plot bnny death place - antiqusdea

by fanfics-for-a-blind-friend

mestly dead plot stuff, some notes and thoughts. for aud

76. Chapter 76

Chapter 74:

Garlan Tyrell walked through the destruction wrought by the Stranger. Where once the defensive briar maze of Highgarden had stood and then burned were just charred lumps of what had been proud bushes. The blood and gore pooled well over his ankles in a horrible wet, crimson muck. Chunks of men, sometimes just their armor and boots floating in the bloody mud, nothing substantial left at all laid there. He was numb as he walked, each step making an awful sucking sound as he had to rip his boots from the cloying gore.

Amongst the dead were those who had been spared. Dotted across the field, sometimes in clumps, sometimes alone were Lannister men at arms. They were on their knees. Some sobbing, some curled on the ground shaking with terror. But it was clear, those who had dropped their weapons lived. He looked to his men behind him. "Round up the survivors to the tulip garden, but cause them no harm."

He did not stay to see his orders followed, as he knew they would be, instead, he inexorably marched forward, through the death and ruin of his home. But at least his home still stood. Garlan walked through the crumbling gatehouse and turrets that had been the first proper defense of Highgarden. As he, and those men following him, came out into the fields outside of Highgarden he trembled.

The catapults that had been hammering them were so much shattered rubble. How much of the Lannister force had been outside the walls, and how much was dead inside he didn't know. But he did know they'd estimated the army that had arrived on their doorstep at twenty thousand men. If he was right, maybe a little over two thousand were left kneeling on the ground within and without. It was a rout.

Standing amidst the ruin and wreckage of thousands of bodies was the Stranger. She was speaking with her Stark warrior.

It dawned on him as he approached that she was wearing an outer jacket with a color and design that reminded him of a weirwood. He…would not dare ask. As he reached her he dropped to his knee. "Stranger, you have my and my House's eternal gratitude. Anything you require or desire. You need only name it."

"You can stand, and I'm not the Stranger." She replied, a lack of danger in her voice as she held out her hand.

Garlan's tongue felt as if it was stuck to the roof of his mouth as he accepted the hand up. If she was not the Stranger…could such a power belong to the Maiden? The Mother? Or could the Warrior take the form of a woman? He stood, a thrum passing through him from her hand before she released it. "I.."

"My fault, forgot to introduce myself." She smiled slightly. "And my list of titles is ridiculous, but I'm Quake, Destroyer of Worlds. My friends call me Daisy." She gestured to her companion. "This is Prince Jon Stark of Winterfell, Hand of Sansa Stark, Queen of the North."

Garlan blinked. "My apologies I've not heard of you before Holiness."

"Yeah, this isn't my realm." She shrugged. "This idiot's old gods dragged me here and I'm a bit trapped for now. Stupid trees." Goddess Quake's face fell slightly more serious. "And you don't owe me anything. I helped you because of a deal struck for your survival by your Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. Also, I like your brother Loras."

Jon Stark sighed. "Ser Garlan, what is the state of Highgarden? We're here to help."

"The second wall wouldn't have lasted till night. Once that was lost the central wall and keep wouldn't have held out two days." Garlan swallowed. "They took us by surprise with a quick march from Tarley lands. We had near a thousand men at arms here two weeks ago. I don't know the final numbers, less than seven hundred now. We kept most of our men alive in the retreat behind the second wall. But more than that I won't know for hours yet."

Goddess Quake cast her eyes across the rolling hills. "They didn't raid your small folk?"

"They depended on speed so that we would not have time to call our banners nor raise our defenses fully." Garlan's jaw clenched. "If her Grace hadn't warned us to prepare our defenses we'd have been lost days ago."

Jon Stark nodded. "Well, that's something." He kicked at the body by his feet. "We have a prisoner you and your Queen might be interested in. Thought he'd have been a better swordsman."

Garlan recognized the dirty, but clearly recognizable man. His hand automatically flew to the hilt of his sword. "Kingslayer!"

"Hey!" The goddess's hand caught his arm before he could draw his sword. "Your Queen is a week and a half behind us in reaching you. Hostages might be something she's interested in."

Garlan dropped his arm, shamed at his rage before a being as far above him as a goddess. He didn't know exactly who she was, but he knew she was divine and that he as well as all those he loved owed her their lives. "Apologies." His face dropped. "If you would, please. The inner keep will know more of what the status of Highgarden is if it pleases you, your Highness, your Holiness."

"You'll want to get your men to start securing the men who've surrendered." Goddess Quake reached down and easily picked Jaime Lannister up as if he wasn't in full armor. "Where should I put him?"

Walking beside a living god up the long path to the inner keep was surreal. The blood and viscera was deep as they walked. He knew it was certainly deeper in the lower grounds within the walls. But here on the road up to the inner grounds, walking was still feasible. As they passed all movement ceased.

The Tyrell men were making their way out to secure their lost ground and their new prisoners. They all were wide-eyed and pale as they picked their way forward through the ruin of the Lannister forces. As each saw Goddess Quake they'd seem to freeze, staring in awe, before bowing, if not outright dropping to their knees, careless of the muck, blood, and viscera on the ground. Highgarden had never been so silent.

Garlan didn't know if words existed to express the judgment that had befallen this day. He walked hesitantly as they were near halfway to the second curtain wall's gate that he'd been prepared to die defending not even a full hour earlier. Words and questions stuck in his throat. He was grateful the Northern Prince and Goddess Quake seemed content to walk in silence. So they walked, the terror and awe filling the air around them as they went.

Highgarden had been the most beautiful castle in all of Westeros just weeks ago. Now it was in ruins. Their outer wall had been battered into submission. The first circle and their briar maze that had stood since the ages of the Gardner Kings was now ash and charred chunks soaked in the blood of their enemies. Great slabs of rock and rubble from the bombardment of the catapults dotted the land. The once pristine walls were cracked and damaged.

The gatehouse in the second wall was ruined. Massive parts of the bulwarks were knocked down, and the gate no longer existed. It was a relief to reach the less damaged parts of Highgarden, though all of his home was damaged and torn by the war that had come to them. It grieved his heart to see, and yet it still stood. And so in silence, he led them further in, through the third gate, and into the grounds there.

The women and children, those few older knights and men at arms who had been left as a final line of defense, the servants. Had begun to spill out of the castle keep whether because word had spread, or the change to silence after the ground had bucked and shook, he did not know. And then he saw her, his wife. She was there, as delicate as the day he'd met her.

Her eyes hit him and she ran towards him in a great billow of skirts. "GARLAN!"

He let out a sob, and caught her in his arms, desperately holding her to him. Neither of them cared that he was in filthy armor, only that they had not thought to see each other again. His eyes burned as he cried, holding her. He never wished to let her go again. Garlan just shook, unable to take his eyes off his wife's face as her fingers trailed along his face.

"Boy! What's happened!?" Grandmother's voice cut through the air. "And why in seven hells is a Stark here?"

Garlan flinched, quickly pushing his wife behind him as he snapped his attention to his grandmother. He needed to stop her before she insulted a Goddess. "Grandmother!" The desperation in his tone must have reached her though. Because she mercifully turned her eye away from their guests. "Please."

"What's happened?" His grandmother's voice was serious instead of biting this time.

His mouth felt dry. "The Lannisters are dead." Garlan straightened as he refused to let the reactions of those who had not witnessed what occurred cause him to falter. "May I present the living goddess, Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds." He put as much emphasis on the name 'Quake' as possible. They may not have seen it, but they had to have felt the unnatural way the ground had moved. "We live on her mercy." He continued indicating Jon Stark. "And this is Prince Jon Stark, Hand to the Queen in the North."

"We've come to help." Prince Jon spoke stiffly. "Introductions can come later. For now what needs to be done?"

Goddess Quake just raised a brow but didn't disagree with him.

So Garlan turned to his grandmother. "Where is Willas?"

/

Sansa watched from the walls as the Vale armies rode up towards Winterfell. Their banners unfurled in the wind. The great kingdom of knights and chivalry. Fourteen thousand men who had avoided the last seven years of near-constant warfare that had consumed the rest of Westeros. And here they were, to fight in her name. It was impressive, and she intended to send them to fourteen of the northern keeps that lay north of Winterfell.

"I promised you an army." Lord Baelish spoke lowly, far too close to her ear.

Her skin crawled at how close he was. But she knew the role she had to play. "You've made good on your word." Sansa flicked her eyes to him. "I won't forget it."

"As I always have striven to." He dipped his lying, smarmy head.

Her teeth ached with the force required to not order her guard to throw the man over the parapets and to his death. "Should I be concerned about what news they may bring?"

"Nothing that you do not already know or could guess." Baelish had a smug look on his face.

She raised a brow. He wanted her reaction then, why he wanted that instead of the credit of usefulness was curious. But it wouldn't be news he feared the fallout affecting him. Something of some import, but not a setback. Something she could handle without warning then. But not something she wished to. "Humor me Lord Baelish."

"If you wish, funny though, I'd have thought your lover would have kept you far better informed than I could?" Baelish sounded perfectly lightly conversational, perfectly reasonable. "Only she hasn't returned to you in some time, has she?"

Sansa arched a brow at that. She hadn't been expecting that tact, and the man had been cautious in regard to Daisy since the whore incident. "What are you implying?"

"Only the moods and whims of the gods are..fleeting. And her Holiness has proven to have a taste for beautiful queens." He implied a concerned expression that she knew meant vileness and cruelty.

It was funny, perhaps she should have worried. Daisy should have returned by now. And yet…she didn't feel a flicker of worry. Some concern at what might have caused the delay, but she didn't doubt Daisy's capability to handle whatever the issue might be. But the thought of doubting Daisy's loyalty or rather faithfulness hadn't even crossed her mind. Now presented with it she found it ridiculous to imagine. She could so easily picture how Daisy looked at her.

And beyond simple security, Daisy's aid and loyalty had never been dependent on what was between the two of them. Their courtship had been so many lies for months. Daisy was bound to their cause because she agreed with Jon. Because she had chosen to aid them. Sansa made a sound in the back of her throat she hoped did not sound like the scoff it was. "It is far too soon to suspect the worst from that quarter."

"You know the little game I like to play, imagine the worst and see how well it explains their actions." Baelish was oily as he offered doubt to tarnish what connections she had.

Sansa looked away from him, let him guess at why. But she saw his game then. He was looking for cracks that he might begin to pry. First a priceless dagger to Rickon, now an implication of unfaithfulness from Daisy. No doubt he'd have a whisper or suspicion for one of her other siblings soon…perhaps Jon since distance would prevent him from defending his name? But it told her that either he was lacking a faultline to exploit, or was obscuring one. Either was dangerous. So giving him one might show his strings. "You've said little of my sister?"

"She's not half as lovely as you." He wheedled.

He really didn't want to say what he knew from the Riverlands, which meant he wanted her reaction to it in a more stressful moment. "Petyr, do you intend to avoid all my questions?"

"Some questions lack easy answers." He replied. "If you wish me to ask the right questions to answer those you have of your sister, you have only to ask."

Sansa looked at his face and she wished to bloody it. Let him think of it as an olive branch for providing her an army. "Then prove your intentions Lord Baelish, find the answers I seek." She turned and walked away. After all, she had an army to greet in her King's Hall.

Sansa sat upon her throne of ironwood. It was not grand like the seat in the Eyrie, nor terrible like the Iron Throne, instead it was simply a sturdy and well-carved chair. The functionality and lack of pageantry of it all suited the North, and her own sensibilities.

The dozen or so knights in charge of the Vale army stood before her, all perfect court manners. Though she questioned the pale and shaking noblewoman with them. She'd of course be required to walk through the Vale army to ensure the men saw her face, but that could wait till the morrow. "You are most welcome to Winterfell and the North my Lords. It honors me to offer you my hospitality." She waved forward a servant with the bread and salt.

The general of the army bowed deeply before accepting the bread and salt first. His sigil was that of House Redfort. "Your Grace, my men are at your service."

"For which, I and my people, are most grateful. Together our people have never been defeated, may that continue to hold true, as well as our bonds of friendship and brotherhood." Sansa replied, the Vale would want some court speech, even if she only meant to give the minimum. The North preferred her without southern airs, as did she.

Lord Redfort dipped his head. "Well said, your Grace." He stepped forward, holding out a folded banner. "The Twins are yours, your Grace."

Sansa barely kept from reacting to that news. The Twins!? "And what of House Frey?" Her tone was carefully measured as she spoke, her surprise ruthlessly tamped down. The Vale army did not appear to have fought a siege, and could not have had time to.

A younger knight, also in the colors of House Redfort stepped forward, shepherding the noblewoman forward as well. His voice was clear, if cautious. "Every man of the Frey name is dead, killed by a Faceless man of Bravos in the Name of House Stark after being fed their kin, your Grace."

Sansa's attention turned to her sister. Her posture was rigidly still to keep her surprise from showing. Any question at the truth of it vanished at the sight of her sister's smile. She returned her attention to the knight. "I presume you have manned the fortress then?"

"Yes, it flies the Stark banner in your name. The Freys that were not fed to their family died of the poison; the strangler…the same as the false King Joffrey was killed by, your Grace." And the disquiet on his face made complete sense.

They thought she'd done it, and that it was proof she'd had Joffrey killed as well, a misunderstanding she did not intend to correct. "You have done as I would have hoped then, good Ser." She weighed her words carefully. "A more just fate for oath breakers I could not have hoped to hear."

The noblewoman made a high-pitched sound of terror and alarm. Her eyes and that of the whole court turned to Arya.

Arya's fingers played with the hilt of the sword. "Eating one's own sons was the gods' punishment for breaking guest rights. Glad to know you agree it was justice sister."

/

Steward Alester had been in his position in Highgarden for more than two decades. He had served Lady Olenna with such poise and precision that even she had never tried to replace him. She had in fact spoken on his behalf when Lord Willas had considered replacing him with someone younger.

Over those years of service Steward Alester had perfected an affectation of supreme calm. A man who could not be flustered: not by the most cutting remark from Lady Olenna, not from walking in on Lord Willas' more salacious youthful exploits, Lord Galran's destructive sparring in a family solar of all places or even when Ser Loras made outrageous demands like wanting a cloak made entirely of flowers.

Steward Alester was a calm island in the constantly crashing tides of Highgarden…or at least he had been, until a fucking god had appeared to save them all.

Steward Alester had remained stalwart as the Lanniser forces besieged Highgarden. He had known his duties. He had stoically demanded calm from the servants, issued orders to begin moving furniture for use as barricades, to have cots and blankets moved to the hall for use as a medical area, to ration food, for the more beloved relics and items of the Keep to be taken and moved into storage in a vein attempt to protect them should their walls fail.

Steward Alester had known his duties, and even in the face of the sacking of Highgarden, his oncoming inevitable death, the pillaging of the grand home he had taken care of for years and the rape or murder of the people he knew and commanded by the barberous Lanniser army at his door…he had remained seemingly unmoved. Unshakable. Serene.

Right now however he was anything but as he stormed toward the Highgarden's Kitchens where dozens of frightened servants had taken refuge. He banged on the door and called out, "Open this damned door immediately. The siege is over, the Lannisters are defeated and we have work to do!"

"Steward Alester, is that you?" A gruff voice called through the heavy wooden door.

Alester sucked in a breath like a dragon about to belch fire, "Of course it's me Flowers you idiot, now open the damn door."

There was the sound of murmuring behind the door and then another voice piped up, "How'd we know your not lyin'? Struck a deal wit' the Lannisters to get us out easy fer rapin' and killin'?"

Alester grit his teeth and banged his hand against the door, "I will choose to blame the idiocy that just spewed from your lips on the stress of the siege young Desera, but if you want to keep your job and the skin on your back you will open this damn door this instant. If you had bothered to open your ears you would hear the cheers of joy and relief from beyond the walls that signify our victory. Unless you think there would be cheers and not screams had the Lannisters truly won?"

There was another extended moment of silence in which the faint echoes of cheers and the absence of siege weapons or clanging of clashing steel could be heard from outside. Even the cheers were muted to Steward Alester's ears…any other victory would have been greeted with wild cheers and cries of delight, yet the shock of the god's appearance and their brutal dispatching of the Lannister armies single handedly had muted even that usual joy. The sound of heavy furniture scraping across the floor sounded and eventually the Kitchen door creaked open.

Steward Alester swept in. His eyes scanned the tear soaked faces of servants who gripped each other in terror. He offered no comment on the few who held kitchen knives in white knuckled fear.

The servants stared back at Steward Alester in growing hope, the usually unflappable man looked exhausted, his clothes rumpled and a visible sheen of sweat on his brow. The paleness of his complexion was the most concerning of all.

"Are you well Steward? What is the state of things?" Flowers, the head cook, asked hesitantly, his plump jowls quivering as he enquired.

Alester feels himself sag and leans absently on the worktop beside the door he has just entered. Exhaustion and shock pulling at him.

He lets loose a half strangled laugh which verges on hysteria, "Am I well Flowers? I do not know if I will ever be well again, yet I am alive, we all are. The state of things…I don't know if you will even believe me, but it is imperative that you do, for while we are saved, our fates yet rest in the laps of the gods."

The servants shuffle nervously at the dire prediction and unusually shaken demeanor of their Steward.

Flowers nods fractionally, "Tell us Steward. Your word is trusted here and we are ready to follow where you lead."

Alester pushes off the sideboard and straightens himself, his eyes locking with each servant before he takes a deep breath before calmly illuminating the situation to the servants.

"The Lanister forces have been routed. Either dead or surrendered. The ground pools with their blood and flotsam of their limbs. Our salvation came not from our own military prowess but by the intervention of the gods themselves."

A sharp inhale circles the room and more than one man and woman offers up prayers under their breath to the Seven.

"Which, which god? The Warrior? The Father?" A household servant girl called Perenna asks desperately.

Steward Alester shakes his head, "I was but briefly in her presence as I spoke with Ser Garlan…she- she calls herself Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds. Daisy as a first name of all things. She…she massacred the Lannister forces…made them pop like bulging ticks with barely a gesture. If'n you doubt my word then merely look out any of the windows with a view below…you will see- you will see the grounds, a lake of blood where an army once stood."

Steward Alester swallows back the vomit he feels rising in his throat at the mere remembrance of the scene. He sways slightly on his feet. His vision blurring and his hearing going oddly mute despite the hysteria of the servants at his revelation.

Flowers jumps to his feet and fixes a goblet of wine that he thrusts into Steward Alesters suddenly shaking hands. The cook hushes the murmuring and hysteric crowd, "Quiet, can't ye see the Steward struggles? He needs not our ramblin' cries cloggin' his 'ead."

"Why did she help us? Where did she…Who would have prayed to an unknown god?" asked a young servant named Jenna. Her hands absently rubbing a small leather necklace marked with the symbol of The Mother.

Steward Alester swallows the wine and feels its artificial warmth steady him even as he shakes his head, "I, I don't know where she comes from, but she is accompanied by a Stark from the North. From what I overheard between herself, the Stark man and Ser Garlan, Her Holiness Quake came to our aid because she had struck some bargain with our new Dragon Queen Daenerys Targaryan."

Murmurings of disbelief and prayers to The Seven rumble in the room before Steward Alester bangs his hand on the work table to garner their quiet and their attention, "Whatever the particulars, we are to play host to the goddess who saved us. We have work to do. Ser Garlan has commanded I make ready the best rooms of Highgarden for Her Holiness and that she be extended every possible hospitality and favor she might wish. She is to be housed in the family wing and accorded all honor alongside her Stark companion."

Steward Alester's eyes narrowed on a small group of huddled servants, "Jenna, Ahelis, Hildeth and Stella…you are to make all haste and clear out Lord Wilas rooms. Move all of his personal effects to one of the smaller spare family suites. Make ready the room with fresh linens for the god, draw a hot tub and fresh clothes…shit."

The sudden curse catches the assembled servants off guard. Hildeth, braver than her companions asks, "What? What's wrong Steward?"

Steward Alester pulls at his hair frantically and begins pacing in place, "The god is slight of frame, well muscled but she does not wear a dress. She is garbed in britches and a surcoat…I, I don't think we have anything in her size which would be suitable to garb a god in….a seamstress….no, there is not enough time…."

Rinan, the male twin seated beside his sister Rina who was partially responsible for cleaning the many luxurious gowns and clothes of House Tyrell piped up, "Surely we have something that would fit and would suffice until we can have something else made? Her Holiness would not take offense at a dress now that the war is fought surely? She is a woman you say?"

Steward Alesters eyes seem vacant as he stares off into the distance, trying to visualize the gods proportions, "Perhaps…perhaps something of Leonettes." Alester's eyes pin Ana, the personal servant of Leonette, "You must fetch the finest dress of your Lady. Nothing too heavy or ornamental. Bring it to what were Lord Wilas chambers, along with small clothes. Only the best available."

Ana dips a bow of acknowledgement, her eyes wide.

Ser Alester turns back to the group and addresses Sesto and Mace, a pair of young men who served in many capacities across the Keep, "You two, make ready the suit beside Wilas. The Stark man will stay there. I am sure you will have no problem finding suitable clothes for him, although he likely won't need ought but a change of boots since they were the only thing he got blood on."

And wasn't that a horrifying thought. The god and her companion had led the slaughter of the Lannister army, and yet they left that field of offal almost pristine but for the blood upon their boots.

The servants stand in mute shock until Steward Alester bellows, "Well? What are you waiting for? You have your orders and your duties…get to it."

The servants burst into panicked motion and race for the door.

Steward Alester rests his hand on Jenna's shoulder as she goes to pass him, "I am assigning you and your companions as the personal servants of the god while she is here. I trust the new girl, Ahelis? Is up to the task?"

Jenna's eyes blow wide in shock and horror but before she can question it Steward Alester is bustling off, commanding the cooks to begin preparing food and wine.

---

Jenna and Ahelis stood outside the suit of rooms that formerly belonged to Lord Willas. The rush to empty the rooms of personal effects and make it ready for a god had been frantic.

Inside, even yet, Hildeth and Stella were likely still doing finishing touches. The tub of steaming water had just finished being filled when the Steward had bustled back up and shortly told them to make ready, Ser Garlan was showing the god and her companion to their rooms for the evening.

From the corner of her eye, Jenna can see Sesto and Mace standing straight backed outside the spare room down the corridor that has been assigned to the Stark companion of the god.

Jenna can feel her heart pounding at coming close to divinity. Her nerves were not aided by the fact she had joined Hildeth in leaning out a window to catch a glimpse of the carnage below. Even from so high up, the bloody lake of what had once been a besieging army was obvious. A dark red stain of churned mud and offal which scarred the land.

Jenna stiffens as she hears footsteps coming from the far end of the hallway, the low tones of Ser Garlan converses with a feminine voice.

Ser Garlan in full armor, sweat stained and covered from head to toe in mud and blood walks sedately conversing with a man and a woman. His body language is…odd. Jenna has never seen the proud and verbose Knight look so..cowed?

His head is partially ducked as he speaks and there is a tightness to his shoulders.

It appears someone has handed him a washcloth at some point for the center of his face is cleaner and a full shade lighter than the rest of his skin, yet his complexion is pallor, a stark contrast to his usually healthy skin tone. In fact, his skin seems almost waxy in the candle light.

It takes Jenna a moment to realize that it is fear and awe which color his skin so sickly.

The dark haired man in the middle is handsome. It is the first thing that strikes Jenna. He is obviously of the North and a Knight or Lord of martial prowess. The scar marring his face only seems to add a wildness to his roguish charm. He walks proudly at the god's side, their shoulders brushing absently in such a display of ease that Jenna cannot help but speculate what the man is to the god. He must have nerves of steel to stand so at ease beside a god and touch her so casually. One of his hands rests absently on his sword's hilt while the other hangs loosely at his side. His leather boots are caked in dried blood and mud but in all other ways he seems well put together, fresh in a way no man leaving the charnel yard of the killing field should look. He is dressed in black furs with a direwolf sigil and a small paw pin on his chest.

A Stark, and the hand of the new Queen in the North mayhap? Or is he maybe the hand of the god?

Even the pale handsomeness of the Northern Stark however pales beside the god…and that is all she can be.

The god is wearing an outer jacket with a color and design that reminded Jenna of a Weirwood tree. Originally, she was sure the pale gray, almost white pants and surcoat with intricate red leaf patterns embroidered all over had been beautiful…now however? Now, the design and splendor was almost unrecognizable. Blood splattered the god from head to toe, it clung to her hair like rubies and marred her olive skin. It was said she had walked from the killing field with hardly a jot of blood upon her form but for her boots, but had then lowered herself to help aid the injured, uncaring of the mud and blood that stained her form. For all of the woman's masculine clothing she moved with the predatory grace of a large cat, completely comfortable in her own skin and elegance in motion.

Her Yi Ti features are immediately striking. Dark hair brushes her shoulders but for an oddly shortened bit at the front that looks remarkably like it had been singed on a candle.

Sestos and Mace bow as the trio step up to the door of the suite they have prepared for the Stark man.

Jenna can see both boys' frames tremble lightly in the presence of the god.

The Stark man offers his thanks to Ser Garlan for his hospitality and wishes the god a good rest with a tired half smile.

The being says something with a lilting voice and claps the man softly on the arm before turning back to Ser Garlan who shuffles forward, gesturing her to the next room. The Stark man disappears into the room along with Sestos and Mace.

Jenna feels her veins turn to ice as the beings' dark eyes raised to survey the corridor. In the brief second before Jenna swings her eyes back to the floor she feels consumed and seen in a way she had never been before. Those are not the eyes of a human.

After a few more seconds the god and Ser Garlan draw even with the door.

"This suite has been made ready for you, Your Holiness. I hope it meets your needs and if you should need anything…anything at all, then you have but to ask and the servants will see to it," Ser Garlan says. His voice holds a faint quiver and the bleeding edge of awe.

Jenna and Ahelis drop into deep curtseys.

Jenna swears she can feel the god's power tingling and vibrating across her skin. It feels like the air has weight, like the god's power is tensed and coiled, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.

Jenna hesitates to raise her eyes but the god merely offers a gleaming smile, her preternaturally white and straight teeth flashing all the brighter for their contrast to her blood and gore stained skin.

The god winks at Jenna and Ahelis,

"So long as there is a soft bed, I am sure it is fine. I am just glad I don't have to fly back to Dragonstone tonight."

"A place to rest is the least we can offer you, Your Holiness. You saved all our lives, it is a debt we stand ready to repay however we can," Garlan reiterates.

The god nods, "You said, but for now I will settle for the bed. I wish you all a good night."

So saying the god brushed past Jenna and Ahelis, leaving a gaping Garlan in her wake as she strode into the room which until but a few hours previous had belonged to Lord Willas.

Jenna and Ahelis startled at the god's quick departure, almost tripping over their feet to follow the god.

Jenna rushes into the room and allows her eyes to swing around the large Solar which was half sitting room and half library as was the choice of Lord Wilas. With his weak leg he had indulged in his hobbies of Hawking, and reading to offset the humdrum nature of the vast administrative tasks he had taken on when managing the Tyrell Estate.

A huge fire roared in the fireplace before which a large steaming tub of water gave off the scent of expensive oils and soaps.

Jenna frantically craned her neck trying to spot the god, but she was nowhere in sight.

Ahelis, wide eyed, gestured with a nod of her head to the slightly ajar door that led to the bedchamber.

How fast did the god move?

Jenna nodded to her fellow servant and took a step forward but hesitated when she felt something sticky beneath her soft leather boots.

Looking down in the dim candlelight Jenna's breath caught as she saw the god's bloody footprints leading to the bedchamber.

Her gore and blood covered leather boots had left thick imprints on the stone floors and expensive rugs.

Ahelis followed Jenna's gaze and paled as she saw the pooling red footprints.

Glancing back they saw that the footprints had been left everywhere the god had stepped.

Jenna's mind flashes to the route from the gardens all the way to the family wing and imagines the trail of bloody footprints that must mark her entire path. Jenna cringes at the idea of having to clean that bloody trail.

She eyes the bloody footprints that lead to the chamber and swallows thickly at the sudden realization that if the footprints are this bloody and thick here…she can only imagine the thickness and mess of them at the entrance gate below.

Jenna steadies her breathing and grabs Ahelis by the elbow and speeds the two of them into the chamber.

Jenna is barely two steps inside before she comes to a screeching halt.

The god is face down on the silk green and gold thread sheets, the blood from her clothing already staining the expensive bedding. She looks as though she entered the room and simply collapsed vertically, fully clothed on top of the bed.

The god snores softly.

Jenna's bows furrow. What the hell are they meant to do now?

Ahelis tugs on Jenna and nods back to the door. Jenna huffs softly under her breath, quickly blows out the candles in the room and retreats back to the solar with Ahelis.

"What do we do?" Ahelis hisses worriedly in a low whisper as soon as Jenna closes the door.

Jenna throws up her hands and whispers back, "I don't know! But I'll tell you what I'm not doing; I'm not waking a god of destruction to ask if she wants a night gown."

Ahelis rings her hands nervously, a look of constipated worry on her face, "The sheets?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, "Bugger the sheets. Our Masters would burn every golden sheet in Highgarden if it pleased the god, they won't care about some blood stained sheets. We'll strip the bed in the morn and leave them down for laundry. If they can be salvaged, all well and good. If not, then…well, it's a small price to pay for the fact we are all still alive and not falling under the sword of some Lannister savage."

Ahelis squeaks at the image and Jenna's harsh whispers. Jenna instantly feels a spike of guilt at her harsh words to the less experienced girl.

Ahelis' eyes dart to the steaming tub that had taken a half dozen servants to fill and was perfumed with a small fortune of luxurious oils.

"What now?" she asks.

Jenna rakes her hand through her hair.

"Now? Now we empty that tub and prepare to refill it with fresh water the moment the god awakens. We can use it to fill buckets and begin swabbing the god's bloody footprints off the floors. That'll keep us plenty busy."

Ahelis looks anxiously between the closed door through which the god sleeps, the bloody footprints and the steaming tub. After a fretful moment she nods in agreement.

---

A mere handful of hours later a tired Jenna hears the faint sound of a groaning god as she begins to stir.

Jenna elbows Ahelis who is sleeping on the wooden pallet beside her. Ahelis startles and awakens with a confused look, her eyes looking around blearily until after a moment recognition sparks. She is on the wooden pallet outside the god's chambers where she and Jenna had taken it in turns sleeping.

Jenna whispers, "I can hear Her Holiness moving about. I think she is waking up or will be soon enough. Come on, we need to get the tub ready."

Steward Alestar had scowled last night when Jenna had informed him that the god had not used the tub, but he had just as quickly ordered a half dozen servants to empty the tub alongside Jenna and Ahelis, to use the steaming water to clean the bloody footprints that marred the floors.

Water was being kept hot and ready in large iron pales over fires in the kitchens, in large pots over the fireplaces of unused guest suites and in this very Solar. There was ample hot water ready at a moment's notice for the god's use.

"Go inform the others that the god is waking, we need to get as many servants as possible into a relay hauling water in to fill this tub as quickly as possible."

Ahelis nods and scrambles to do as Jenna recommended.

Jenna stands and stretches her aching back. She quietly begins drawing back drapes and opening windows to allow fresh air in but after opening one that has a prevailing wind gusting the foul smell of the carnage from outside up towards the room she closes it again. The stench of blood, the first hints of sour decay and of ruptured bowels when men died by the god's hand waft on the air. She maneuvers around the room and only opens the one window that is down wind on the opposite side of the suit while also lighting a few well placed candles. An extravagance in the morning which she would usually have avoided but for the presence of the god. The early morning light is weak yet and the brightness of the Solar is as much a comfort to herself as she hopes it will meet with the god's approval.

Jenna lights a few more candles to illuminate and highlight the splendor of Lord Willas' former chamber. Finally she sets up a golden oil burner to infuse the room with a rich scent. She restokes the fire and walks on silent feet towards the bedchamber's door once more.

Jenna focuses her ears on the bedchamber.

She can hear the sound of a body shifting on the bed. Its movements becoming more energetic by the moment.

A faint groan echoing through the door.

The Solar door opens and Ahelis leads in a small army of servants carrying buckets of steaming water to fill the tub. Usually filling a tub was a lengthy operation for a pair of quick footed and strong servants but for a god the tub would be filled in minutes by the abundance of aid.

Ahelis dumps her bucket in and sidles up beside Jenna, "Well?"

Jenna swallows around her suddenly dry throat, "I think she is wakining…finish filling the tub. I - I am going in."

Ahelis grabs Jenna's arm, "Are you sure? Maybe you should wait here?" Her youth is apparent in her uncertainty.

Jenna shakes her head and releases a gusty breath as she girds her courage, "No, we have to offer her every courtesy." Her extra years of experience allow her to take the lead and at least appear confident before her younger companion.

Jenna steps to stand before the door and listens, she can definitely hear the god shuffling about now.

Jenna knocks with false confidence. Almost before her hand has touched the wood the god calls out, "Enter!"

Jenna hustles to open the door.

The room is dim, morning light peeking in between the closed drapes.

The god is seated on the edge of the bed stretching her neck to and fro, audible pops and snaps echoing in the room.

Jenna drops into a deep curtsey and pauses, fearful to rise without permission, "Your Holiness."

The god squints in the dim light at Jenna, "Uh, sup, uh, you can stand. I know you all are deep into your courtly bows that I think I would need ballet to pull off but a quick head bob or speedy curtsey is more than enough."

Jenna rises, her brows furrowing as she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. The gods' manner of speech is…odd. What is ballet?

Daisy stares at the servant in the gloom of the room, stretching her shoulders while pulling a face at the reek and sticky texture of mostly dried blood on her clothes.

"Uh, forgive me, I was shattered last night and face planted. I didn't catch your name?"

Jenna's voice cracks and her heart races, "I am J-Jenna your Holiness."

"Jenna…right, nice name, my best friend is called Jemma so your name will be easy to remember. Um, can you like, look at me? I promise I'm not going to hurt you or whatever, I was sent here to protect House Tyrell so you have nothing to fear from me."

Jenna hesitantly raises her eyes to meet the god's kind gaze.

The kindness is somewhat undercut by the bloody visage of the god from head to toe.

Jenna feels her racing heart slow a little as she is not immediately smote and the god does not seem like the sort of noble who makes unreasonable demands or starts shouting first thing in the morning because they are in a foul mood at being woken.

For a god, she seems oddly approachable…despite the bowel loosening terror of course.

Jenna glances from the god to the curtains, "May I open the drapes Holiness?"

The god nods, her movements slow. She stays seated on the edge of the bed, seemingly aware that any sudden moves may terrify the young servant.

Jenna's pride rears at being treated like a scared animal.

She marches across the chamber and pushes open the drapes one by one.

The god squints in the morning daylight, she raises her arm to block a weak beam of sunlight and then makes a disgusted sound in her throat as she sees the dried blood coating the arm of her clothes in the full light of day.

Jenna turns back and takes the initiative, deciding to treat the god like any other noble until she is told differently, "A tub has been drawn and awaits you in the Solar if you would like to freshen up your Holiness."

Daisy snorts inelegantly and rises in a liquid move, "Uh, Yes…a bath sounds wonderful. Like, lead on Jenna."

Jenna bows and heads for the door, she strides out and sees Ahelis adding yet more expensive oils and perfumes to this fresh bath.

The god is close behind and Jenna feels the hairs rise on the back of neck. Some primitive instinct whispering to her body that she is in the presence of something other.

Jenna gestures to the tub which has steam rising enticingly from it. "The tub is yours Holiness. The finest oils, and soaps await you on the bench, while clothes which we hope will meet your needs are also prepared. Ahelis and I can aid you in bathing and doing your hair if you wish, or I can retrieve you some food from the Kitchens. Although, a formal breakfast hosted by House Tyrell for you and your companion will also be laid on shortly should you wish to attend."

Daisy's eyes are on the tub, she begins tugging inelegantly at her surcoat and before Jenna can even offer aid the god is stripping her soiled and bloody clothes without any concerns or requests for aid as a normal noble would.

The god finishes tossing her surcoat to the ground and then pulls at the laces of her pants. She hops on one foot inelegantly as she pulls off her boots one by one.

Jenna's eyes widen as she sees the god is wearing an oddly shaped black breast binding made of fine black cloth unlike any design she has ever known. It is…refined, and provocative in how little fabric she wears beneath her outer surcoat, The material clings indecently to her bosom like a second skin, highlighting the faint outline of her nipple while leaving nought to the imagination. Jenna absently muses the support of such a divine garment must be brilliant for it is not worn to cover one's modesty.

The god casts it aside and stomps her pants off, standing unabashed in the center of the room before striding for the tub.

Jenna feels herself freeze as she catches a glimpse of the god's body before she hastily averts her gaze. Ahelis seems to be having the same issue.

The god's olive skin is pulled taught over lithe limbs which are well muscled. Defined and rippling muscles coat the god's femenine form. Even at a brief glimpse Jenna can tell the woman is a warrior. That is even before she fully absorbs the sight of the god's scars.

Three scars over her heart speak of where multiple arrows pierced her…each scar signifying a mortal wound. A wound that would have skewered her heart or near enough to have killed a normal man dead within less than three breaths…yet the god stands proudly and no worse for wear.

These wounds however pale in comparison to the large indentations in her stomach and scar tissue that looks too big to be mere arrow wounds…to Jenna's untrained eye it looks like the god had been skewered by Scorpion bolts intended to sink ships or fell dragons. Yet…the god still stands. The wounds look old and partially healed, far too healed for wounds that should have split her open and disemboweled her at the least.

As the god passes in her gleeful steps towards the tub Jenna glances up and catches sight of the full expanse of the god's back… another span of skin which is a puzzle of scars and old war wounds.

The skin of her shoulder is scarred and indented by what looks like old spear wounds, or perhaps those left by a large bolt from a crossbow. Jenna's mind struggles to make sense of it, the size and position of the wounds should have shattered the god's shoulder and left her a cripple, yet she uses her hands and arm with no apparent issue. The back of one knee shows similar damage but this too does not hinder her happy light stepped progress to the tub. The god's movement is as free and easy as that of a dancer in their prime.

As the god passes the glowing sunlight which pools into the room her golden skin is highlighted and a multitude of fine scars are illuminated, their faint paleness standing out in the light. The god's skin is a tapestry of supremely fine scars, as though she had been slashed by hundreds of razors or by a skilled swordsman in an intricate pattern that is beautiful but for the horror it implies this being has endured. Torture, her mind whispers.

Daisy reaches the tub and before Ahelis can warn the god that the water is scalding hot and may need a few buckets of cooler liquid added to make it a comfortable temperature she prefers, she steps in.

Ahelis gapes and cries out, "Your Holiness," Images of her painful death and punishment for allowing the god to burn herself flowing through her mind.

Daisy submerges and bobs to the surface, a hissing sigh which could be pain or pleasure escapes through her teeth.

"Ah this is perfect," The god groans as she relaxes in the steaming water.

Jenna and Ahelis gape at the god. Ahelis had been adding oils and soaps and had gotten a few spots of the burning water on her arms not a moment ago. The thought of the god enjoying the scalding temperature speaks to her divine nature.

Jenna hustles forward to begin picking up the god's discarded clothes while gesturing discreetly at a gobsmacked Ahelis, "Ahelis will take your clothing to be laundered Holiness, do you wish for food, mayhap some wine?"

The god stretches in the tub and twists her head to look at Jenna, "Uh, nah, you all drink so much wine but it's a bit early for me. I'd love some tea though, black or green, hot, no milk and um-" Daisy glances around at the obvious wealth and indulgence of the Tyrell seat of power. As these lands are the food pantry for feeding the Dragon Queen's army she feels safe enough in betting that resources here are more plentiful than in the North- "And, um, like sugar. So much sugar. Load it up."

Jenna nods, "Certainly, Your Holiness. Ahelis will bring you tea at once." She hands the soiled clothes to Ahelis as she passes. Ahelis offers Jenna a tremulous and grateful smile at being able to escape. With a quick bow to the goddess Ahelis hustles from the room.

Jenna approaches the tub hesitantly but the god offers no reprimand, her attention seemingly consumed by smelling the small cakes of luxurious soap that are placed on the wooden bench across the tub. The god smiles and sighs in delight at each one before lifting the coarse natural sponge imported from the southern coast and lathering it up. The god begins harshly scrubbing her face of dried blood and the ingrained dirt of war.

Jenna marshals her courage and approaches, she keeps her head bowed and her hands folded respectfully before her, "Might I aid you, Your Holiness? I can scrub your back or begin washing your hair if you wish?"

The god pauses in her feverish scrubbing to eye Jenna as though the concept is foreign. Daisy can feel Jenna's panicked heart still and wants to give her a familiar job to do that will put her at ease. A straight refusal may make the poor girl panic more that she has displeased the god. Daisy eyes the rough hunk of sponge. She really wants to just wash all the blood and dirt from herself as quickly as possible. The idea of a servant washing her grates against her modern sensibilities. A compromise seems the only solution. Daisy offers a half shrug before unceremoniously tearing the sponge in half and handing a piece to Jenna, "Sure, thanks. I'd never be able to reach the backs of my shoulders."

Jenna hesitantly takes the steaming, lathered half of the sponge and rounds the tub to begin rubbing slow circles across the god's shoulders and lower neck line. She is hesitant to push too hard across the obvious scars. Up close the wounds look preternaturally well healed but their positioning and depth makes it even more obvious how grievous and fatal these wounds should have been. The faint white scars she had caught glimpses of in the sunlight are more easily picked out up close as Jenna lathers the god's skin. The precise, thin scars are a half shade lighter than her golden skin and are raised the faintest degree.

The god twists to glance over her shoulder and offers a half smile, "I'm not made of glass."

Jenna feels a blush stain her cheeks but is reassured by the god's gentle tone as she increases the pressure of her movements.

The god begins efficiently washing herself from head to toe in a methodical manner that speaks of someone well used to having to quickly remove the stains of battle from their person.

The steaming water has taken on a faint pink hue that has nothing to do with the expensive oils and soaps and everything to do with the blood the god has scoured from her skin. The splatter from the battle had so thoroughly soaked through her clothing that she was covered in a fine sheen of it.

The soaps emit a rich rose scent, the most expensive available.

Jenna sets the sponge aside and reaches for a small cake of soap and asks hesitantly, "May I wash your hair Holiness?"

The god pulls her hair back from her face, "One sec," she declares before unceremoniously ducking herself beneath the water again,

The god rises up, the soapy lather removed from her body and her hair freshly soaked through.

The god smiles and sighs in relief, "Damn, it is good to feel clean again."

Jenna unsticks her mouth from gazing at the god. Cleaned of blood, Jenna can unequivocally say the god is beautiful. Not in a traditional sense for this land but…there is something striking about her features and self assured confidence. Her muscled form, perfect teeth, her dark eyes…Jenna averts her eyes. "I am glad you feel better Your Holiness."

Daisy leans back in the tub and Jenna begins gently massaging the soap into her hair, one section at a time with the florally scented cake soap.

Daisy forces herself to remain relaxed at the unfamiliar sensation. Having Jenna wash her hair was not something Daisy would usually go for, yet she can sense how frightened these servants all are of her. After what she did to the army…she can hardly blame them. Thus, Daisy employs the same tactic she used in Winterfell; she lets the servants do their jobs as they usually would. The routine, and her doing what they expect of any other noble, is familiar. Familiarity is safety. Already Daisy can sense the slowing of Jenna's heartbeat as she settles into the familiar task of washing her hair. Any refusal of servants aiding her could cause them to panic, thinking they had displeased her and so letting someone wash her hair was oddly a kindness. In the grand scheme of things, it was small, yet it meant much to the servants.

After rinsing and scrubbing the god's hair twice more, Jenna untangles her hair to brush it through with a golden comb. Like, an actual comb that looks to be made of gold and is intricately carved. Daisy rolls her eyes and suppresses a snort. Sansa was not wrong about how extra the Southerners can be. This is ridiculous.

Daisy is just settling in to luxuriate in the water when the solar door opens and Ahelis walks in carrying a huge tray laden down with tea making accouterments.

Ahelis sets the tray on a small table set beside the tub and bows to the god, "I have brought a variety of teas, Holiness. I hope one will meet with your approval?"

Daisy's eyes are wide as she takes in the six delicate china serving bowls of tea leaves, three black and three differing shades of green. A hot iron pot on a small stand sits beside a matching china tea cup and teapot. The white china is familiar to Daisy's eye but she is unsure what they call such fine ceramics and pottery here. It is delicate and white like the china she knows from earth but the patterns are distinctly foreign. A dusty red pattern forms a window for a delicately hand painted scene of an unfamiliar coast with merchants along shores and long boats gliding across water. The handles are gilded in gold…because of course they are.

A larger bowl contains a heap of coarse, cone shaped brown lumps, each about the size of a hazelnut. Sugar, very expensive sugar, and lots of it.

Daisy twists in the tub and kneels to lean across, unconcerned with her nudity, military bases and orphanages didn't particularly allow privacy. She grabs the teas, sniffing each one giddily. The first green one reminds her of Christmas time. The fine green tea leaves seem delicate and have a pale yellow tinge. The second smells like a standard camellias variety…but the third one has longer, thin, curling shavings of tea leaves and smells almost exactly like the 'Long Jong' tea her mother had given her in Afterlife as a treat after the more putrid medicinal and meditative blends. Daisy feels an ache in her chest at the rare happy memory of her mother. Her beautiful scarred face laughed as she handed Daisy the expensive tea which was famed for its natural sweetness and strong aroma.

Daisy swallows back the lump in her throat and reaches for the black teas. The first smells strongly smoky even before Daisy fully inhales the scent, reminiscent of Lapsang Souchong. The second has an overpowering floral scent like earl gray…but it is the third that draws Daisy's attention and makes her eyes widen.

The leaves look finely shredded and more fibrous than the other varieties but the scent..the scent has a vaguely nutty note that verges on whispering wishes of coffee. A mere shadow of coffee but a hint nonetheless.

"This one, it reminds me of a drink from my home. What is it?" Daisy sighs as she hands the last black tea back to Ahelis. Ahelis takes the bowl of expensive tea and begins fixing a teapot's worth, extra strong. "It is roasted holly tea Holiness. The first bowl of green tea is the unroasted variety."

Daisy blinks in astonishment, Holly tea?

She eyes the brewing teapot with the attention of a hawk stalking prey. By some internal timer the god nods to herself after about five minutes and reaches to pour herself a cup.

Ahelis flutters helplessly, "I can serve the tea Holiness!"

Daisy waves her off, "I like to pour and fix my own."

Daisy fills the cup and uses the tongs to lift a large lump of sugar. The front part of the tongs are narrowed and tapered to act as blades to cut the large cones of rough sugar into smaller chunks, but Daisy ignores this and plops the huge lump in without pause. She inelegantly uses the tongs to stir the tea and dissolve the sugar before revenernetly bringing it to her lips.

The sound the god makes is…pornographic. Daisy sighs in ecstasy before draining the mug, seemingly uncaring of the heat.

The taste is slightly smokey but has a dark caramelized flavor, lacking bitterness, yet robust. It will only be much later and after several mugs that Daisy will notice the long missed buzz of a small caffeine hit from the tea.

Jenna and Ahelis can barely restrain their shock.

Daisy reaches for the teapot and pours a second cup, adds more sugar and settles back in the bath to enjoy this cup at her leisure, sipping contentedly. Daisy cracks one eye open to squint at Ahelis, "You think I could get like a chest of that roast holly tea stuff to bring back with me, and some of that long green one too? I can arrange payment…" Daisy is eyeing the tea covetously and already wondering how much ridiculously expensive glass she would have to make to ensure a steady supply of it made its way North.

Jenna cuts the god off with wide eyes, "No! I mean…uh, yes, Holiness we can arrange for as much of the tea as you like but there will be no need for payment. Lord Wilas would not hear of it. We are all in your debt for saving us from the Lannister siege!"

Ahelis seems to quiver at the reminder of how close they came to dying such horrible deaths. The Lannister army's reputation for slaughter, rape and barbarity when sacking their enemies was well known. No woman, no babe…no-one would have been spared.

Daisy eyes the two servants, her power letting her feel their hearts race."Well, they are gone now and you are safe. You need not worry."

Jenna nods and rises from her position to fill a pale from the large pot of water being kept hot on the fire, "I will top up your tub Holiness, it is bound to be cooling."

The god smiles and waves her hand, "No need, I have it." So saying the god makes a negligent gesture with her hand and suddenly the rapidly cooling water of the tub suddenly emits curls of steam once more.

Jenna freezes in mid step and Ahelis makes a choked sound at the back of her throat at such a display of power.

Jenna clears her throat…"Uh…um, very good your Holiness." Jenna knows her voice sounds high pitched and squeaky in a mix of fear and awe but dammit...how else should a person react when so casually confronted with such power and when witnessing a miracle?

Daisy smiles smugly but merely relaxes back in the steaming tub, sipping on her tea.

---

Some time later, when the teapot is thoroughly drained and a small fortune of sugar has been consumed, the god declares she supposes she had best get out lest she shrivel up like a raisin.

Jenna is making careful notes to report back to Steward Alestar. The god has a distressingly casual air about herself but it does not detract from her regalness. She moves with confidence and speaks as one used to being obeyed and listened to. Jenna can imagine this god being just as comfortable commanding an army on horseback as she would be doing it from this tub. The comfort in her own skin and self assurance are something even the highest royals could only hope to ape.

The god's appreciation of expensive tea and obvious sweet tooth are also noted. Jenna can see the importing and production of sugar increasing, cooks being tasked with making the sweetest treats and servants sent to candy all sorts of nuts and fruits for the god. The Tyrells will take any advantage.

When the god steps out of the tub Jenna is ready with large drying linens which the god wraps herself in casually even as the air around her person seems to heat rapidly, a bubble of warm air that wreathes the god's form and her hair begins drying rapidly. The warmth of the solar, even with the fire and the morning sun streaming in the window is unusual. It feels as though the room has multiple roaring fires stoking it to a balmy heat. Jenna and Ahelis wipe sweat from their brows discreetly.

The god runs her hand through her hair and feels the shortened singed piece fall through her fingers. Her eyes narrow on it in vague annoyance before she twists to Ahelis and Jenna, "In my clothes pocket, there should have been a small package I carried on my person. Can you retrieve it please?"

Ahelis bows, "Anything in the pockets will have been set aside by those doing the laundry. I will retrieve it at once your Holiness." Ahelis bows and departs immediately.

Daisy nods, "Cool, and uh, Jenna, I am going to need scissors or shears."

Jenna nods without question, "Yes Your Holiness."

Jenna walks to the far end of the solar and begins routing through a small chest before quickly returning with actual gold scissors.

Daisy feels her eyes roll without conscious thought. Jesus, these Tyrells really are extra.

Daisy eyes the fine scissors and nods, "Thank you." She shuffles back towards the bed chamber where she had seen a mirror and had glimpsed a golden dress laid out for her which would have been at home in the most extravagant Disney cos-play scene.

/

Daisy stared at her hair in the mirror. She was going to have to cut it. Not as short as it'd been the last time she'd cut it short, but to her shoulders at least. Jon had tried to save it and probably had saved a few inches she'd have lost if it'd taken till she realized some embers had lit it. But still…she'd been kinda proud of how long it'd gotten. Appearance mattered here in Highgarden, as the dress on the foot of the bed indicated. Also the lavish room she'd been given. Like seriously, Disney princesses didn't get shit this pretty.

Fortunately, preventing nuns from inflicting bowl cuts meant she'd learned young how to cut her own hair. Lifting the gold-plated scissors she carefully snipped away the hair, shortening it by a solid six inches at least. The large mirrors, which she knew in the North would have been considered a frivolous waste of space, made it easy to see what she was doing. She paused as she realized she'd just hoped Sansa liked it.

Daisy blinked, since when did she consider catering her personal appearance for a partner? She'd rolled her eyes and ignored Miles's preferences for skirts. She shook off the thought, it didn't matter anyway, it wasn't like she could leave her hair with just one rather large chunk missing. Had nothing to do with Sansa, even if she quietly hoped Sansa didn't mind.

She quickly ran her fingers through her hair to shake loose any clinging hairs. Daisy gave a light hum of approval of the look. She'd have to put a blue streak in when she had the chance. With a light breeze from her powers, she shucked off her jacket. While she hadn't gotten blood on it handling the problem yesterday, she had while helping wounded to the maesters. Blood she'd then not tried to get off thanks to just face planting when she'd finally gotten to the room. It was def set in by now. It would take a talented washer person to get it out. Which meant the dress provided for her to wear would be it. Thanks to getting Sansa out of her dresses, she knew how to get herself into it, even if the style was fairly different from the Northern style.

She was amused by the medieval cosmetics, not her colors at all. But the charcoal meant for the eyes she easily applied like eyeliner. It was the most feminine she'd looked since she'd gotten here. Daisy touched the dress with golden roses embroidered upon it, it really was beautiful. With a faint smile, she made her way out of the rooms and headed for the room she could feel Jon's vibrations from.

The servants bowed or curtsied deeply as they melted out of her way, all sound and movement vanishing as it turned to deep reverence, awe, and terror. Daisy didn't react to it, she'd gotten too used to the easy acceptance of the North. She knocked, and then immediately entered Jon's rooms.

He startled, half tripping as he turned around from where he'd been struggling with the front lacing of the tunic...jacket thing he'd been given. "Daisy?"

"Sup, need help with that?"

He stared at her. "You're dressed like a girl?" Poor man sounded faintly strangled.

"Brilliant deduction." Her mouth curled up in amusement. "I also am a girl if you hadn't noticed."

Jon blinked. "Your hair!?"

"Well, the dragon tried to flambé it." Daisy's smile grew. "I also painted some black around my eyes."

His cheeks flushed a bright pink. "It's just…um…you look pretty?"

Daisy laughed. "Please invite me next time you talk with Daenerys, I'd pay to see you tell her she looks like a girl."

"Shut it." He grumbled. "It's just different."

She stepped into his space, batting his hands away from his jerkin's lacing, and carefully finished it for him before straightening his collar. "You're not allowed to die and leave me with these people."

"Er…what?" Jon looked at her blankly, though his flush was fading.

Daisy patted his shoulder. "You're lucky you're pretty."

"Daisy!" He protested.

She sighed. "Well obviously if so much as a scratch shows up on you your sister will kill me not kiss me, so let's avoid that. And secondly, everyone here thinks I'm going to start eating their souls or something. I don't enjoy people being terrified of me and I know less about southern manners than you, which is not great. Cause it's just us here for like the next almost two weeks. So you don't leave me with people who aren't sure whether to run screaming or to try to sacrifice babies to me and I won't leave you alone with pretty young maidens who hear the title 'prince'."

His face paled as he seemed to realize the shit show they were trapped in. "They'll eat me alive."

"Which is why I won't leave you with them…much. And you help me make sure no one tries to serve me a human heart on a platter. Got it?" She felt part hysterical as she stared him in the eyes. Because oh this was going to be a disaster. Why couldn't Marlon be here? He'd know at least how not to offend everyone on accident…he'd do it on purpose.

/

The Kitchens of High Garden buzz and heave with the dozens of servants who are packed in. Steward Alestar had commanded every available servant, cook, stable boy, cup bearer and maid to attend a meeting.

Flowers, the head cook, stirred a huge pot of oats he was preparing for the servants breakfast the next morning. He huffed, "Has to be about the god. Nuthin' else it could be about."

Sestos nodded, "Has t'be."

Euric, one of the stable hands shuffled in his seat at the long Kitchen bench, "What were she like?" he asked, his eyes glued to Jenna and Ahelis. They were thankfully off duty for the night with Hildeth and Stella now assigned to the god for the next stretch. Jenna was just about managing to keep her eyes open while she had to periodically nudge Ahelis so she didn't fall asleep on her shoulder.

The Kitchen becomes oddly quiet at the question and all eyes turn to Jenna, "Aye, you were her personal servant today Jenna, what you make of her?" Rina, one of the laundry twins, asked.

Jenna shuffled in her seat, her eyes flickering around the room, "Her Holiness was an honor to serve."

The room scoffs as a whole. Rina glares, "Ah stuff it, tell the truth."

Jenna sighs and frowns, "She was…she was…odd."

Seston snorts and mumbles under his breath, "You can say that again."

Wyot, servant to Lord Wilas eggs Jenna on, "What do you mean girl?"

Jenna hunches at all the attention, her words hesitant, "Her Holiness was…kind….but she is obviously not human. She has scars…scars that should have killed a mortal man…killed them a dozen times over. Where she stands, the air heats and hums like her power cannot be contained." Jenna snorts, "Hell, with a wave of her hand she made tub water boil after it had cooled and she lay in it like it was merely tepid."

The occupants of the room shuffle and murmurs break out.

Ana, personal servant to Leonetta murmurs, "Her hair…its blue and so short…is that a style of the gods?"

The wrinkled distaste of Ana's face gives away her feeling on the subject. Ahelis pipes up, "The god did that herself. She had the blue dye in a package in her pants pocket. She clipped her hair and dyed it with that streak of blue. Stuck her head in the tub to wash the excess out like she was a warrior cooling down after coming off the sparring yard and dunking in a bucket. She seemed so pleased at it and laughed when we were panicking and offered to have someone skilled with scissors and hair come to aid her."

Jenna interrupts before the room can degenerate into further commentary, "But then she pulled on Leonettes dress like it was a second skin. She walked in it like the most elegant noble, like she was as comfortable in pants as she was in the dress. She made some comment that the dress reminded her of a style worn by a princess of a Kingdom named Disney? Has anyone heard of it?"

Flowers stirs his porridge almost violently and shrugs, "Mayhap it's a kingdom the god has walked before, far from 'ere. Mayhap she fights in pants and lives in a dress…who knows? Cannae say I'm not surprised by her oddness, she ain't like what the Septa described a god t'be."

Olivin, a robust servant of indeterminate years huffs, "A'course she'd seem odd. She's a ruddy god. Burst the Lannister army and saved all our hides. It's only cause she came we ain't all dead with swords in our guts or swords plugged between our legs for the women."

The room finches at the crass reminder of how close they all came to death, dishonor and ruin.

Olivin rolls her eyes at what she sees as squeamishness, "The god saved us, she might'n be one o'the seven but she is here and she 'elped. S'far as I'm concerned she could walk naked through the ''ole place and use Lady Olenna as a footstool if she wanted and I wouldn't say ought."

Snorts of laughter at the ridiculous image echo in the room even as speculative looks enter more than a few eyes.

"She flew," Stepen, a young servant boy, little more than a child whispered hesitantly with quiet awe.

The room rounds to gaze at him intently. He flinches back at the many eyes on him but rallies quickly, suddenly feeling brave at all the attention.

"I was bein' a runner for the archers. Was takin' bundles o'arrows up ta 'em. Some were tryin' a use the wind to shoot high an' lob arrows onto those men ramin' the gates. I was…I was looking up at the flyin' arrows when I saw…I thought it was an enemy arrow comin' back at us but…but it was too high and it was too large. It kept getting closer til..sudden like, it dropped down into the inner ring. It was Her Holiness, a slip o' a woman. She had the man on her back, lik' you see a man carry a child. She just landed like a dartin' bird and he slid o'her back and retched. She jus'... she jus' stood there like flying like a bird…nay faster…like it was nuthin'."

Ludric, an older servant who mostly acted as a gardener for the more ornamental flowers inside the keep's rooms nodded, his voice croaking, "I...I was at the gate when she came. I was helpin' the men get d'boilin' oil up to the gate to pour on the bastards below. We…we was fucked. The ram was moments from fellin the gate…then…then she jus' waved her hand."

Ludric stares blindly across the kitchen, his eyes seeing some scene from memory that holds his whole attention.

His hand rises in mimicry of the god's actions, "Whoosh…the gate- wood and iron that had withstood the Lannister ram for hours…it just exploded. Became so many splinters. The ram flew backwards, the first half of it just…gone. The men manning it…" Ludric touches his face, "They rained down on us…red rain. The finest mist."

The Kitchen is deadly quiet.

"The god, she spoke to her companion, her voice...t'was like she was going picking berries in summer, not about t'face an army. The Stark and Ser Garlan followed behind her…but…they weren't needed. Where she walked; death followed. The siege machines…she turned em to mulch, the men on the ring…a river of blood. They screamed and began running back, a few idiots charged but lak an over cooked potato they burst an' turned to mush…the ones who threw down their sword or fell to their knees before her in prayer…they lived. Her power just passing over 'em. Sparing em to be painted in their fellows blood as she passed."

There is terrible silence at his description and if a goblet of wine gets passed down to Ludric then no one comments.

Rinan breaks the silence as his sister Rina nods in quiet agreement to his words., "Her clothes, her surcoat and pants…they were covered in blood but we managed to get most of it out. The material is fine, fine for the North at least. The pattern like a weirwood. Her small clothes though…I've never felt anything like it…it stretches and contracts to the touch. It feels smoother than silk but is far stronger…it has to be materials of a god."

Olivin shrugs, "Makes sense the North would offer her clothes patterned after their Old gods and the trees they worship if she has been there. She seems to have taken the Stark as a lover at least so it makes sense."

Ana hisses between her teeth, "Are we sure he is her lover?"

Sestos and Mace snort in unison. Mace cockily throws back his head with a mischievous look, "Bollocks, a course she is layin' wit' him. D'god sauntered int' his rooms this morn while we was only half way through gettin' him dressed. It t'was like she owned em, then went wavin' us off to go about fixin' the surcoat and straightenin' his hair like he was her pet or a small child. They talked like…intimate…teasin'."

Conran, a serving boy excitedly jumps in, "At the midday meal Her Holiness kept touchin' Prince Stark, an she tasted his food before he ate. She was very possessive so she t'was. Wouldn't let 'im outta her sight the whole day an' he just sighed and indulged whatever she wanted, just acted like the god fussin' at him and touchin' him like a wife was normal."

Sestos grunts, "Not no wife I ever seen, she acts more like a husband dotin' on a wife than a woman on a prince and a warrior."

Murmurs race around the room as they speculate on the relationship between the god and Prince Stark.

Olivin cackles, "Well, he's pretty enough for a god t'be fuckin. Em long lashes an' a face his scar only makes seem human rather than godly handsome."

Any further speculation is cut short by the Kitchen's door opening and Stewart Alestar entering. The servants go silent and nod respectfully but when he steps into the room he reveals that Lady Olenna stands behind him.

As one the servants rush to their feet and drop into deep curtseys and bows.

No servant can remember Lady Olenna ever coming personally to the kitchens. How did she even know where this part of Highgarden was?

Seeing the sharp matriarch of the Tyrell family in the kitchens, attired in yet another rich black dress which signified her mourning of her recently killed son and granddaughter, was like seeing a King washing dishes with his crown on. Incomprehensible.

Lady Olenna's sour and stern face surveyed the servants as she stepped into the kitchens.

Without preamble she addressed them, "Unless you are incurably stupid, you will all now be aware of the god we have in residence at Highgarden. It should not need to be said, but for the sake of clarity I will lower myself to explaining it once and only once so that no future stupidity will cause me to have reason to venture back to this place. House Tyrell, all of Highgarden, your very lives…they were all saved by this god. As such, it is imperative we show her all possible hospitality. To be blunt in a way even I usually despise; it is not enough to be hospitable. We must understand this god's motives, what drives her…what may persuade her to our side. As such…"

Lady Olenna pauses and nods to Ser Alestar who reaches into a small pouch and retrieves two silver stags which he pushes into the numb and shocked hands of Jenna and Ahelis. "Any information that can prove useful to our cause with the god will be rewarded. Jenna and Ahelis reported the god's sweet tooth and a strong desire for certain teas which would be rare or unavailable in the North. That kind of information is valuable."

Steward Alestar returns to Olenna's side as she stares deeply into the eyes of the many servants, the glint of avarice igniting in more than a few faces making a pleased curl tip up the side of her thin lips before she reasserts her iron control and settles her face back into a glower.

"All possible measures must be taken to win advantage with the god to insure Highgarden's prosperity. My grandson, Loras' survival in the North seems to have given us the first hook to such an advantage since the god seems rather fond of him…yet this is not enough. This god shows desire like any other being. A desire for sweet things…or a desire for pretty ones. I am not foolish enough to be unaware of the speculation about the god and Prince Stark."

The servants shift uncomfortably, giving away exactly what they had been discussing before she arrived. More than one servant glancing around wondering now if there are peep holes or hidden corridors surrounding the kitchen through which Olenna has been listening in.

Olenna shifts, a rare show of uncertainty as she continues, "Our problem is that Loras' letter indicates…and the god confirms that she has taken Queen Sansa Stark of the North as her lover."

Shocked gasps and murmurs swell in the room but Olenna continues, "And this raises the question of whether the god has taken both Starks as lovers. If she has then it becomes even more imperative that House Tyrell gain some form of influence with the god…someone to have her ear on our behalf. If it is possible, if she can be leveraged in such a way. As such, I am giving you all the same order I have given my own family…the god is to be shown, and given, every possible favor. If she shows even the faintest hint of wanting anyone…then they are not only to abide by her desires as one of lower standing doing their duty to one of higher station…but rather they should do so enthusiastically. Widowed, married, single or maiden…I care not. So long as you are of the Reach and loyal to us then you will do your duty. Most generous compensations will be paid to any who aid her in any way that benefits the Reach. Nothing…and I mean nothing is to stand between us and gaining the gods favor. If she wishes for anything, no matter how small or large, then it is to be done. Anyone who shirks their duty will know my immense displeasure. Am I understood?!"

The motley group of servants bow as one and murmur, "Yes Lady Olenna."

The grand Lady stares each one down under her hawkish glare before nodding subtly and turning on her heel to march back out of the kitchen.

The atmosphere now is tense. The servants murmur and the elders console the youngsters.

Young Ahelis murmurs in a shocked whisper to Olivina, "Sh-she can't really mean…our maidenhead?"

Olivinia rolls her eyes at the naive young girl whose youth and inherent anxious nature Olivina has alway thought made her a poor choice of servant for this cutthroat house, "Girl, if'n a woman cannae say no to a King or a noble can pay off our dishonor when the pleasure suits 'em…what makes you think a god would be any different?" Ahelis flinches and Olivinia snorts, "Hell, she has bedded a Queen by the sounds of it. I reckon what the god wants she will get and you would do well to remember your position. Not that she's like to want any of us if she's got Queens and Princes. Shame that..."

Jenna scowls at Olivinia's crass words but Olivinia merely rolls her eyes and throws up her hands, "You're doing the girl no favours shelterin' her from the realities of life here Jenna. Servin' nobles and gettin' mixed up in their plots is a dirty business. How she's remained so ignorant in this world is beyond me."

Jenna grits her teeth, biting back a stinging retort because in her heart she knows Olivinia is right. She hustles Ahelis from the room, "Come on, we need to get to sleep. Leave them to their gossip, we are due back to serve the god in a few hours. Sleep now, what will be will be."