Patrick: That was a mistake on my part, she had her left hand cut off, not her right. I've gone back and corrected it, thanks for making me aware.


If it were any of my brothers, I would be doing the same, Margaery thought to herself as the guardsmen tore apart her chambers. The honour of the Kingsguard extended just enough to allow Loras to be present, standing by the door garbed in white plate with white cloak and a white helm on his head. It was his brother in the white, Ser Arys Oakheart, who stood in the centre of the room as goldcloaks pulled every drawer out of the chests and vanities, tipping them onto the silk sheets which were crumpled from where they'd been torn off and crumpled in their search for anything that might hint to the killer of Ser Meryn.

Over the last two days the keep had been on lockdown, every room being searched by the Kingsguard and the Lannister and Tyrell guardsmen seconded to them by order of the King himself, as well as the gold cloaks. Margaery knew that her father's guardsmen were with Lord Tywin's guardsmen searching the rooms of the lower keep and the servants, but the searching of the chambers of the king's council and inlaws was to the goldcloaks. Even the Hand's chambers were not immune to the hunt. Joffrey had ordered in open court that every room to be searched by the gold cloaks to find any clue to the murderer. Joff had listed everyone's room to be searched. Lord Mace had tried to assure Joffrey of the loyalty of the Tyrells, and he had ordered their rooms searched as well, and Lord Tywin, and his own mother, and every chamber but his own to find the one who had killed a member of his sworn protectors.

No one had seen the king since, he was locked in his rooms, two of his remaining kingsguard outside to remove the weapons of anyone who would enter, and to accompany them in as well, to take meals from servants to deliver them to the King until answers could be found.

Seeing that her rooms were not going to be finished with any time soon, Margaery made for the door. "May I leave?" She asked Loras. Loras glanced over her shoulder at ser Arys.

Arys must have given his assent, as Loras stepped aside, bowing as she left.

There was little more that could be done here, not right now, but she couldn't afford to be trapped here, no one could. Who was this murderer, and who did they work for? There were only two likely candidates, Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon, and Margaery knew which was more likely. Unless King Robb was much dissimilar to his brother, such a subtle strike was not his move, but King Stannis, attacked under a banner of truce, could he retaliate in kind. She shuddered at the thought, her father and brothers had moved from Stannis, he had been right there and they had chosen Joffrey for a promise of a crown, if he had an assassin targeting Joffrey's supporters, they could well be high on the list, and she was his promised bride... Outside, half a dozen Tyrell swords waited for her. She wasn't walking these halls without protection. "We'll be leaving the castle today," she told them.

She led them down towards the base of Maegor's Holdfast, guarded by a contingent of goldcloaks and crossbowmen. The men moved to search them before identifying them and stepping back. If a member of the Kingsguard had been present, that wouldn't have happened, they would have been patted down, modesty forgotten, but there were only six men left in the order, one imprisoned in Riverrun, two outside Joffrey's rooms, that left only one, who was probably leading the interrogation of suspects. Margaery knew that one of Lord Tarly's top men had been taken in for questioning. The Lord of Horn Hill had been pressuring her father to get that man released, delaying their plans even further, for they did not want to proceed without Lord Tarly.

From the holdfast they moved on to the Red Keep, another detachment of guards at the other end of the bridge, a combined force of Lannister spearmen and Tyrell crossbowmen, keeping everything out that had no good reason to be there. The rest of the Red Keep was locked down nearly as tightly as the Holdfast itself, the rooms there had been searched as well, apparently with nothing found, although Margaery wondered if the search had been completed, and if it had, would it be repeated, something had to be found, surely.

In the courtyard of the Red Keep, her carriage waited, four riders around it. No chances. So when they went through the city, she kept the curtains of the wagon shut, no waving today, she couldn't risk it, she had to get to Garlan.

They made it out of the city and only then did Margaery feel safe enough to open the curtain and observe the wall of cloth as she passed through the Tyrell army.

In the still, chill air, the banners planted every few metres hung heavy and still, the golden rose tarnished against the green field. She saw few knights or lordlings. Many of them must have been in the city, for their warhorses were still here, being tended to by teamsters and squires, with suits of armour being scrubbed despite being clean. Racks of unused lances, spears and swords stood to the side. Armsmen walked through the camps, weapons on their shields, heads bared focussed more on their gossip than their patrols. She saw carts traversing the camps, distributing rations of bread and oats. None of it was received eagerly.

Finally the cart rolled to a stop and Margaery got out of the carriage, her ladies following them. The main tent had two guardsmen in full plate outside, who bowed to her. As she approached, she paused, hearing raised voices coming from within. But before she could catch what was being said, the entrance of the tent was pulled aside and Lord Vyrwel, greying and tall, stepped out, flanked by two knights. "Lady Margaery," he bowed as little as he could, before marching away without waiting for a response.

She stepped in to find Garlan leaning over a table on which a map was obscured by a dozen raven scrolls. He looked up, his eyes softening, "Margaery." As they were alone he walked around the table and wrapped her in his arms.

Smiling, she hugged Garlan close, living safe and away from worry for a few seconds. But then they broke apart. "What did Lord Vyrwel want?"

"To march," Garlan said. "Darkwell is under threat from the Starks, and he thought his connections with our house might persuade us." Margaery nodded, Lord Vyrwel's brother Igon was still at Highgarden as the captain of the guards there. No doubt he would be drilling the men in preparation in case the Starks chose to march on Highgarden. Unlikely, but only a few says ago, the idea of a Kingsguard being murdered was even less likely.

"I assume he's not alone," she said.

Garlan shook his head, gesturing to the letters littering the table. "Take your pick, most of these come from castles in the Reach asking for our aid, and for each one I've had someone from the army come to me in person demanding that we march to save their holds."

"When will we?"

"As soon as father extricates himself from this mess at the castle," Garlan said.

"Do we need him?" Her father's accomplishments in war were limited, to say the least.

Garlan nodded. "House Tyrell needs this victory just as much as the crown, and I don't have the clout to bring the other lords into line. Father at least has the authority. Don't worry, we'll have Lord Tarly, Lord Rowan and myself there, together we can defeat Robb Stark's army and reclaim the Reach."

"At least you're not fighting the Young Wolf himself."

"That would give me much more pause," Garlan said. "But he won't be there, and we'll have the numbers."

"How many?"

"Thirty thousand, maybe forty, depending on the supplies we can gather."

"Only that many?" They could bring twice that number.

"Too many will chew through our supplies too quickly, and we'll be too slow, the Starks and Tully's have used speed throughout the war." Garlan tapped the map around the mander. "And if we're to deal with the corpseroad, we need to be quick."

"Corpseroad?" Margaery asked.

"The last travellers who came up the roseroad have been using that name, they say revenants and spectres rule the road now, a road of the dead – corpseroad." Margaery shuddered to think what the northmen had done to inspire such stories. And there's one other advantage," Garlan looked her in the eyes. "It will mean the forces we leave here will still outnumber the Lannisters around the capital. Just in case."

"Just in case," Margaery repeated. They had to get this wedding done soon. She would speak with Lord Tywin as soon as she was able, and Joffrey as well, they had to move ahead. As soon as House Tyrell had the surety of the wedding behind them, they could commit fully to the rest of the war. But it had to be a display, one that would keep the capital pretty, and the lords loyal. "What happens when you win?" She asked, just catching herself from saying if.

"Then we press on," Garlan replied. "No more watching, no more waiting, we turn south and crush Stannis Baratheon against Storm's End, then we turn to the Starks and invade the Riverlands and bring him to the table. Hopefully we can wrap up this war before winter hits us.

"Hopefully."

Margaery left Garlan later to carry on the plan, returning to her carriage. Garlan had offered to dine with her, but she had politely declined. "I need to see if I can speak with the King, perhaps I can move things along."

"Best of luck, don't chance your hand."

And so she'd returned to the keep. As soon as she'd arrived she sent a letter to the king, requesting an audience, at his pleasure. She didn't expect a reply that evening, and was planning to send a request via Loras the next day, but to her surprise, a servant brought a reply, inviting her to a private meeting with the King that very evening.

She put her finest dress on and her maids prepared her hair and dabbed perfume on her wrists. Then, alone, she made for the King's chambers.

After being patted down by Ser Arys Oakheart, the door was opened and she stepped inside. Joffrey stood by the window, looking out over his city in stately robes of red and gold, his crown nestled in his curls and the fingers of his left hand fraying the threads on his right sleeve. He turned to her and his haggard expression was pulled into a king's stern countenance. "Lady Margaery."

She curtsied low. "Your Grace."

He made his way over to her and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Your letter," he said, stepping back. "You seemed concerned."

"I confess, your grace, the events of the last few days have caused me a great deal of distress."

Joffrey nodded, eyes flitting between her face and the door. "You mean my men searching your rooms."

"Oh not at all your grace," she replied bringing her hand to her breast. "No, I am distressed that someone would dare try to kill one of your sworn protectors, that anyone could mean you harm, I don't understand it, those who do not love you surely must fear you too much to even dream of such a wicked thing."

Joffrey nodded again, slowly, a light dawning in his eyes. "Yes, yes indeed, but of course, when you are king, there are always those who would try to harm you."

"I wish that all could see you as I do," she said, adding a dreamy note to her voice, "then none would dare try."

"Sadly, not all have your beauty or kindness, my lady," Joffrey said.

"I assure you, your grace, if I got my hands on the people responsible for this, I would show them no kindness!" She paused, making a show of cooling herself down. "But they shall have to settle for my brother instead."

"Your brother? Why him? Do you know who did this? Tell me!" His fingers dug into her arms like lion claws.

"I, I can only think of one who would have the gall to do this," she stammered at him. "The one who you repelled so valiantly from your walls last time he tried to take your throne."

"Stannis?" Joff gasped, stepping back.

Margaery nodded. "He is the only one who I can think would try to do this. Robb Stark still lies ill and his brute of a brother lacks the subtlety to try such a thing, but the coward Stannis would have no qualms about this."

"Of course!" Joffrey smacked a fist into his hand. "Of course he would, the jealous coward, always coveting my father's throne. We should crush him for this!"

"I couldn't agree more, your grace," she replied, smiling, "and my father has a plan he bid me tell you."

"Yes?" The eagerness spilled from him.

"Your grace, with your permission we would march west, defeat the Starks that are holding the roseroad so that we can supply our armies and people. Then, when that is done, we turn south and crush Stannis like the insect he is against the walls of Storm's End. Let us show the world what we do to those who try to murder your most noble personage."

"Yes, yes crush him!"

"There is only one thing, your grace," Margaery said, trying to temper him, but careful to not crush his hopes of a victory as he was hoping to crush Stannis. "If we are to march, we would like to have Lord Tarly at our side, and he will not leave while one of his men is being held for trying to kill you."

"Is he?" Joff asked.

"He is. But if your grace were to intercede on his behalf, my father could march within days."

Joffrey stroked his chin in the manner of trying to look like he was thinking hard about it. "My grandfather would want everyone questioned, properly," he said.

Margaery heard the uncertainty, Joffrey was not so certain that Tywin was right. Seizing her chance, she replied. "Your grace, with respect, Lord Tywin has been very cautious and, much as I fear to speak ill of your family, that caution might well be what has tempted this attack. Allow your most noble servants in House Tyrell to strike at your enemies, remind them why they fear you."

Joff nodded. "Yes, yes indeed, fear, yes they must fear me, grandfather will see that, I will make him, yes. Yes, my lady, your idea is perfect, I would see it implemented."

Margaery's breath came heavy, nearly, they were so nearly there. "And Lord Tarly's man?"

"I'll have him released on the morrow," Joffrey replied waving it away. "I must summon my grandfather, and my council."

Margaery bowed. "I will not intrude on matters further, your grace. I fear this excitement has set me all a flutter, I should retire."

"Yes, as you wish my lady," Joffrey replied.

She looked up at him, not standing from her bow. She sighed, making sure he saw her eyes trace all over him. "I cannot wait for the day I am married to you, your grace... such power you hold..." Then she turned and left, eager to send a messenger to her brother with news that he would be marching soon.