Margaery awoke in the heart of King's Landing's stench. She gasped in a breath through rough sackcloth and wretched at the smell of rotten meat and crude drink. Instinctively she tried to bring her hands to cover her face, but they caught on roughspun rope behind herback. After several tugs she realised they were bound, and then that it would be useless anyway, whatever was already covering her face didn't help the smell. She sat up and banged her head on something hard, cried out in pain, rolled to the side, hit something which wobbled for a moment then something else shattered.

A door opened. "She's awake!" Someone called.

Footsteps stomped over. "Wait." Another voice. "Put this on."

A rustle. Margaery rolled again but was grabbed and held down fiercely, she kicked her legs, drumming the floor. "Stop moving," the voice hissed and she stopped, gulping her fear down. Where was she, what was going on, why did her head hurt?

The sack pulled on her chin before it was yanked off. She blinked against the candlelight of the dank room she was kept in. There were boxes and crates around her, a shattered clay pot on the floor with dark liquid spilling across it and staining the bottom of her dress.

"Took her long enough to wake up," said the second man. He wasn't holding her down, but was standing back with his arms folded. The two of them were wearing roughspun clothing, the one holding her down was bulky, with a heavy cleaver stained red at his waist. Both of them were wearing cloth masks with eye holes, like the street doctors of Oldtown. "What do we do with her?"

Margaery opened her mouth to speak, but a gloved hand was slammed over it before she could make a sound.

"Isn't that the question?" The other man cocked his head to the side.

"Should I put her out again?"

"No, just tie her to the bed and gag her."

"Yes boss." Margaery was roughly manhandled back onto the bed, forcing her handler to remove his hand from her mouth.

"Who are you, where have you taken me?"

"Don't answer that," the second man replied at once. She was dropped back on the bed and a thick rope passed around her waist, around the frame of the bed and tied tightly. "Sit tight m'lady, we'll be back soon."

With that the two men left the room, heading upstairs and through a door. Margaery breathed heavily. What had happened, who were those men? Had Ellinor escaped or been taken? She sat up and looked around, the rope prevented her from leaving the bed, but she could still move a little. There was no one else here now the men had left. Was Ellinor dead then? No, that wouldn't help Ellinor, she had to think of her position, wherever Ellinor was, there was nothing Margaery could do for her.

The room was a storage room of some sort. The liquid in the broken pot smelled of cheap ale. The other crates were a mix of basic storage crates you often saw on quays and docks and those used for storing food at granaries. All of them looked weathered and old. But where was she. Maybe she could work it out, had the men let any light in when they had left? She couldn't remember. There was sound coming from above her, footfalls, but not many of them. So she wasn't in a foodhall. Or maybe she was and it was night. She fell back to the bed, this was useless. She wriggled, but the ropes holding her arms and legs and tying her to the bed were far too tight for her to release. All she could do was wait.

It could have been hours or minutes when the men returned. She sat up as the door opened and two men, were they the same as before, entered. They wore the same masks, but that didn't mean much. She remembered the convoy. She had had many guardsmen with her, there was no way she had been taken by only two men.

One of the men glanced around. "They aren't here."

"Let's wait then," said the other sitting on the edge of a crate, fists clenched on his thighs.

"Don't be so nervous," the first man said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll be fine. This will be done soon."

"It was supposed to be done already."

What was supposed to be done? Her murder? No they could have done that already. What was happening.

More men came to join them, trickling in over the next while until there were more than a score of men in the room, all of them masked. The last man to arrive seemed to be the one they were all waiting for. "Alright friends," he said grimly. He didn't sound like either of the first two who had been with her when she woke. "We're nearly there, time to move. We've found a place to store her that is closer to the walls. It'll be dark in a few minutes, we'll take her then."

"Store her?" One of the men asked.

"We were supposed to take her over the walls, that's what we agreed."

"And we will," the leader assured them, arms held out placatingly. "The guards closed the gates more quickly than we expected, but I'm working on another way."

"What way?"

"We'll go over the walls. I'll have wagons ready to take us from there."

"You have wagons?"

"Yes, now get her ready, we have to move soon."

He hurried back up the steps before anyone could ask anymore questions. The rest of the men grumbled, but they followed, two of them seizing Margaery under the arms and a third shoving the sack over her head again. She let out an involuntary squeal. "Shut it," one of the men holding her said. She was dragged up the steps, her feet slapping on them several times before she found her footing and walk with them, nearly tripping several times. When she felt a rush of cold air on her skin she knew she must be outside. She sucked in a breath and tried to scream through her gag, thrashing, desperate to make noise, anything to draw attention. "I said, shut it!" A fist drove into her stomach, winding her and making her sag in the arms holding her up. The men didn't stop and again she was dragged along the floor.

She tried to follow the directions they took her, left, right, left again, but lost track amidst the stop and start journey she was on. Eventually she was brought out of the street wind and cold and dumped on a hard wooden floor. "Sit her up." She was manhandled into a sitting position against a wall.

"We can leave her here?"

"The owner of this place left the city after the siege. No one will come looking here."

"How long?"

"Just until tomorrow, I'll get us a way through the goldcloaks and to the walls. You and you, stay with her, make sure she doesn't move. The rest of us will meet up tomorrow."

There was a great shuffling of feet followed by a silence. "So, do you want to sleep first, or should I?" Someone finally said.

"You go first, I'm not tired."

Margaery made a noise. "Ignore her." She made another noise. "Urgh." Someone marched over and ripped off her sack mask. "What is it?" He demanded.

She made another noise, her throat rasping with the noise. How long had she been out, she was so thirsty. She hadn't realised with everything but her throat was dry as a desert. She mumbled through the gag. The man reached for it. "Don't do it," the other warned.

The first man paused, then moved his hand to her throat, circling it gently. "Quiet," he warned her, then used the other hand to pull the gag from her mouth.

"Water," she whispered, not daring to try screaming, that hand could tighten faster than she could take a breath.

"She wants a drink," the man holding her said.

"Leave it, she can get one tomorrow."

"It's been a day already." So she'd been gone a day. That was something. But how had no one come for her already?

"Fine, I'll get a cup," the other said. He stomped over shortly with a cup brimmed with water. It was warm and filmy, but she gulped it down when he held the cup to her lips. "Better?"

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered to start building a rapport.

"Not for long you won't," the man said and pulled the gag up into her mouth. "You're not swaying us with your flowery words. You're our way back to a better life."

What did that mean? But the two men didn't say anything more and Margaery leant back against the wall again.

They stayed that way for hours and Margaery didn't notice she'd fallen asleep again. When she woke two men, two different men, judging by their voices, were speaking to each other. She held back a noise of tiredness and relaxed her body, straining only her ears in an attempt to listen in.

"Do you think this will work?"

"It has to. I've lost everything in this war, this is our best bet at getting it back."

How are we supposed to get north anyway? Didn't the army march that way?"

"Armies miss things, we'll be going as merchants, it's what we are after all, they might inspect us, but we'll just keep her silent until we pass the army and then we'll be golden."

"Lot's of golden."

"Golden?"

"King Stannis will pay gold for her."

"You think that's true?"

"How can he not. We've nicked the queen to be, Joffrey's bride. He'll have to owe us."

Stannis? Stannis had sent them? She forced herself to relax again.

"Besides, if he doesn't, we know about King's Landing, everything that's happened here these months. The information alone will get us into his court."

"It'd better."

"Can't be any worse than this anyway. All these Lannisters do is take our wealth and tell us they need to protect us with it. Now we have nothing left to protect."

"And these Tyrells," the other man scoffed. "Everything they gave us they take from us."

"You never said what the Tyrells did to you?"

"They came in saying they saved the city, after the siege. One of their knights decided that he was owed for that. That my wife owed him for that." The venom in his voice could have dissolved a sword blade. "Then the food stopped of course. Need that for the war of course. Food is for eating and we need to eat as much as any soldier."

"We'll have it. Stannis will give us food when we get to the point."

The point. Margaery forced down her thoughts about what the man had said. Instead she thought through something, anything to get away. The point. That surely had to mean Crackclaw Point, where the Baratheons had just invaded. If that was true, then they were going to cross Lord Rowan's army at some point. Lord Rowan was a dutiful soldier, and Lord Loren had insisted on proper outriding for his armies. Surely Lord Rowan's men would find her. She wasn't out of hope yet. Perhaps it wouldn't even come to that. If captain Gilbert's men became aware of them going over the walls, she might be found before then. If they were going north, then they would be on the same stretch of the walls as the iron gate. Unless, no, captain Gilbert wouldn't be responsible for this, would he? No. Even if he was inclined to treason, if captain Gilbert were beind this, she would already be out of the city.

Margaery continued to worry her way through the day until a fretful sleep and yet more muttering against her family and the Lannisters saw her to sleep again.

She awoke with a bang. "Hurry, we've got to go!" A voice said.

"We've got a way out?" A voice said. Steps raced over and grabbed Margaery by the arms.

"No, no, leave her, we need to go!"

"What's happening?" The man holding her asked as Margaery began to twist.

"It's the gold cloaks, they're storming Flea Bottom. Soldiers too, there's no way out."

"What?"

"They're looking for her."

"But the plan?"

"Plan's over, we're scarpering."

"But what about her?"

"Just leave her. She doesn't know our faces. Unless you want to be caught with Joffrey's woman."

"Fuck it all, we were supposed to get our lives back," the man holding her growled.

"Well you can try if you want, I'm out, so is everyone else. You wanna be caught with her in the street, be my guest."

Footsteps ran away. "Fuck!" The man holding her swore and dropped her. She cried out in pain as she hit the ground, the sound muffled by her gag. She screamed into the gag, but only receding footsteps replied.

Shortly after that she heard the sounds of commotion, storming feet, screaming men, women and children, ringing bells, banging drums, neighing horses, creaking wood and rattling stone.

She writhed like a snake, trying to hit something, anything that might make a noise. The goldcloaks were coming, they had to find her, they had to!

She hit something, it hurt, but made no noise, she tried writing against it, kicking it, nothing but pain in her shins.

Pounding footfalls came closer. "There's someone here!" A voice, a different voice. She felt someone grab her and sit her up, pulling off the sack over her head. "I think it's her." It was a gold cloak. He reached up and pulled the gag from her mouth. "Lady Margaery?"

She tried to rasp a reply, but it didn't work, in the end she nodded. "I've got you," the gold cloak said, picking her up as easily as he would a child and carrying her from the room. "Ser, Captain!" He called as he burst out onto a street overhung with rickety hovels, where gold cloaks were bursting into buildings, dragging some people out by the hair against their screaming protests, others held against the wall at spearpoint.

A man on a horse turned to her and the gold cloak, she could have cried for joy. It was Gilbert. "My lady," he cried out, dismounting in a swift motion. "Bring her here, now, we need to move."

She was carried over and helped up onto the horse. "We'll get you out of here my lady, hold the reins tightly." Her natural horsemanship coming back to her. "Let's go."

As they made their way through the windy streets of Flea Bottom, Margaery saw black smoke curling into the air through the small gaps in the hovels, tanneries, taverns and brothels. "What happened?" She pointed it out.

Gilbert swore. "I don't know my lady, but don't worry, we'll get you out of here, hurry."

They finally broke out of the dank wretchedness of Flea Bottom and into a square where yet more gold cloaks were gathered, as were soldiers, knights and, directing them, Lord Tyrion.

When the little Lannister saw her relief flooded his face. "Lady Margaery, thank the gods. I feared the worst. Are you hurt."

Margaery nodded, her arms, legs and back were wracked with pain.

"Well we'll get you back to the Red Keep and you can rest up there. Captain, have an escort prepared."

"How many?"

"Tyrion," they turned.

"Lord Loren?" Margaery gasped.

"My lady," Loren replied, reining up next to her. "You're alright?"

"Yes, my lord, why are you here?"

"I came back to get you out," he said simply. "Two of my men will escort you to the keep."

"I was just about to do that, my lord," Captain Gilbert said.

Loren shook his head. "No, captain, I appreciate it, but we need you here, now. You two," he barked at two knights following him, escort the lady to the keep and then come right back here. We're not done yet."

"I thought you were going when Margaery was found?" Tyrion asked.

"I will be, but first we have to deal with that," he said, pointing back towards Flea Bottom.

Margaery twisted the other way in her saddle. Black clouds of smoke were rising from several places in Fleabottom, the telltale signs of orange licking up after them.

Loren turned to Gilbert. "Captain, demolish the outer buildings of Flea Bottom, create a firebreak or the entire city will burn."