Adrian
"Do you know what I smell in the air?" Adrian asked as he stood on one of the high ledges of the Dragonpit, looking not down into the crumbling remains of the Targaryen's monument to their diminished power but rather the city itself. He was kneeling, body thrust forward, and he knew that if someone were to look up at that moment they would not see him as a man but some grand figure looking out at a city begging to be conquered-
"Shit?" Phineas asked from where he was perched, looking far less comfortable with the height.
"…yes," Adrian admitted when the wind chose the perfect time to shift and allow him to smell the stench of the Capital waft up towards him. He grimaced and pulled a perfumed hancherchief from his pocket, pressing it to his nose; yeah, strangers might think him week for doing so but he didn't give a fuck because it stank to high hell and he wasn't so weak that he needed to pretend that he loved the smell of whatever spiced meats the common folk had eaten the night before being squirted out from between their ass cheeks.
"That's why I hate this city," Phineas said as Adrian shuffled away from the edge and moved towards the ladder they'd set up, deciding that it was well and good to cut a dramatic silhouette but not worth it to constantly smell the rot of King's Landing on the air. God it was in his mouth! "Aegon never meant for this to be his capital, you know? He just landed here and built a fort and that was that. No one cared about the Blackwater… if it mattered someone else would have made a castle here already. That should tell you a lot! But they didn't, Aegon did, and when it came time to decide where to put his capital city he was stuck. Can't have it be Dragonstone as it was too small. Oldtown was out as then he'd have to deal with the Maesters and who'd want to be around them? Couldn't go to the middle of the Westeros because no one wants to be in the middle of Westeros so he was stuck here"
"I love it when you complain about the Citadel and call it the worst; you were almost a maester," Adrian pointed out as he leapt off the last rung and the two of them began to trek back down towards the pit itself where their camp was set up.
"Almost, big difference," Phineas stated.
"I don't see how. Other than the chain. You would have become one if they hadn't drummed you out."
"Same with you," Phineas said.
"I got tricked," Adrian pointed out.
"And I would have never been one of those small minded gray rats." The heavy set tinkerer grumbled under his breath. "Delving into things I shouldn't…" He shook his head. "But yes, there is a massive difference between a maester and almost being a maester. You ever hear about the gold cloaks trying to hunt down someone who caused a person to 'almost be murdered'? What about an 'almost thief'? No. Never."
"True," Adrian said, "but I have been chased out of a house for almost deflowering a girl."
That caused his friend to snicker. "So what did you smell on the air out there?" Phineas asked as they stopped by a cut out window. Once these had been the sleeping chambers for the Guards of the Dragonpit; the window had been stain glass according to the recordings Phineas had dug up but now it was empty, allowing the elements to easily get into the shambled room. There were all sorts of moss and creepers growing on the walls, in one corner some bird most likely long dead had created a nest, and bits of rubbish blown in by the winds lay scattered on the stone floor, which itself had been stained by the rains and snows that had come and gone over the century since someone had last slept in the room.
"Opportunity," Adrian said, licking his lips as he looked at King's Landing. "The king will be married tomorrow, Phineas and all his foolish little lords and ladies and knights are coming to try and impress him. In 24 hours Joffrey will get up for a breakfast filled with gift giving. Gold that could build a hundred keeps will be wasted on trinkets and bobbles for a boy that already has so many. Then the wedding itself, following by the feast with 77 dishes on golden plates and grand games and performances all to delight our king."
"I thought you liked Joffrey," Phineas pointed out.
"I like what he can do for me, that is all," Adrian merely said, looking towards the Red Keep. "And unless he decides to become a widower seconds after he takes his vows the moment he and the Tyrell cunt are bonded together he'll be my enemy too." He glanced at his friend. "But I'm very good at hiding my true thoughts."
"Naturally," Phineas said with a roll of his eyes. "The men are wondering… what are you planning to do?" Adrian raised an eyebrow at that. "What score are we going to hit?" He paused. "We could-"
"No," Adrian said, cutting Phineas off. "I told you that's too risky."
"Not if we-"
"Leave it."
To his credit his friend held up his hands, refusing to say another word, much to Adrian's relief, on the matter of his master plan to make them richer than a Prince of Pentos. Instead Phineas said, "But we are going to be getting something out of this wedding, correct? The men have been itching for a chance to fill their pockets."
"We already have enough that all of us will be able to live comfortably for the rest of our days," Adrian pointed out. "With the sales I've made on the goods we've taken-"
"Comfortably no longer appeals to them after being here," Phineas pointed out. "That's how it is with King's Landing. Which Baratheon said he lost more men to the wine sinks and pleasure dens of King's Landing than he ever did to a battle field? I can't remember and I know I should…"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me!" Phineas complained, much to Adrian's amusement. "But the point remains that if we want them to remain happy and, more importantly, not selling us out to a Gold Cloak looking to make a name for himself, we need this next score to be worth it."
"And it will be," Adrian stated. "Without us giving in and going with your mad scheme."
"It would work. I have it all figured out!" Adrian shot his friend a dark look at Phineas shifted uneasily. "Almost have it worked out."
"Thought as much," Adrian muttered but there was no sting in his words. He respected all his boys, every last one of them, and wanted them to be rich and safe and happy. But sometimes that meant being a father to them and giving them a shake when they were being stupid. Phineas dreamed big like him but the difference was that Adrian's dreams were actually set in reality. His inventor friend had done so many impossible things that he now believed that the impossible was merely probable and with the right gadget it could become the obtainable. Which was lovely when he actually COULD create the right gadget… but when he couldn't it became a grand waste of time. Phineas would turn away from the tasks that would actually help them to focus on his grand dream. Adrian didn't want to beat his friend down like the Tyrells had him… but that didn't mean he could just let him do whatever he wanted.
Sometimes a father had to give his children a shake and get them to focus on the right things.
"Don't worry, Phineas," Adrian assured him, clapping his hand on the man's shoulder and moving him out of the crumbling remains out of the guard's room and to the hall. "What I have planned will be mad enough for you!"
"I'm worried about you not telling us a thing," Phineas said. "So are the men. They're worried you don't actually have a plan."
"I do. I just had to make sure that all the pieces were in place. I'm going to handle the heavy lifting… the boys just need to go where I tell them to and you just need to stay back here and make sure no one pokes around. This wedding is bringing too many people to the city and they're getting bored; bored people poke around where they shouldn't."
Phineas nodded. "Hurmin had to kill two drunks last night that stumbled in wanting to piss on dragon bones."
Adrian frowned at that. "He did it quiet, right? I warned him about making a lot of noise-"
"After what happened to Brice no one is going to question you and your orders for a while."
"I didn't like doing that. You know that. I only did-"
"I know, I know. Stop asking me to absolve you." He glanced at Adrian. "So… going to tell me what the score is?"
"Going to show you. Come on."
The Dragonpit had once been one of the greatest wonders in all of Westeros. People heard its name and saw the ruins that it had become and assumed that it had been little more than an arena that housed dragons rather than warriors. The smallfolk imagined some crumbling tournament stadium where knights used to swing their swords and the people watched from seats and cheered for their current favorites. It didn't help that the dragonpit had been used for such things after its completion, for it was the largest space within the city itself where mock battles could be held. The high born saw it better for what it truly was, knowing that it wasn't merely a large open space with walls but had been built with rooms, halls, and other sections that had nothing to do with dragons. More than one had wondered about putting it back together, to rebuild and turn it into something grand. In a city that was so overcrowded that it was common to find shacks suddenly built in the middle of what had once been a side street the dragonpit and the hill it sat on doing nothing was like a hunting dog left to brood in a kennel while his master ran around trying to catch ducks. Adrian himself could picture a hundred different uses for the Dragonpit. Create an arena for horse racing within the city itself. Turn it into a second citadel, much as the Sept of Baelor had been created to compete with the Starry Sept in Old Town. Make it the training grounds for the Gold Cloaks. Simply create the most interesting and original castle a lord might desire in all the Seven Kings and give it to the crowned prince so they might not need Dragonstone anymore.
But the Dragonpit was the Targaryens' Harrenhal: built too big and now little more than a sink that would suck away money. There was too much damage that needed to be cleared away. The tunnels had begun to cause the structure to sink and would have required nearly all of the foundation torn away before anything could be built. And then there was the matter of where to move all the stone used for the dragonpit, for it had been selected to deal with the heat that the dragons generated, so that it didn't become an oven that roasted the dragon guards alive as they slept. With the great beasts long gone that meant that now the Dragonpit was cool in the summer… but would be a tomb for any that dwelled there when winter finally came. He'd found plenty of rotted bodies when he'd taken it over himself. So all of it would need to be removed but where would one take it? And how? King's Landing was no longer built for such projects, with the last being the Great Sept of Baelor and that had nearly broken King's Landing.
Any attempt to turn it into something else would break a lordly house. And the Iron Throne trying to do so would be madness, as the Dragonpit had cost The Old King his Master of Coin and later been the target of scorn by the Shepherd and his flock. And while many didn't realize it… the smallfolk had long memories. Thus it was cheaper and easier to honestly let it rot, crumbling into dust. Only when much of it had fallen into rubble would it be worth whoever sat the Iron Throne, or gained the king's favor, to try and mend the damage and make it glorious again.
Adrian himself was the first to truly use the Dragonpit and even then it had only been repaired as quickly and quietly as possible. He and Phineas walked on heavy boards over the gaping holes in the hallway that, had they not been patched, would send the two tumbling down 40 feet to the unforgiving stone below. This was not a place one ran quickly though, as even with the boards the walk was dangerous and Adrian had no desire to fall without his harness firmly on his back.
Soon they reached the other side of the Dragonpit and were able to look out one of the shattered windows, bits of colored green glass still clinging to the rusting frame. Rather than seeing the Red Keep as they had before now Adrian and Phineas could gaze upon Blackwater Bay.
"The Capital's greatest strength and weakness," he mumuted to himself. "The waters there provide for the smallfolk a chance to fish but also allow for the perfect excuse to not bother with designing some proper way to remove the waste from the city. It prevents a siege from happening by the land but also gave Stannis the chance to attack."
"Until Tyrion Lannister's chain," Phineas said, a hint of envy in his words. Adrian chuckled; his friend so did hate it when someone was smarter than him when it came to creation. It was part of the reason why he had refused the offer from Lord Antony Stark to journey to Iron Pointe; he preferred to be around Adrian and their boys as with them he was the greatest inventor. And Adrian had no problem with that as Phineas was smart enough to never call him stupid.
"Until the chain," Adrian said with a nod. He grabbed a piece of wood that had come from… something, he honestly couldn't tell what it had once been and seeing as the room they were standing it was completely bare most likely he'd never know, and used it to knock the glass free of the window so he might lean through it without cutting himself. "Now then, all of tomorrow has been carefully plotted out by Lord Tywin and as a minor lord of the Reach I have been given a breakdown of what is to come. The King and his future queen, along with their families, will break their fasts soon before they will prepare for the their trip to the Sept of Baelor where they will be wed by the current leader of the Faith." He frowned suddenly at that. "Has a new High Septon been selected?"
"No," Phineas said. "They are still bickering."
Lord Tywin wouldn't like that but Adrian didn't dwell on that as he honestly didn't care. The Faith was merely another thing controlled by the Tyrells through Old Town and as such he now saw them as merely another enemy. Ones to never be trusted and kept careful eye upon.
"They will give a few personal gifts to the King and Queen but otherwise they will focus on filling their bellies before the most important of hours. Then they will head to the Red Keep where the first feast will begin. 77 courses… a disgusting waste but the Tyrells wish to prove they are wealthy and lordly and the only way they know how is by wasting their coin. There will be mummurs and sings and such from all over the Seven Kingdoms performing for those on the grand open terrace as well as those seated in the smaller halls. Mummurs and tumblers and fire eaters and sword dancers and singers and slight of hand wizards and many other visual delights. All leading to the final grand entertainment of the evening."
And here he paused, a smile forming on his leathery face as he looked upon Blackwater Bay.
"As a mockery to Stannis Baratheon the King and Queen will board a Redwyne leisure barge along with honored guests to witness a mock sea battle staged in the bay. Just a few small ships, nothing grand like the Golden Wedding. When it is done all but Joffrey and the Tyrell Whore and a few KIngsguard will depart so that the royal couple may join together as husband and wife." He nodded towards the leisure barge, which was already being prepped for the King and his soon to be queen. "See how the ship is already sitting low in the water?"
PHineas peered out of the window, studying the royal ship, before slowly turning to Adrian with wide eyes. "Are they…"
He nodded. "To honor them and bless their coupling them Joffrey and his whore will be surrounded with the gifts and treasures from all they have invited to share in their happy day. Ornaments and trinkets, rare silks and bolts of fabrics, fine works of art both painted and sculpted. Swords and shields for his royal highness and gilded mirrors and perfumes from Essos for Mace Tyrell's slut. All awaiting the king and queen."
"Fuck me," Phineas said, at once seeing what Adrian planned. "While everyone is focused on the Red Keep…"
"I will slip away from the Red Keep, fly to the barge, and kill the guards. Hurmin and the boys will come over in row boats, take over the ship, and they sail it out. I'll return to the Red Keep just in time for them to discover what has happened then collect you and fly us back to the barge. With a head start they'll never catch us. He drop the ship at that island I had you find in those old records, switch it out with one I already prepared…"
Phineas raised an eyebrow at that, impressed. "You're right… mad enough for me!"
Adrian nodded and patted his friend on the shoulder… only to tense when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He forced himself to turn slowly, so not to startle what he'd seen… only to find nothing at all. The room was empty save for himself and Phineas.
"What did you spot?" the man asked.
"Just a bird," Adrian muttered, though in his mind he added, 'or a spider.'
~MC~MC~MC~
Natasha
All of her training had allowed Natasha to fake her emotions flawlessly. Sometimes to the point that she worried that she was deluding even herself.
But seeing Jon sputter as Loras Tyrell all but molded himself to him and moved to drag him towards the group of men gathered about the doorway that led to the Red Keep's stables? The amusement she felt wasn't faked at all.
"I don't know if I should," Jon protested weakly, glancing back at Natasha in a desperate hope that she'd come to his rescue. "I thought this was just for family-"
"Not at all!" Loras assured him quickening his steps. "The bride's family hosts the hunt, of course, that is tradition. But we are able to invite whoever we wish. It is a chance for the men to celebrate one final day of freedom before the groom must forever dedicate himself to his lady wife." The Knight of the Flowers gave Jon a shake and Natasha hid her chuckle behind her hand; her poor husband could easily fly about in a suit of magical armor and fight Ironborn with burning whips but tell him he had to spend the day hunting and feasting with the Tyrells and suddenly he was a shy little boy who worried about what might go wrong.
'Which, admittedly, there are many things that can go wrong with hunting in the Kingswood,' Natasha thought to herself, her smile falling when she remembered that the only reason Jon and her were in King's Landing was that Robert had gotten gored by a boar during a similar hunt. And his brother Bran had lost the use of his legs while many of the men at Winterfell were on a hunt.
"Lord Jon!" Mace Tyrell said with a smile, pumping Jon's hand while Loras still clung to him. "Good of you to join us. His grace is unable to attend today so you'll be doing us a favor by filling out the party." Jon, wisely, didn't ask why they were having the hunt if the man it was for wasn't able to attend. Or perhaps it was merely a matter of the Tyrells washing over him like a tidal wave and thus preventing him from speaking.
'Its not by choice that Joffrey isn't attending,' Natasha thought as Kevan Lannister moved to greet Jon, finally getting Loras to let go of Natasha's husband though he did stick close by. Two days prior, according to Varys, Joffrey had made the mistake of suggesting at a small dinner with his grandfather that the wedding would be far better if postponed so that more brides could be found for him. The king had, for once in his life, actually thought about this idea rather than blurt it out, though that didn't make it a well planned scheme. He'd presented to his grandfather a list of names he wanted brought to join Margaery.
"Asha Greyjoy was, interestingly enough, his first suggestion," Varys had told her during a secret meeting in the underground chambers of the Red Keep.
"Truly?" Natasha had asked as she had quietly ripped out another one of Balerion the Black Dread's teeth and replaced it with a false one made of plaster; there were many uses for them, from selling for quick coin to cementing Jon's status as Rhaegar's son if they needed to put him on the throne to weapons that could be tested against the wights and Others that were marching on the Wall. She had designs for a spear in mind…
"Apparently he heard that she is a skilled killer and told Lord TYwin that a king must have a queen willing to kill. He said that Aegon had Visenya and so must he."
"That… almost makes sense," Natasha had admitted.
"Almost," Varys had stated with a smile. "Next, my little birds tell me, was Arianne Martell."
That had surprised Natasha. "That is not one I would have expected."
"Lord Tywin was also surprised. Or at least as surprised as he can be. The king stated that it was unfair that 'my sister be allowed to gargle Dornish Gold and I not allowed to give that dusky-skinned slut some Lannister Cream'."
"Charming," Natasha had stated. "Who was next?"
"You, of course."
"Me?" Natasha had shaken her head. "Ignoring the fact that he wouldn't survive the foreplay my marriage-" She had stopped and stared at Varys, who merely nodded. "Black Brides. Of all the things he wants to replicate from the Targaryens he wants to have Black Brides?"
Honestly she was half tempted to use that as an excuse to get into his chambers. Kill him, stage it that Cersei had gone mad with grief and killed him, force the Tyrells to back her so she didn't pin it on Margaery, crown Jon…
"Well he has already mimicked Aerys in his interest in wildfire. He's stated that the only smart thing his Uncle Tyrion did was use the wildfire on Stannis and his men." Natasha had pinched the bridge of her nose at that.
Luckily for all of them Tywin Lannister had been just as disgusted as Natasha was with Joffrey's behavior and had quickly announced the next day that rather than going on a hunt or attending any of the performances that had been commissioned for the wedding he would be seeking quiet contemplation in his solar so he might divine from the gods how to be a good husband. Mace had smiled at that like a happy pup who'd been given bacon while everyone else mentally rolled their eyes. Joffrey was not a godly person and Tywin Lannister even less so. No… the Lord of Casterly Rock would be with his grandson for the entire day, most likely drilling into his head all he had done wrong and how he must change.
"I'm glad you are coming with us, Lord Jon," Prince Tommen said with a smile, trying and failing to contain his delight in being allowed to go on the hunt; if the fact that his brother wouldn't be there influenced his good mood in any way Natasha couldn't say. She'd never been good at reading children. "It is my first hunt."
"Well," Jon said, kneeling down and placing a hand on the prince's shoulder, "I'll have to show you some of the tricks I learned when I was your age."
"Did you hunt often at Iron Pointe?" Tommen asked.
Kevan Lannister winced at that but Jon didn't show any awkwardness. "Not often. But I've hunted plenty of other places, my prince. Though never in a woods as warm as the ones around King's Landing. I dare say Lord Willas will have to teach us both some things."
Tommen frowned at that. "But his leg-"
Jon gently cut him off. "Matters not at all when riding a horse or wielding a spear or a bow. Just as your height will mean nothing. On a horse you will be taller than Lord Tyrell."
"And I will be happy to teach you as well, my prince," Mace said with a sweeping bow.
Natasha felt a hand on her arm. Someone with not an ounce of training would have started at that. Someone with a touch of training would have sensed the new arrival approach and been ready. Someone with a bit more understanding of how dangerous the world was would have instantly attacked. Someone at highly trained as Natasha had already determined that the person approaching was Margaery Tyrell and faked a slight jump to make her contemporary believe she had startled her.
"Oh! I am so sorry, Lady Natasha," Margaery said as Natasha turned towards her with a soft smile that Natasha didn't believe for a second. There were only two kinds of women that smiled like that: empty headed fools and the truly cunning. Margaery wanted the world to believe she was the former, that she'd inherited her father's oafishness and was just a beauty that could be quickly dismissed. But Natasha knew that none of Mace Tyrell's children were dimwitted. On the contrary they all were rather cunning, if in their own sections of life. Willas Tyrell was the future Lord of the Reach and though crippled he still understood power and how to wield it. In fact he seemed to use his injury to his advantage. He had protected his brother Garlan during their youth, when the boy had been plump and soft, by dubbing him The Gallant. And in turn Garlan had grown into that name but that didn't mean that he was a noble fool; it had been he who had led the charge of the Tyrell men against Stannis' forces and figured out how to route them and save the city. Loras Tyrell was still whispered about throughout the city for his cunning in the tilts that had allowed him to defeat The Mountain.
No… Margaery wasn't a fool.
'In another life she could have been me,' Natasha thought to herself as she shook her head and flashed her own sweet smile at the future queen. "Perfectly fine, my lady. I was lost in thought."
"I can only hope that my own marriage is as happy as yours so I might be lost in the same thought as you." The Rose of Highgarden looped her arm through Natasha's and pulled her away from the hunters. "Seeing as my father and brothers have taken your lord husband please do me the honor of joining me for a midday meal. I had asked the Queen to be our final guest but matters have driven her away."
'Most likely a bottle of Arbor Gold, her own bitterness, and a pleasure toy from Lys,' Natasha thought as Margaery led her to the gardens. "But of course, my lady," Natasha said with a smile. "Though I do hope I won't cause many ill whispers to come your way."
"Let the people talk. A queen must be willing to be with all her subjects. While it is true you were conceived on the wrong side of the bed you are now a legitimized daughter of House Martel and the future Lady of Iron Pointe. You have risen very far and very quickly, Lady Natasha; it is easy for you to forget that and let old shames beat you down. Don't ever." She reached down and gave Natasha's hand a squeeze. "I hope I can help you overcome such worries."
Nat smiled, not buying Margaery's comments for a second. She saw her as just a Dornish Bastard who had gotten lucky so far and thus was someone she wanted to be around so that her luck might rub off on her.
They arrived in one of the high gardens that sat on the roof of the Red Keep, the building tall enough so that the stench of the city didn't float up into the noise of the delicate Southern flowers that partook meals there. A gaggle of Reach women were there though Natasha did spot a few Westerwomen… namely Ser Kevan Lannister's sister Genna Lannister. Where other ladies would have felt subconscious about being the only stranger amongst a family and familiars Genna was clearly enjoying greatly the challenge. The heavy set woman gave off the appearance of lazing in her chair but Natasha could tell at once that she was playing a game just like Margaery and Natasha herself, lulling the dimwits into thinking she was like them while in reality they were wielding feather dusters while she had a rapier.
'It's been far too long since I've had women I could truly spar with,' Natasha thought as Margaery led her over to table and the formidable women that were seated around it amongst the giggling and foolish girls. 'A challenge,' Natasha thought to herself with a smirk. 'Do I let them realize my cunning and intelligence or do I play at being the simpering fool?'
"Margaery, so good of you to come," a woman with recently silver-turned hair said with a smile.
"It would be ever so rude of me not to, mother" Margaery said, untangling herself from Natasha. "After all, this meal is in my honor."
Natasha inwardly frowned. No one else would have noticed it but there was something there… a hidden disconnect between Margaery and her mother Alerie. It was so very odd and not something Natasha had expected to see and she wondered just what had caused the division between parent and child. Especially since this was the day before their greatest triumph. Margaery was about to marry the king. She would be Queen, rising higher than every other Tyrell that had come before her. And yet where there should have been nothing but joy there was the oddest undercurrent.
'I know that Alerie didn't birth her,' Natasha thought, 'but she raised her all the same. She is accepted by all of Lord Tyrell's children as the only mother many of them have known. And yet Margaery does not welcome her into her heart…'
"You must be Natasha," Alerie said with a smile, taking Natasha's hands in her own and giving them a soft squeeze.
"Of course she is Natasha," the oldest occupant at the table said with a huff. "Margaery said she was bringing the Dornish girl with her to eat with us and she is not so dim as to mistake one for another. Now if it had been my oaf of a son perhaps; I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he had gone to fetch the girl and returned with The Hound." The old woman rose, holding out her hand when Alerie opened her mouth to speak. "Do not waste everyone's time introducing me. There are few women in our world who reach my age and fewer still that are in the Red Keep."
"It is a pleasure to meet you at long last Lady Whent," Natasha said.
Margaery's cousins all stopped their quiet murmurs while Alerie stared at Natasha in open shock. Only Margaery wasn't gaping at Natasha like she was a Stoneman who'd suddenly shown up singing Pentosi poetry. No, there was a smile tugging on her lips. As for Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, she stared at Natasha for several moments before rising and walking over to her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the table.
"You will sit next to me. Alla, move down one. I have no need to hear you for the tenth time ask why it is still called Maegor's Holdfast." Natasha settled down in her seat and the servants brought over more trays of food for the women to select from. Tarts filled with all sorts of jams. A dense vanilla cake with a heavy fig filling. Sweet and sharp cheeses and salted crackers. Fried bits of ham that had been patted dry so there wasn't a risk of grease dropping on any of their dresses. Tiny fruit cakes that unleashed an oozing filling when cut open. Pastries drizzled in frosting that had been allowed to harden so that breaking into one resulted in a crack like stone snapping.
Natasha chose sparingly, selecting just enough to fill her up but not so much that she would become bloated. When one of Margaery's cousins commented on this she merely smiled.
"My father would never allow one of his daughters to become plump. Only when your days of fighting are over are you allowed the leisure of weight and I have many years ahead of me."
"You will not fight though," Alerie said. "You are a lady, married and with a castle to maintain. You have guards to tend to your safety."
"Do I?" Natasha asked. "And when those guards turn on me because someone with deeper pockets commands them?"
"They would never do so," Alerie said only for Olenna to scoff.
"Do you actually pay attention to the words that you spout off or is it your goal in life to say whatever random thought bubbles up in that gourd of a head of yours." She motioned to a small orange pumpkin, which had been emptied and filled with a spiced pumpkin paste that the ladies were spreading on firm bread. "I dare say that there has more inside of it than you do."
"Grandmother," Margaery said in a light but still slightly scolding tone.
"Don't grandmother me, Margaery. You should be listening to Natasha; the only person sitting here who has said anything that can be considered logic." Olenna jabbed her finger at Natasha. "How is it that the only person to go into this marriage with open eyes is the one who gains or loses nothing from it?" The Queen of Thorns paused. "Perhaps I answered my own question. She hasn't been seduced like the rest of you and thus sees things for as they truly are."
"Mother," Alerie said with a soft smile and Natasha figured it was only 20 some odd years of dealing with Olenna Tyrell that had allowed Alerie to ignore the insulting tones Mace Tyrell's mother loved to use. "We haven't been 'seduced'. Natasha, and I mean no disrespect my dear," she looked at Natasha who merely continued eating, making no move to comfort her because whenever someone claimed they meant no offense they actually meant 'you can't get mad at me for insulting you', "has an entirely different outlook than us. She is new to her role so of course she would look at things in a harsher light."
Olenna merely stared down her gooddaughter and Natasha caught from the corner of her eye Margaery's wince.
"First of all," Olenna said, reaching over and taking a grape from a bunch and holding it between her thumb and forefinger, "do not call me mother. The only oaf that I can be blamed for creating is your husband. Do not put your own parents' failures upon me." Alerie's smile dropped at that but proving the woman had the patience of the Seven she did not begin whimpering or screeching or hurling insults. Rather she sat there and allowed her goodmother to speak. "Second, you shame us all when you speak such foolishness. Tell me girls," she glanced at Margaery's cousins and ladies in waiting, "do the fairy tales and songs that are told to empty headed little girls speak of poor daughters who are risen to nobility looking upon all they see with jaded eyes? Or with wonder at the splendor they have?"
The other women didn't get a chance to answer as Olenna merely pressed on.
"It is the latter. So do not claim because Natasha here was born a bastard she should somehow be more bitter and pessimistic than all of us who know what truly lies behind the gilded thrones and elaborate window dressings."
"Grandmother, don't say that word."
"Pessimistic?"
Natasha chuckled. "I believe she means bastard though I don't see why. I know what I was and what I'll always be. Nothing will change the fact."
"But you are a lady now," one of the young women argued.
"Because a king approved it?" Natasha asked. "If King Joffrey declares the Blackwater to be finer than Arbor Gold will you all line up to drink it?"
Olenna huffed. "Do not give them any ideas, Natasha. This lot might actually do it." The old woman shook her head in annoyance as she looked upon her family. "She's right though. Better to understand what you are than to be in denial. Make it your sword and shield. But we've gotten off topic. We were discussing the need for a woman to know how to defend herself."
"A lowborn woman, perhaps," another cousin, this one a touch plump but not in a grotesque sort of way. "But not a highborn lady."
"Do not act as if you are the one marrying the king, Megga," Olenna scolded. "Your father is little more than a knight who got lucky. In a generation if you aren't careful your grandchildren will be merely soldiers and farmers." Meggacringed and looked down at her plate which only seemed to aggravate the Queen of Thorns all the more. Natasha knew at once that this was a woman who did not take kindly to people meekly bowing to her whims. She would settle for it, accept it… but she wanted people to fight. To debate and battle her.
Because victory tasted so much sweeter when your opponent actually fought back.
'How many times have men bitterly complained of battles that were never fought because terms of peace were accepted?' Natasha wondered. 'Why not the same with debate and conversation?'
"And as for being protected," Olenna stated, "that is a foolish thing to believe. We are never truly protected." She leaned back in her chair, hand coming up to her mouth so she might rub her upper lip with her index finger. "There was a man I knew a very long time ago, when I was as young as all of you but much brighter than all of you put together and that is only because I've including our guest into the mix. He once told me a power rests in the man that doesn't need others to kill for him. The same is true with safety. We are only truly protected when we can protect ourselves.
"Now, before you go rambling off about guards this and servants that might I remind you that Argella Durrandon had an entire castle to protect her from Orys Baratheon. And yet within hours she was presented naked to the man save for the chains she had been wrapped in. Loyalty only lasts as long as a man is safe… honor is a poor motivator when it is a trail that leads to death."
"Margaery isn't Argella though," one woman said.
"And we do not know if Joffrey is Orys," Olenna stated. "Baelor locked his queen away, making her little more than a prisoner. Maegor forced brides into his bed and when they proved to be against him the tortures he rendered onto them were most vile. One need only go down the long list of kings to see that a crown does not protect a queen."
It was left unsaid, and Natasha wondered how many of the Tyrell women remembered it, that the Kingsguard themselves had stood by and guarded the door so Aerys could rape Queen Rhaella. That Robert Baratheon was rumored to have struck Cersei on multiple occasions in front of the likes of Ser Barristan.
'When a man places his cloak on his bride's shoulders it means little,' Natasha thought to herself. It was why her father, when Natasha had just flowered, had found in the cells of Sunspear a whore known for killing men as they fucked her and demanded she teach Natasha how to kill. The whore, Ravan, had agreed and taught Natasha all she knew before slipping away into the night.
"So you'd have Margaery in the yard with the men swinging swords and ducking clubs?" Alerie asked.
"Well, not anymore," Olenna said with a shake of her head. "It is far too late for her. Had we years before she was to marry I would have her training. In fact I wanted her to learn the art of the blade along with Loras but you and my oaf of a son refused. 'Loras and Margaery may be twins but they are not destined to be the same!' That is what Mace told me and now Margaery finds herself unable to defend herself should Stannis return or the Starks decide that their Northern Kingdom isn't good enough."
"Those barbarians would never be able to defeat us," Sera said.
Natasha shot her a dark look. "Those barbarians never lost a battle during the Rebellion," she reminded her. "The Reach did give Robert his only loss but they never broke or beat back the North. The Winter Wolves are far fiercer than Southern Knights… and Winter is Coming."
"Winter is coming," Olenna agreed. She turned to Margaery and all at once her dark mood was gone and she was patting her granddaughter's hand. "But it will be fine, my dear. I have taught you other ways to fight. Ones that will see you safe and secure the family's reign."
Margaery nodded at that.
'And if I believed for one moment that she was merely talking of Margaery's happiness I might find this touching,' Natasha thought as she made a mental note to seek out Varys.
It was time to find out more about the Tyrells.
