"What about Lord Rodden and his men?" Lord Florent asked. "Most of his contingent are still alive, that's two thousand more footmen to assist the inevitable sieges."
Margaery shook her head. "No. Lord Rodden's seat is south of the Mander, near the borders with the Dornish Marches. In other words, in range of Stannis Baratheon's men, keep him here to defend the capital."
"Our list of forces is getting dangerously short, my lady," Lord Florent warned her, tugging on his beard in frustration.
"Perhaps, but we can't take the risk at this point," Margaery said.
The invasion would begin soon, they were sure of it. Lord Redwyne had sent word when he was at Planky Town, the day before he sailed north. But he alone didn't have enough men to take the islands of the Narrow Sea, he would have to push through the gullet and pick up an army from the capital to take the islands. It was agreed that it would be a combined force. Six thousand men of the Reach and six thousand men from the Westerlands. Lord Florent would command the men from the Reach. He was not Margaery's first choice, but they dare not replace Garlan in the crownlands. He was needed to rebuild that army. So Lord Florent, who had commanded the army around the capital since her father and brother left, was the only choice. If they refused him command, it could be extremely dangerous for them. Lord Tywin's own brother, Ser Kevan, would be commanding the Lannister men, and be in overall command of the expedition.
But who to send? Lord Tywin's men might be relied upon, after all, Lannister rule in the west was not in doubt. But the Tyrells had no such surety, and their position now looked even more perilous than others. When the Narrow Sea islands and their fortresses were under siege, thousands of men could be tied up for a year, maybe longer, during which time the forces there would have to remain on those islands. If they sent soldiers of lords they could rely upon, then they would be unable to help her family in a crisis. And many crises were possible, Stannis could march on the capital, and lords with disloyal tendencies might well go over to him if the ones they could trust were out in the islands. Or there could be a more direct attempt, the remaining lords using their soldiers to force concessions out of the government.
At the same time, if they sent disloyal soldiers, they might use the opportunity of being on Stannis' home islands to betray them and switch sides, delivering up not only their soldiers, but valuable prisoners like Lord Florent and ser Kevan to the Baratheons.
So she had to find a balance. Send enough loyal soldiers to keep the possible disloyal ones in line, but not so many that it denuded the capital of vital defenders should a situation arise where they were needed.
Which was also why she had to make sure that Lord Florent wasn't aware of what she was doing. Lord Rodden would be perfectly positioned to send forces to aid in the recapture of the island, given that his wife and daughters had only recently arrived at Highgarden and were now in Willas' care.
And so they kept working their way through the soldiers available to them, until both Margaery and Lord Florent were satisfied. She had enough to defend her here, he had enough to reliably take the fortress and isles that cut the capital off from the sea.
The door opened without a knock and Tyrion Lannister hurried inside. "I hope you've decided who to send," he said, without a greeting. That was unusual for him.
"More or less," Margaery replied.
"Good." He held up a letter in. "Lord Redwyne has sent his final letter. From the dates he's put on it, he intends to be in the bay in two days time."
Two days, so this was it. Lord Florent nodded, standing tall. "Very well, I'll send word to the lords who will be accompanying us, and assemble the army on the tourney fields with Ser Kevan's soldiers. Lord Tyrion, my lady," he bowed and strode from the room.
Tyrion shut the door behind him. "Is he good enough?" He asked.
"He is," Margaery said, "more than good enough. Is your uncle?"
"Not as good as my father or my brother, but more than able."
Margaery curled her hands into fists at the mention of Loren. The bastard. No decency, she tried to work with him and all he could do was sprout a litany of curses and reasons that he should be unhappy, blaming everyone but himself for all his troubles. "Has Lord Loren apologised."
Tyrion was the only one making regular visits to Loren, no one else on the council would go until he had agreed to apologise for his behaviour and accept that he was one of equals, not their superior. "No, he hasn't," Tyrion said. "Not even when I offered him command of this expedition, or a number of other incentives."
It didn't surprise Margaery that he had not. He would, and they would accept that he was their best commander. But they needed unity, they could not let one upstart commander seize the reins of power. What else would he do if he refused to accept the reality of a regency council. Together they could still win. They'd been foolish to act separately before, after they'd taken the islands, they would work together. Loren would apologise, then he would take command of all armies in the field, they would give him the resources he needed to win, and they would handle the rebuilding that came afterwards.
But until he reconciled with them, he would remain in his comfortable prison, where he belonged.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, Lord Tyrion?" Margaery asked, not wanting to keep talking about Loren.
"Yes," Tyrion said, fixing her with his mismatched eyes. "We need you to talk to Joffrey."
"What about?"
"We need him to do an inspection of the soldiers before the fleet arrives, to show them that he cares."
Margaery blinked. "We are still talking about Joffrey?"
Tyrion smiled. "We are, but if you can just persuade him to actually go, we can keep him in line when he's out there."
"Are you sure?" The council must have weighed this. If Joffrey caused disrespect while he was out there, at this point they would be throwing allies to their enemies.
"We stop him causing disrespect, but we can't force him to leave the castle."
"Not even his mother?"
Tyrion frowned. "Cersei seems rather opposed to the idea. I fear if she tried to 'convince' him to leave, she'd do the opposite just to keep him safe in these walls."
Margaery fought not to groan in annoyance. "Very well, I'll go and speak to him."
"Your help is appreciated, as ever," Tyrion told her with a respectful bow.
Back in her rooms, she pulled out dress after dress, looking for one that would be appropriate to wear to see Joffrey. Something that showed loyalty, pride, strength, confidence. Nothing. She groaned, tossing the cream dress on the bed with the others.
"Nothing," she said, turning to her cousins, who looked at her nervously.
"I liked the green one," Alla said.
"You always like the green ones," Megga replied.
"No green," Margaery insisted. It was her most commonly worn colour, given the colours of House Tyrell, but that wasn't what she needed, she needed something else. "Elinor," she said, looking at her oldest cousin. "That dress you wore on Maiden's day, two years ago, the red one, do you still have it?"
"No, cousin, it's at Highgarden," Elinor replied.
"Of course it is," she muttered, "I don't suppose you happen to have a red dress here that I can wear?"
Elinor shook her head.
"I have one," Megga said.
"I know, Megga, but that dress will never fit me." Megga was too young. Their hips and waists may be similar, but Margaery's bust would never squeeze into a dress sewn for Megga's chest. "Right, new task. Go into the castle and find me a red dress, crimson if you can, with gold if at all possible."
"Lannister colours?"
"Joffrey's colours," Margaery corrected. "He needs to see that I am his, heart and soul, its my best chance. Find one that's in my measurements, use my name and a promise of silver if you must. Get it to me as fast as you can."
Margaery expected Elinor to find one first, she had a nose for fashion and knew just where to look to borrow jewellery that would compliment her own dresses. Being of a lower branch of House Tyrell, Elinor rarely got everything she wanted handed to her as Margaery did. So she was surprised when Alla came in barely twenty minutes after she'd sent them out, carrying with them a dress in perfect Lannister red and gold. "That's perfect Alla," Margaery said, relieved, pulling her cousin into a tight hug. She held the dress up to her form, a little big, but that could be worked out with a jewelled belt and some careful work on the seems. Then she saw the lions on the bodice. "This is actually a Lannister dress, who gave it to you?"
"The cleaners," Alla said with a wide smile. "I remember them complaining the other day that the Queen Mother was claiming her dresses had shrunk and that they were to get rid of them. But they hadn't had the chance yet, so they were just in a store room."
"So this was Cersei's dress," Margaery mused. She half wanted to throw it out the window, but this was better than she could hope for. "Help me into it," Margaery said.
With Alla's help, she pulled the dress on. It was a little loose on her, so she had it fixed closer with a belt studded with emeralds. The train was also a little long, so they pinned it up so that it didn't trail on the ground.
She examined herself in the mirror. Red wasn't her colour, but it was what she needed now. "Time to go and see the king," she breathed.
Two of the Kingsguard held position outside Joffrey's chambers and patted her down before they let her enter. "My apologies, my lady," Ser Arys said, "but it is his grace's order."
"There is nothing more important than the safety of the king, ser," Margaery smiled at him.
When they were satisfied taht she was unarmed, the guards opened the door and let her pass.
Joffrey was sat on a plush, cushioned chair. Two servant girls stood behind him, one holding a jug and the other a plate of fresh fruit. A crossbow was on the desk, beautifully sculpted. "That's when I saw it coming," Joffrey whispered conspiritorially. "Great tusks covered in my father's blood. But I didn't stop, how could I, the great animal had killed my father. So I took aim and shot the beast right in the eye, brought it down on my father's body. I looked incredible when I was standing over it's body. The king was dead, and I had killed his killer."
Margaery could see the discomfort in the faces of the servants. She clapped her hands excitedly, drawing Joffrey's attention. "An incredible tale, your grace," she said.
"Lady Margaery," Joffrey sat up straight. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I just wanted to spend some time with you, your grace," she smiled at him, twirling around to show him his colours on her body. His eyes traced her hungrily. "Perhaps alone?" She said, glancing at the servants.
"Yes," Joffrey said softly. Then he coughed. "Yes, that would be proper, leave us," he commanded and the servants, almost gratefully put down the plate and jug and hurried to leave the king's side.
When they were gone, Margaery took the jug. "May I pour you another cup, your grace?"
"I should pour you a cup, my lady," Joffrey said.
"Nonsense, your grace, I am your servant, you are not mine. I will pour you wine, advise you where I can and give you all the sons you deserve. You should never have to pour someone else's wine." Joffrey smiled as Margaery filled his cup. Good, work him down until he agreed to go with her. "Were you telling the servants about how you killed the boar that killed your father?"
He puffed out his chest. "I was."
Margaery smiled. "Tell me, your grace. I'd love to hear you tell it." She leant in, feigning interest and wondering just how much he was going to spin the lie.
Not as much as she'd expected, but she kept her focus on him, showing him utter devotion. Teasing him with gentle touches, flattering him with her words and approving of everything he did.
"I do so hope we can wed as a victorious king and queen," Joffrey told her shortly. "I'll have the heads of Stannis and Robb there as we pledge ourselves to each other."
"I love it," she whispered, holding down the bile. "But your grace, if I may, I have some concerns. About the coming battle, that I think you may be able to help with."
Joffrey looked at her, eyebrow cocked up. "How may I help you, my lady?"
"It's the army," she said, "the one we're sending to take Stannis' islands back for you."
"What about it?" Joffrey asked.
"Well, after the recent defeats that your incompetant generals have suffered, I fear that the soldiers will lack the confidence to win."
"That's not my fault!" Joffrey insisted, snarling. "They must still fight for me."
"And they will," Margaery assured him. "But I think that you could inspire them."
"I don't need to inspire them, they will fight for me."
"I know, your grace, I know, and believe me I wish I wasn't suggesting this. But I think that they will fight all the harder if they got to catch a glimpse of their king."
"Yes, I think they might, but I can't leave the keep."
She saw the fear in his eyes, the fear of the silent murderer who still hadn't been caught. "Your Grace, it is not up to the council to tell you where you can or cannot go," she told him. "Go to them, remind them that you are strong or they may forget it. Tell them that you insist on inspecting the army that is about to leave. They will arrange it for you I'm sure."
Joffrey stroked his chin. "Yes, that is a fine idea. Yes, yes I'll tell them that."
"You are so wise and strong your grace," she whispered, "I hope I can give you children half as wise and strong as you." She'd learned it was best to distract Joffrey once you'd got him to agree to something, don't let him rethink the matter too much.
She continued her flattery, lept up the conversation, making a mental note to tell the council to act as if the inspection is Joffrey's idea when they next spoke to him.
