavy one indeed, even for a king who had done little actual ruling since donning it. Damon the Daring was seven and ten, yet had the look of a man in his twenties. The stress lines on his golden face were deeper now than before, the addition of the beard doing little to hide them. His eyes, while still the animal-wary she remembered, were a touch harder, more calculating. Had he seen things in the moons they'd been apart that he hadn't already seen on the battlefields of the Riverlands? She had heard rumors of the wildling host that had been annihilated at Long Lake having women and children in their midst.

Elinor's giggle made her realize she had been staring at the king, and he at her. Blushing only slightly, she looked up to her cousins, standing attentively—and with shameless grins—off to the side. "Elinor, Megga, would you please excuse us? My brother will stay to prevent rumors of scandal. If it pleases the king of course?"

The king in question nodded, then glanced at Elinor. "Leave the wine, if you will."

Silence descended until the two Tyrell women were gone. And then grew, Margaery and Damon observing each other but saying nothing. Damon, without asking, refilled her glass of wine before taking a sip of his own. She copied his motions, trying to find the right way to broach the conversation they both knew was coming. I've had weeks to consider it, yet now that I am here, I'm unsure how best to begin.

"I hear you won a great victory on the shores of Last Lake, Your Grace."

It was part compliment, part inquiry to see if her suspicions about what he'd seen and done in the moons since he'd left were right. The shadow that crossed his face, however briefly, told her they were. She'd known Damon was a killer since long before he became the target of her family's ambition. The stories of his actions in the Riverlands and the Battle of King's Landing, while by their nature likely to be exaggerated, were plentiful enough to fill her in on that. If it wasn't those actions that haunted him, and the change in him from then to now said it wasn't, then she could surmise the rumors of children and women being slaughtered were true, some of them perhaps at the hand of the monarch before her.

It doesn't bother me. It was a mostly true statement. It wasn't a pleasant thought that this man, who come what may was always going to be an important figure in her life but hopefully would be the important figure in her life, had that in him. But she'd known Joffrey was capable of it and had been willing to marry him. Hell, both of her brother had killed men, and if her suspicions were right, her grandmother's hands weren't clean either.

It took her only a moment to consider it all, the same amount of time it took the king to answer. "I suppose so."

Margaery glanced pointedly down. "Did things get…close?"

Damon nodded. "If not for Stark and his wolf, and Tyrek of course, you would have made this trip in vain, my lady."

She'd have felt a great many things if that had been true. "I see it resulted in a fine cloak, though." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood that mentions of Last Lake had suddenly plunged the king into. This isn't going well.

She was rewarded with a small nod. "Yes, not all was lost."

"Your parlay was with Mance Rayder I hear. Was it to discuss peace?"

"To discuss war, but not the one we all thought it would be." She cocked her head in confusion. "A long story, my lady. One I will know more of in the coming days."

She didn't know if he meant it was a dismissal of the subject, but she took it as one. "The wars just continue to grow, Your Grace. The North, then your uncles, then the Ironborn and now Stannis again." She cleared her throat. "My brother. Is he well?"

Damon nodded. "Yes my lady. Garlan has earned my respect and trust as few others have." The king had turned as he said the last bit, glancing over his shoulder at Loras.

Margaery grimaced internally. She had known it was a risk from Loras' standpoint to let anyone into the king's chamber without his permission. While her brother had kept his head and cloak—the first he was always going to keep, the second had been up in the air—the young king had clearly not forgotten.

She moved the conversation on immediately. "And your cousin?"

"He is also well."

Silence. Vexing, this man.

They sat there for a full minute before she finally she decided just to be blunt, as unladylike as it might seem. Truth be told she had a feeling Damon would prefer it that way, as she'd gotten the feeling this small talk had been near to killing him. "We left things in an…interesting place, Your Grace."

He didn't blush. If the stories were true—and they were—this sort of talk was much more his element. "We did, didn't we. I imagine my letter did little to help."

She smiled slightly. "Very polite. Very formal. Very…"

He shrugged, the first hint of a smile on his lips. "Dry."

She laughed quietly. "If you say so, my king."

That caused his face to twitch, however briefly. "I apologize for that, my lady." His face gave away a brief war of emotion before he continued, almost cautiously. "You have likely seen that I am not great with words."

"Writing one's thoughts can be a difficult task for anyone."

"Saying them is a difficult enough task for me."

Margaery was slightly taken aback. All men had weaknesses, even kings, and Margaery knew that this was one of Damon's. But she'd never met a man who spoke so openly about them. It was an admirable quality, being so honest about one's faults. But to openly admit them was…less than politically wise.

You need me, Damon, as much as I need you. I want to help you realize that.

"You seem to have no problem acting on them." She smiled, making her point obvious.

"The story of my life, my lady."

She took another sip of wine, finding this side of Damon endearing even if it wasn't necessarily kingly. "You seem to be doing fine at the moment."

Emerald eyes blazed intently for half a heartbeat when he settled them on her brown ones. "I think we both know the reason for that. It's what you came all this way to talk about, isn't it?"

She did her best to hide her swallow, though the Seven knew there was no point in trying to hide anything after that night in King's Landing. "Among other things, yes." She paused, then continued ahead almost recklessly. "I had thought our actions indicated…"

"An intent to marry you?"

Yes, blunt and simple was certainly the best way to communicate with Damon Baratheon. "Yes."

"Would you have done it if you knew I'd have left the capitol without doing so?"

She almost said yes, then almost said no. Finally, she shrugged. "I don't know."

He glanced down at the table, apparently thinking. "That I can understand." She gave him the time he needed to ponder it this time. "I believe I have made a muck of this, my lady." A small, self-depreciating laugh.

She smiled a small smile of her own. "I am certain I haven't helped, showing up when you have wildlings, Ironborn and your uncle on your plate."

"None of that is…." He trailed off, then furrowed his brow. "You have mentioned my uncle twice."

She furrowed her own. "Yes, Stannis."

"Why? He hasn't been seen since King's Landing."

Her confusion grew. "You mean he didn't take the city? It had seemed a foregone conclusion when I left."

The king was staring at her as if she had grown another head. "You were there, my lady. So was I and your brothers. He was beaten back."

It was her turn to question her companions wits. "My King, you have been in the Nor—" It suddenly clicked. "You don't know."

His face remained confused, but a touch of fear entered his emerald eyes. "Know what?"

Margaery realized a great many things all at once. Sansa and the Starks had asked no questions about the second Battle of King's Landing, and she herself had offered none, having not known what had occurred. She had received no letters but had assumed that surely Winterfell and the king had.

Except this made sense why none of the king's forces had returned south. Why no one seemed concerned that the capitol of the kingdom had been presumably taken, why the Starks and the officers she had met here at Damon's camp had asked nothing of Stannis.

They don't know.

"Your Grace, your uncle was less than a fortnight away from King's Landing when I came north."

The king was silent a long moment before a barely controlled whisper escaped his lips. "How?"

"Sellsails and mercenaries, Your Grace. A large host of them."

He swallowed. "The city?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I do not know. I have received no word. I had presumed you had, but clearly…"

Damon's eyes suddenly flashed, and before she knew what was happening, he was on his feet, wine chalice tumbling to the floor to shatter. Margaery, shocked and more than a little alarmed, stood as well. "Mother. Tommen." The kings' face was half crazed, fists clenching and unclenching as he stared at the broken chalice, mind clearly racing.

Margaery stepped forward out of instinct, keeping directly in front of him even as he took a step back, raising her hands to cup his cheeks. The King froze at the contact, eyes snapping to hers. "Damon, please breathe. Lord Tywin evacuated your family the same time I left and was recalling your armies to rally to him. Your family is safe." The crazed glint receded a touch, tension easing just a bit. Margaery, conscious of both how tall he was and how her palms seemed to burn, pleaded with both voice and eye for him to remain that way. "I don't know why word hasn't reached you. Perhaps your grandfather and Prince Oberyn have repulsed him. Perhaps the Ironborn have shot down every raven and sank every messenger boat. There is much to learn, but your family is safe, of that I have no doubt. Lord Tywin would never allow harm to befall them, for your sake if nothing else."

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. She gently stood on her tiptoes, pressing a light kiss to his lips, before returning to her feet and letting her hands trail down to rest lightly on his forearms soothingly.

Damon said nothing, staring down at her as his breathing returned to normal, a gaze she returned levelly. Finally, he nodded again, firmer this time, the panic in his eyes morphing into resolve.

He turned from her gaze and grasp, looking towards the only other person in the room. "Ser Loras." His voice was firm and authoritative, calling her brother away from the door. Margaery knew the king hadn't missed Loras step forward in her defense when he had sprung up from the table, and mentally made a note to speak with him before he got his fool head removed, but Damon wasn't out for blood at that moment. "Retrieve your brother, Ser Jaime and Lord Stark. And of course Tyrek. Bring them and four couriers here at once."

The king turned towards the far doorway. "Megga, Elinor." Margaery was as shocked to here her cousins names as they were, judging by how they stumbled through the doorway from their hiding spot on the other side as if tripping upon one another. He made no comment on their presence. "We'll take that meal now, enough for my council. And I am certain your lady has quill and parchment; bring me that as well."

Margaery watched as all three of her family members rushed to obey the king's command, seeing Elinor's dress flap behind her in her haste. She glanced at the King to find those green eyes appraising her, hard and calculating, almost reminding her of Tywin Lannister. With another nod, this one to himself, they seemed to reach a conclusion.

He turned back towards the door. "Loras!" He called as the door closed, only for Loras to reopen it a moment later and stick his head back through. Damon glanced from him to Margaery, then back again. "Fetch a septon as well."

A/N: *tease* Politics and ice zombies.