"I am pleased to report that all proceeds well," she read out to her ladies. "Only yesterday we defeated a force of three thousand northmen that were cut off from Robb Stark's main host. Robb Stark sought to fool us with his deceptions, and we have dealt him a blow." The women whispered at the news. Leonette sighing in relief, her hand on her stomach. Margaery kept on reading. "I am keeping watch on Robb Stark's host now, we have the strength to match him if he risks open battle and the speed to take advantage should he allow his forces to isolate again. While I keep him occupied, father marches for Highgarden. There is a much smaller Stark host in the area, father will both defeat it and re-open the road for the supplies." She left out the next few sentences, where Garlan detailed just how difficult it had been to persuade his father not to stay and challenge Robb Stark directly, and to leave that matter to Garlan and Lord Tarly. Garlan had instructed ser Parmen Crane and ser Emmon Cuy, two knights sworn to her first husband's rainbow guard, to advise her father closely. She only hoped he would listen to the knights and not his own desires for glory.
It seemed the plan was going well, if Robb Stark arrived to lead the Stark forces, avoided direct battle with him at first, weaken his forces while focusing on opening the roseroad, whittle down his numbers in small engagements, then join the two Tyrell hosts together and crush the King in the North with vastly superior numbers.
"So all is going well," she said, smiling at her companions. "No need to worry, ser Garlan and my noble father will have the enemy driven from the Reach in good time, our homes will be perfectly safe." She patted Alysanne Bulwer's cheek. She had been particularly worried, despite her family home being even further from the Starks than Highgarden. "Don't worry Aly, your family is safe."
"Yes, my lady," she bowed perfectly. "Thank you."
She could feel that there was still apprehension in the aid. "Come now ladies, I think we should take a walk in the gardens."
The gardens were almost empty now. Few saw any reasons to be merry these days, this letter was the first sign of good news for some time, once word of it spread, the court would return to enjoying themselves, preparing for the future. This war wouldn't last forever, it couldn't. She saw Lord Florent talking with his cousin Imry in one corner. She waved at him and he waved back. Lord Florent had been left in command of the Reach forces around the capital while her father and Garlan were gone. Lord Rowan had positioned himself for the role, but Lord Florent had distinguished himself on the Blackwater, and crucially had no ties to the Lannisters, so Margaery had put him forward. They talked for another few seconds before the two of them got to their feet, bowed, and left. The ladies walked and gossiped, and she could feel the mood lighten as they talked. Whenever the conversation veered too close to a dangerous topic, she gently pulled it onto something frivolous. Frivolity could be an escape, and was a powerful conversational weapon when deployed effectively.
At one end of the garden, she caught sight of a flash of auburn and silver. Sansa and Daenerys were sitting under a tree, a small plate of fruit between them and deep in conversation. She noted the long sleeve that fell down over the ruin of Sansa's hand. She guided them away, the two seemed to be enjoying themselves, and she didn't want to risk one of her ladies revealing that Sansa's brother was in danger. Much as she was angry about what first Tristan and now Robb Stark had done to the Reach, Sansa wasn't to blame.
"Lady Margaery." She turned. Ser Kevan Lannister approached, flanked by two Lannister guards.
"Ser Kevan, how can I help you?" She asked, her ladies fell silent to listen in.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady, but your presence is requested by the Hand of the King."
Lord Tywin wanted her? "May I ask why?"
"We wish the assistance of the future queen in matters of state," Kevan said stiffly.
Really? They wanted her input, on affairs of state. Lord Tywin? "It would be my pleasure," she said, smiling. "I'll be back soon ladies," she said, "don't get into too much trouble now." They laughed as she left with Ser Kevan.
Lord Tywin's office was red. A great red Lannister banner hung on the wall behind him, as they had hung on the stairway leading down the Hand's tower. A plush red carpet wassoft under her shoes, his tunic was red, the fire was red. The seal on the opened letter laying on the desk was red. "Lady Margaery," Tywin said, bowing his head from his chair.
"Lord Tywin," she curtsied back at him. "You wanted my assistance?"
"Yes," Tywin said, adjusting himself in his seat. "Our last message from the campaign front bore good news, it would seem that your father is doing well in his battles against the Young Wolf."
"I'm glad to hear of it, my lord," she smiled at him. Lord Tywin was a difficult man to smile at. Part of her wanted to see him ask for her help, but their position was still tenuous, and based entirely upon the alliance between Tyrell and Lanniser. "But I was told I could help you with something?"
Lord Tywin nodded and picked up the letter on his desk. "You are aware, that the Redwyne Fleet was ordered to sail east to confront the fleet of the traitor Lord Stannis?"
Margaery nodded. "I am, so long as Stannis Baratheon controlled the Narrow Sea, he could stifle trade, and keep his islands safe, a haven from which he could keep his rebellion alive. He could land soldiers all along the coast, or punch right up the Blackwater Rush, and still threaten King's Landing, forcing them to keep armies nearby. But if that fleet could be broken, they could retake the islands, remove the direct threat to King's Landing, and free up soldiers to face Stannis' main army in the field, or join the war against the Young Wolf.
"It seems that when the Greyjoys launched their new attacks against us in the west, they returned home, to defend their shores against the Greyjoys themselves."
"I see," she said coolly. "It's not what was ordered, but I understand why."
"I let the Young Wolf ravage the Westerlands in order to save King's Landing," Tywin said, "the Greyjoys were never a serious threat and could have been dealt with. Indeed, my son has done so at Fair Isle, dealing them a crippling blow."
Of course he had, Loren Lannister found victories in his pocket it seemed. "So, what do you need from me, my lord?"
"Lord Redwyne," Tywin said. "He is kin of yours is he not, through your grandmother?"
"He is," she nodded.
"He writes that he has nearly concluded his campaign, eradicating ironmen reavers around the mouth of the Mander. I would ask you to write to him, to impress upon him that he must urgently wrap up his campaign against the weak ironmen reavers and move back to deal with the fleet of the traitor Stannis."
He thinks that Lord Redwyne won't obey him, that his authority might fail. "It would be my pleasure, I'll do all I can," she replied with a smile. "By your leave, I will go and write the letter this instant."
Tywin nodded, indicating the door. "Make haste, time is of the essence for us all right now."
On that, they agreed. Hopefully she would hear from her brother soon with more good news from the war.
"The Starks are retreating north, we continue to pursue them, with caution, we aren't giving the Young Wolf the opportunity for battle. We continue to clash with his rearguard, but give as good as we get in every engagement. Do not lose heart, Margaery, all goes according to plan."
"As expected, Garlan has things in hand," Olenna said. She was sitting deep in her armchair, eyes closed, hands folded over her stomach. "Let's leave the war to Garlan, we've got another matter to focus on."
Margaery nodded. "The wedding."
"Indeed. It must be soon, we can't delay much longer, we need to tie you to the king. ANd what better time to do so than just after we've achieved a victory against the undefeated Young Wolf."
Yes, her father would bring the supplies and the victory, and in the euphoria, House Tyrell would bind with House Baratheon and Lannister on the back of a Tyrell victory.
"Are we still going ahead with the full plan?" She asked her grandmother. "Seventy-seven courses, and all the entertainment that came with it."
"Of course we are," Olenna said.
"But, all that food, after the capital has been starving for so long?"
"Margaery, my little darling, the mob needs more than food to keep it happy and content, they need entertainment, stories. You only become a queen once, it must be seared into their memories forever. And after it is, we've won, we'll be embedded into King's Landing and the heart of the regime."
"As long as it lasts," Margaery replied softly.
"Leave that to your brother," Olenna waved away her concerns. "Focus on what you can do. Remember, you each have a part to play, and you let each other down if you do not."
"I know," Margaery said. She and Olenna continued to discuss the details of the wedding until they were interrupted by Elinor, who came up to them with a ready smile that foretold good news. "How is it in the city?"
"Better than we'd hoped, my lady. News of your brother's early victories have stirred the people. The mood is light and the badge of House Tyrell is respected once again in all corners."
"Good," she breathed. The refugees from the Reach had spread many tales of the horrors of the northmen. Too many. Now the city was filled with whispers of the darkness the enemy brought with them. Darkness that House Tyrell had been unable to prevent, and now could not deliver the food they promised. The city watch had arrested four preachers denouncing the royal family, two of them were even whipping the crowd into a fury, relishing in the days of King Robert, that they had been safe then. But there were others as well. The gold cloaks had marched a quarter of their number, five hundred men, into fleabottom, to root out the source of calls for King Stannis to come and protect the city. They'd found posters, but no preachers, though four men had been hanged over the entrance to the slum as a warning anyway. "No more talk of inviting Stannis in?"
"No, the mood is rising. If it continues like this, the crowds will be content and ready for you to wow them into eternal loyalty at your wedding."
"Not eternal loyalty," Margaery said. "I'm sure Cersei looked just as splendid on her wedding day. Loyalty is something that needs to be constantly earned, constantly worked for, if not, then it can be lost to another." She wasn't going to let the new regime lose it when she'd worked so hard to gain it for them.
"Of course, my lady," Elinor said.
"I should ride among them myself," she said. She couldn't distribute food, Lord Tywin's new and strict rationing prevented that, but she could buy from them, spread silver instead of bread.
"I'd let the mood spread a little more first, my lady," Elinor said. "Just a few more days to let the talk spread, let the city rouse itself a little more, if you want as many people as possible to see you."
She nodded. "That would be best."
So she waited a couple more days before she made for the stables. Six guardsmen would keep her company as she rode the streets. She had her riding clothes on, a money pouch at her waist and a leaf green cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She would take the brown horse, not the white today. Elinor had offered to saddle Merry for her, but Merry was always so docile, and Margaery loved readying her for a ride. She picked up the saddle, embossed with the golden rose of Tyrell, and walked towards the stall where Merry was housed.
As she approached the stall, she saw another hose further on, saddled and ready to ride several stalls down. It was snorting, pawing the ground. This wasn't some mare, a polite riding horse, that steed was a courser, a warhorse, and it was pulling on it's reins, impatient to ride.
She put her saddle down and approached the horse, reaching out and gently rubbing its face. "There there," she whispered, rubbing the horse's head softly. "I'm sure your rider will be back soon." She looked around. The horse was fully saddled, the straps on tightly, the saddlebags packed. So where was the rider? They shouldn't leave their horse like this, he was ready to ride, eager for it. Perhaps he was still here somewhere. "Hello?" Nothing. She looked around again. "Is your rider here?" She asked the horse, who whinnied in reply. "Hello?" Still nothing.
She patted the horse's head and moved deeper into the stables, looking for any sign of the rider. There was nothing at first, but soon she caught a whiff of something, beyond the stink of hay and horse.
She looked in on the next stall and screamed.
A body lay face down on the ground, blood running in rivers down the cracks between the stones, staining the hay with sanguine gore. "Guards!" She screamed.
A few seconds, the pounding of armoured feet and her guards were at her side. "Hells!" One of them swore. Margaery covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from gagging on the scent of death. One of the guards turned over the body and she went cold.
"I know him," she whispered. It was Ser Osney Kettleblack, one of Queen Cersei's men, favoured after the Blackwater. His eyes stared straight out of a face drained of blood. His throat was opened in a clean, red smile, and two bloody lines were drawn down his cheeks like tear marks. "Go and alert the castle, now!
She sat outside on the steps, surrounded by her ladies as a swarm of Lannister guardsmen under the direction of ser Kevan took control of the stables. The various stablehands were rounded up and taken away for questioning. Osney's brothers, Osfryd and Osmund stood to one side, their faces dark and thunderous. Even Queen Cersei had made her way out to see what had happened. "Who could do this?" Alla asked, fearful.
Margaery didn't know. But the bloody tears, it was just like the High Septon. But Osney was a knight. He may not be the best knight, but he was capable of defending himself in a way the High Septon wasn't. Two murders, in the Red Keep with the same bloody calling card, and Meryn Trant was murdered not long before. How could this happen in the King's court, the heart of the Kingdom. This was going to be her home. What in all the hells was happening.
"My lady?"
She turned. Maester Seymon, brought in from Highgarden to ensure they had a loyal maester, was holding out a letter to her. "I am sorry to interrupt, my lady, but there has been another letter, from your brother."
That was quick. "Thank you, Seymon." She took the letter, broke the seal, and opened it. "No." She whispered. She pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling the sick feeling rising again.
Robb Stark slipped past us. He left half his host to distract us while he raced south to confront father. I'm following as fast as I can. Pray to the warrior for us, Margaery, that we reach him in time.
