"Alla, could you go and see who that is?" Margaery asked. As Alla slipped out of bed and hurried to the door, she pulled the covers back up to her chin. No hint of pale bluelight slipped around the curtains and the air was cold with the midnight chill. Who was hammering on her door at this hour, she had a busy day tomorrow? The morning was filled with wedding preparations. The bakers were complaining about a lack of ingredients for the various dishes and wanted to talk about making less for more money, the entertainers in the city wanted a greater share of ration supplies or else were threatening to take their business elsewhere and there was confusion over which version of the Baratheon flag was to be flown. Lord Tywin and Queen Cersei wanted the twinned Lion and Stag that Joffrey took as his personal sigil, but she would prefer the banner that Robert had flown. Their legitimacy was on the line, they had to present themselves as the legitimate followers of the old regime, for Lord Stannis was still out there.
When that was done she had to speak with Lord Florent and the other bannermen who remained behind, they were becoming disquiet, and with her father and brother gone, it would be down to her to see to their worries. The stories emerging from the army camp boded very ill for them. A Cuy footman had been beaten to death by a Footly knight for crossing his horse's path. Now Lord Cuy was demanding recompense for his slain man but Lord Footly refused to condone it. So, later that day, Lord Cuy's men slipped into Lord Footly's part of the camp and stole the knight's weapons and arms, and Lord Cuy declared he would ransom them back to the knight for the appropriate pay. Lord Florent had to lead a detachment to stop both sides brawling with each other. He separated both, paid the ransom for the knight's armour and repositioned both groups at other ends of the now Lord Florent wanted to reclaim the expenses of the ransom, either from House Tyrell or the Crown. There was a Stark host and a war between Margaery and most of her family's money, and the crown's coffers felt the loss of every penny. And that was only one of the many problems afflicting the army.
Margaery didn't relish either list of tasks, let alone both, without a good night of sleep. There had better be a good reason for this interruption.
Alla's feet pattered on the floor as she returned to the bed. "It's a message from the Hand of the King," she whispered, still tired. "An emergency council session has been called and your presence is requested immediately."
"But I'm not on the council," she replied without thinking, then cursed herself. She couldn't wasted this opportunity. "Very well, I'll come now, Megga, could you get my gown, Alla, please tell the guards to be ready."
Megga got out of bed and fetched a heavy gown from the cupboard, this was an emergency meeting at midnight, there was no time for a full dress and makeup. Megga returned with a green dress that laced at the waist with a simple rope belt and a pair of soft shoes. They helped her into the dress and tied it up at the back for her while she pulled her hair back and twisted it up into a bun. She pulled on a cloak that Alla retrieved for her. "You two go back to sleep now," she said, ushering them back to the bed and kissing their cheeks. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Four guards had gathered outside to follow the page boy messenger, who looked barely awake himself, to the tower of the Hand. As they went, Margaery couldn't help but glance from side to side. Was the killer there, lurking, waiting, following? She wasn't the only one who now walked the castle accompanied by guards.
The march of armoured boots on stone accompanied them through spears of moonlight and the pall of darkness to the tower of the Hand. They took her all the way to the Hand's Solar, where a guard opened the door to allow Margaery in.
She wasn't the only one pulled from their rest. In the light of the recently stoked fire, Lord Tywin looked as crisp and neat as always. Ser Kevan was nearly as neat, but his hair was still messy from his pillow. Lord Baelish had bags under his eyes and his shirt was scruffy, Lord Varys hadn't even bothered dressing in formal clothes, and wore a silken nightgown to cover his figure. Cersei's dress was hidden by a heavy cloak, but Margaery noted that it was the same one she had worn that evening, based on the trail that wasn't quite hidden by the fur. A snoring sound made her look to the desk, where Pycelle sat, asleep already, his own cloak placed over his form.
"My lords," she said, bowing her head in respect. "What's happened?"
"Must something have happened?" Cersei snapped.
Margaery snapped back, irritable. "I would hope so, or else I've been woken for nothing."
Tywin held up a hand to silence Cersei's reply. "Now is not the time," he sounded grave. He nodded at Kevan, who sighed, before delivering the news that Tywin did not wish to.
"The Young Wolf slipped passed your brother's host. He met your father in battle and dealt him a sharp defeat. Lord Tyrell's host is scattered, and your father is now the Young Wolf's prisoner."
No. It took all of her willpower to not let her mouth fall open in shock, and even longer to determine an appropriate response. "How do we know this?"
Tywin gestured to a series of opened letters on his desk. "These came from the Reach, including this one," he held one up, "from your brother."
"How is he responding to this?"
"By losing, that's how," Cersei snapped.
"What?"
Kevan resumed the narrative, desperate to keep the conflict from exploding between the two queens. "In his haste to aid your father, Ser Garlan's host got spread out on the march. Two days after defeating your father at Bayonne, the King in the north fell upon your brother's forces at Greenhall, driving them back, when your brother's men, outnumbered, realised they faced the Young Wolf, they broke and fled at the first engagement. The next day he swept upon Lord Tarly's force that was trying to sweep around them. Lord Tarly had four thousand men with him, half were killed or captured, the rest were scattered. Finally Robb Stark pursued your brother back to the Mander, meeting him again two days later, hammering his forces as they retreated. Of the forty thousand men sent into the Reach, about half have been killed or captured by the Starks, a few broke through to Highgarden, to join the forces mobilising there, the rest retreated with your brother, he is attempting to rally them on the border of the crownlands."
"No," Margaery stumbled over to a seat and collapsed into it, head in hands. It was all coming apart, all of it. How could this happen? She thought of the trouble in the camps. News and rumours would start to spread soon enough. Half the lords in that camp had an ancient claim on Highgarden, now that the head of House Tyrell was captured, their armies had suffered defeat? How would they react to her coming to mediate their disputes? No, she couldn't risk that, if House Tyrell was publicly rebuked just outside the gates of the capital, in the middle of their whole army by the very bannermen sworn to them… then they'd lose everything. She shook herself. She knew what would happen if their family failed. Every Tyrell knew it, it was bred into them, that despite three hundred years of largely successful rule, there were those who still thought to claim Highgarden for themselves by claiming descent from a family that probably linked to most of Westeros by now. She had to turn the situation around, and work out how to salvage what little they had left. "How do we proceed?"
"Proceed?!" Cersei would no doubt be shrieking if she wasn't so tired. "You've lost, your father is captured and your family disgraced, it was a mistake to join you to the crown yo-"
"Cersei, enough!" Tywin demanded.
But Margaery had had enough. "We're both in this bed now Queen Mother," she hissed back, bolting to her feet. "You are linked to a family of a disputed house, and we are linked to one accused of incest and usurpation. But we're all each other has right now. Cast us out, and who would you replace us with." She pointed out in the vague direction of the army outside the city. "The Young Wolf outwitted and defeated your armies, ravaged your homeland, and King Stannis remains in the south. Who do you think would throw their lot in with you now?" Silence. "No, Queen Cersei, we are in this together, you and we. so let us make peace with that and decide what actions we can take going forward."
"Lady Margaery is right," Lord Varys tittered, wringing his hands anxiously. She noted that Lord Baelish had shuffled away from the line between Cersei and Margaery as well. "There must be something we can do."
"You should march, father," Cersei said. "Take the army, and march against Robb Stark."
"The walls aren't yet fully repaired from Lord Stannis' first attack on the city," Tywin said. "You would leave your son open against his tender mercies?"
Cersei's expression changed from anger to horror with a flicker of the fire. "No," she whispered. "Joffrey must be protected, we can't lose King's Landing."
"We have to do something? What can we offer Robb Stark?"
"Offer him?" Lord Baelish turned to her, a thin eyebrow rising. "My lady, are you saying we should negotiate with the Young Wolf, when he's in a position to demand whatever he wants?"
"He's captured lords and knights from across the Reach." That would be how House Tyrell could assure itself of the loyalty of a few houses in the Reach, ransom the prisoners, retain the knights for the field and keep the lords safe at Highgarden. "We need them freed, we must ransom them."
"And your father," Cersei pointed out.
"Yes, my father as well," Margaery snapped.
"My brother has been imprisoned for years, your father can last a little while, until we bring Robb Stark to heel."
"Bring him to heel!" Margaery almost laughed. "And how do we do that?!"
"Attack him where he is not," Lord Baelish said. They all turned to him. "My lords, we are all aware, are we not, that the army outside the capital is getting… twitchy, and the Young Wolf has hurled most of his army against the Reach. I say we deal with these two birds with one stone. Gather up the agitated elements and send them north to attack the riverlands, ravage his lands. Perhaps that would pull some of the Young Wolf's armies away, and give us another chance to open the road for supplies. At the very least it would give us the chance to lessen the tensions around the capital."
"That has some sound to it," Kevan agreed.
Margaery fumed, they were completely missing the point, they had to ransom her father, and the knights of his who were taken prisoner. But Lord Baelish's argument was sound, so she would run with that. "Yes, I agree that could be useful," she said. "Perhaps we could seize territory and offer that to Robb Stark in exchange for prisoners, and perhaps we should consider a trade involving Sansa Stark."
"The last time we offered to trade the Stark girl they sent us back Jaime's hand," Tywin reminded her, a cold fury floating in his voice like an undertone.
"Tristan Stark sent back ser Jaime's hand, not Robb Stark, he seems to be a more reasonable sort."
"Lady Margaery," Lord Varys stepped forward, hands raised conciliatory. "With all due respect, if we give Robb Stark an inch now, he'll demand a mile and we won't be in a position to refuse him."
"He'll take a mile whether we give it to him or not," Margaery replied. "Perhaps we can open further negotiations with him, about his claim to independence, use that time to regroup."
"There will be no talk of that," Cersei replied with a snarl. "My son will be king of all the Seven Kingdoms, we will not give two to the Starks."
"Do you even understand our position here?" Margaery demanded. "We are losing. We are losing badly. Every army that has confronted the Young Wolf has met with defeat, this capital nearly fell to Stannis Baratheon. Hunger will soon make the people turn against us and may soon start fighting themselves rather than our foes. Then it will just be a question of who kills us, Robb Stark or Stannis Baratheon. We need to start making decisions, plan to confront Robb Stark and defeat him, finally, or crush Stannis' claim and that of his children. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to help us achieve this. Are you?"
"Lady Margaery is correct," Lord Tywin said. "But I cannot both keep Joffrey in check and march with the army," he pointed out. "We have no one left who can command it."
"We have plenty of commanders," Cersei replied hotly.
"Not a one I would trust to bring us victory," Tywin snapped back.
"Surely you can leave the capital for a while, my lord hand," Lord Baelish said.
"Nor do I have someone here to keep the king in check," he added.
"Joff does not need to be kept in check," Cersei insisted, the rage of a mother growing inside her.
"Oh, then why do you think he is not here? Tell me, what insightful decisions has Joffrey made since the crown was put on his head? No, he needs to be taken in hand, you are unable, and I cannot do it from the field. And I can't very well take him with me."
"I can do it," Margaery said. They all turned to her, as though they had forgotten she was there. "I can keep Joffrey's attention away from any potential…. Mistakes." There it was. A truth known to all here, but never before voiced. Joffrey was going to be a poor king. Perhaps she could steward him to wisdom, but most likely not. Most likely the council would be trying to limit the damage he could do. Westeros had survived worse.
Tywin afixed her with his green-gold eyes. She could see the indecision in them. "My lord, let us be candid here at last, while we face utter ruin. What plots could my family conceive of in your absence? My father is now in chains, one brother in the Kingsguard, one in Highgarden and one in the field, with the ruins of our military glory. Both of our houses have our fates tied to this war. We won't undermine you here, we need you to defeat them."
Tywin nodded. "I see." He thought on it. "Lord Varys, bring me the names of all the lords who are disgruntled, we'll assemble a force to march against the riverlands, as that we are agreed upon. Lady Tyrell, write to your brother in Highgarden, see what strength, if any can be gathered there, I will send riders to see what your brother at the crownlands border can call upon. And then we'll see about marching against Robb Stark."
Varys nodded. "It would be my pleasure, my lord Hand."
"And me, my lord?" Lord Baelish asked.
"You will continue to keep the Vale out of the hands of the Starks, if they enter the war, we are lost."
Lord Baelish's exiting bow missed it's usual flouris. "As you command."
"I'll go and write the letters now," Margaery said. She bowed and followed Lord Baelish from the tower.
Her guards fell in step beside her as they hurried to the rookery, she had to send the letters now, time was of the essence. They swept through the keep in a hurry, past flickering, whispering shadows, ascending to the rookery past the Grand Maester's turret.
"I need two ravens," she said to the master of the ravens, who assisted the Grand Maester in his old age.
The young man rubbed sleep from his eyes and nodded. "Of course, my lady, two for Highgarden?"
Margaery shook her head. No, Lord Tywin clearly did not desire a return to the field. Perhaps his age, perhaps he did not wish to add his name to the list of men who the Young Wolf had defeated. If that was the case, they needed someone who could face Robb Stark. Because they were right, here, there was no one left. But perhaps… "No, one for Highgarden, and one for Casterly Rock."
