She'd left half her dinner and all her appetite behind when she'd received the summons. Leaving her cousins and ladies behind she answered immediately, outstripping her guards in her haste to get to the Tower of the Hand and learn what latest tragedy had befallen them.

The door was slightly ajar. Out of common decency she rapped on it twice, then entered before Lord Tywin had finished telling her to do so.

Lord Tywin, sat at his desk, Ser Kevan and Lord Varys behind him, before the desk, arms folded behind his back smartly, was Lord Florent. He looked back at her and bowed his head in respect. "Lady Margaery."

"Lord Florent, what's going on here?"

"He was just about to inform us, but he wanted you to be here for it." Said Ser Kevan.

"She is the only remaining representative of House Tyrell, she should be here."

Not entirely true, but Loras was a knight of the Kingsguard now, and not many had the courage to face her grandmother.

"Indeed," Lord Tywin said, "I wouldn't have it any other way, he gestured to the seat at his side and Margaery graciously took the seat. "What is your report, Lord Florent."

Lord Florent took a breath and said, "Two mornings ago, Lord Ambrose came to me. Three of his knights were gone, along with all their squires, horses and arms. We found tracks leading along the roseroad. Five knights volunteered to go after them. They haven't returned either."

"You think the enemy are closing in on us?" Margaery asked. "How, Lord Stannis has invaded the Reach, as has Robb Stark?"

"No, my lady, I do not believe that the enemy are coming at us." He clenched his jaw tightly, angry at the reference to Stannis' invasion. By order of the council such news was kept from the people and the army, if word of it spread, she feared what would happen to the army. Would the lords of the Reach decide to try their luck alone, marching home to defend their homes and leave the capital open? She didn't know, but they couldn't risk it. "Three groups of scouts I sent ranging to the south have also lost men from their number. The others tried looking but couldn't find them dead or alive. I've asked around, as subtly as I can to see what else has happened. Lord Cobb's son squires for ser Jaremy Lyberr, the Knight of Ryefield. The two of them went riding, heading for the sept where ser Jaremy was knighted to pay their respects. It's not far from here, but they haven't been seen either. Neither have the brothers Portimer and Lucatine Woodwright, who took some men to Duskendale to purchase more food."

Margaery remembered all of those people. Ser Jaremy was a tourney knight who never rose too high, contenting himself with achieving the ransoms of minor knights and lordlings to decorate his small keep. Portimer and Lucatine were often at Highgarden, seeking her favour, and had been coming to her even more since her betrothal. "What are you saying, Lord Florent?"

"I believe they've deserted to Lord Stannis' ranks."

Silence.

"Why would they do that? We've kept word of the new invasion from the men," Kevan pointed out.

"We've kept news from them, but rumours cannot be contained."

"You think they would desert for a rumour?" Kevan asked.

Lord Florent's lips thinned. "I think they might remain if there was a rumour we had a chance of victory."

"My lord-" Lord Varys began and Lord Florent raised his hands.

"I only speak what I hear, spymaster."

"Thank you, Lord Florent," Tywin said curtly, "thank you for bringing this to our attention, you may go now."

Lord Florent's feet snapped together and he bowed before turning smartly on his feet and departing the room.

The click of the door was followed by a minute of silence before Ser Kevan spoke. "If this is true-"

"It's true," Lord Tywin said. "I suppose it's some wonder that it hasn't happened already."

"We have to take steps to prevent this," Margaery said.

"It's only a few knights, my lady," Varys said.

"A few knights now, whole lordships and armies later," she snapped back. "Lord Tywin, you must position your men in the outside of the camps, along the roads to the north and south, create a barrier between the men of the Reach and their ways out of here."

Tywin nodded. "Agreed, Kevan, when we're done here, give the orders."

Margaery sat back. How had this happened? The one saving grace of Stannis' incursion was that he and Robb Stark might bleed each other. Now it seemed that Stannis might actually gain strength from his latest attack. Worse, those men would at the very least know the terrain and the weaknesses of the various holdfasts across the Reach. Ser Jaremy Lyberr would be able to command his holdfast to open without a fight, and if lords started deserting to Stannis, he could hold some of the strongest castles in the Reach.

Where was Lord Loren? He had to have at least begun marching to Highgarden by now? Was he the only one who could correct this situation? She hadn't heard anything from Willas either. Surely neither Robb Stark nor Stannis Baratheon would commit to an attack on Highgarden with the other free to attack their rear.

She got to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, my lords, I must prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Lord Tywin asked her.

"I'm going to host my ladies, and many more of the court as well, I need to put on an air of confidence, show them that we are not yet lost." But how long will that last?

But first she had something else to do. After departing Lord Tywin's solar, she made for her grandmother's rooms.

Inside, Olenna stood over a table, her face grim, all feigned weakness gone, but there were bags under her eyes. She was tired, but if it took all her strength, she would fight this last war to House Tyrell's survival.

"Have we heard any reply yet, Grandmother?"

Olenna shook her head. "Nothing. It's possible that King Robb is keeping him close, rather than at Riverrun with Jaime Lannister, but still, nothing."

Curse it all. Margaery clenched her fingers to stop them shaking. "Did we offer too little?"

"I think we offered too much," Olenna grumbled, "but no, if the offer for your father's ransom was simply too small, they would be telling us that. They either don't have him or are refusing to accept coin for his release."

But they didn't have anything else. No prisoners at all, let alone any of equal rank. They had no basis by which they could offer Robb Stark the victory he wanted, unless…

"Tell me what happened with Lord Tywin," her grandmother said.

She recounted the meeting.

Olenna spat. "Bah, I knew this would happen, we should have stayed well out of all of this." She shook her head. "I think it might be time to send the second letter."

"No," Margaery looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "Grandmother, we can't do that!"

"We have few other options left," Olenna pointed out.

"I know, but we're not totally exhausted yet. We can be thankful that Robb Stark has cost our bannermen as much as ourselves if nothing else, our position is not so threatened."

"Lord Tarly especially," Olenna held a special place in her heart for Lord Tarly, the Hulk of Horn Hill, she called him. News of his capture by Robb Stark had been almost as welcomed as it was cursed. Of all their bannermen, he perhaps could pose the greatest threat to them, married into the Florents, an eligible son and heir and a military reputation to carry him far.

But the second letter, it would destroy everything, in all likelihood, she wouldn't be the queen. The letter was unwritten, known only in her and her grandmother's minds. An offer to Robb Stark. Release Lord Tyrell, crown him King of the Reach, break up the Seven Kingdoms once and for all. If all went well, Margaery might even become Robb Stark's Queen. She was sure the Freys could be placated, but if not, at least House Tyrell would survive, and she would go from being a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to the lady of a noble household to cement House Tyrell's control over the Reach. The thought of it made her sick. The crown was within sight now, she was so close! Better to be Queen of the South than a lady of Horn Hill or Goldengrove.

"Not yet, grandmother," she said quietly, "give us a little more time, all we need is one victory and there is still a chance."

"Still pinning your hopes on the Lord Marshall eh?" She sighed. "Alright, I won't send anything yet. But Margaery, I will if I have to."

"I know, grandmother, I will."

"How are things going with the King?"

She was thankful that the conversation had changed, but this was another area where their efforts were failing. "He keeps to himself most of the day when he's not on the iron throne," she explained. Thankfully Lord Tywin was keeping him away from the throne. Ever since the debacle of Sansa Stark, the Hand had taken greater prominence in court affairs. Joffrey sat only to adjudicate minor disputes and quarrels. She only got to spend time with him on public occasions, and thankfully he seemed unaware of how close he was to losing his throne. He was eager to take her hunting in the Kingswood, to crown her his queen on their wedding day, to have his children. He was already boasting of having a dozen on her. It was sweet in it's own way, but she might have to have words with him about the number he was hoping for.

"Yes, a dozen is about eleven more than anyone should have to handle," Olenna complained. "But the rest is concerning? And we're pinned to this boy."

"He's only fourteen grandmother, plenty of time to work our spells."

"I'll dust off my pointy hat."

A knock at the door made them freeze. Margaery opened it a fraction to see a page standing smartly before it. "A letter for you my lady." He held out the parchment, sealed in scarlet wax.

"Thank you," she smiled. "Here, for your trouble," she slipped him a few coppers.

"Thank you my lady," the boy smiled, stuffing the coins into a pocket before hurrying away.

She broke the seal and read the letter. Then hurriedly closed the door and read it again.

"What is it girl, I don't have all day," Olenna grumbled.

Margaery smiled. "It's from Lord Loren," she said, breathlessly. "He's concluded his campaign against the ironmen."

"Concluded how?"

"He says he trapped the iron fleet's crews on Fair Isle, lured them inland and destroyed their host. Victarion Greyjoy is dead, most of the iron fleet's ships captured and being put to use by the Lannisters. The iron isles themselves have risen up in civil strife, believing the Greyjoys unfit to rule. He is now marching south, to Highgarden." He was coming.

Olenna was less impressed. "The ironmen are a dog, anyone can defeat them once you turn your attention to them," beneath the bite, Margaery heard a hint of relief. She was a Redwyne by birth, and the ironmen fleets were a threat to the Arbor when massed in strength, now no longer. "Are you sure he's won?"

"I don't see why he would lie in a personal letter," she replied. He might have exaggerated a little, though he didn't seem the type. He wanted to be known for what he had done, not lies he said he had done. But a nice little lie was easy to slip into a message to sweeten an achievement. Either way, she didn't doubt that the substance was true. Or maybe she just wanted it to be, because if it was, Loren was marching to Highgarden to take command of the armies there. "I believe him."

Olenna squinted at her. "Very well, I've raised you well enough to trust your judgement."

"We should spread word of this," Margaery said. "We'll need a victory, even against the ironmen, it will be some relief."

"Well done." Olenna took her hand and rubbed it gently. "You see to that now girl. I'm going to have a nap."

"A nap?"

"Yes," she said shuffling over to her recliner. "When you get to my age, you'll understand girl."

She giggled. "Very well grandmother, I'll leave you to it."

She left the room, smiling all the way. It seemed they had another chance. She didn't know how Lord Loren would pull them out of the fire, but he may well be the only one still capable of doing so.