A/N: Thank you so much for all of the compliments and critiques about this fic! It's my first fic, and it's my baby, so it's amazing to see my idea come to life and for people to enjoy it so much. I'm glad that you all are enjoying the political moves made, and I've added some obligatory stuff to advance the plot and keep things moving, as well as some family fluff. This is Westeros, after all, and the happiness always comes before the tragedy and fall that will soon follow. Hope you enjoy this new chapter - let me know what you think!


MARGAERY V

To be honest, I don't remember much of the first week after Willas's injury, other than a lot of crying, panicking, and staying near my brother almost 24/7, save for the mandatory points where I was dragged out. Gar and Loras didn't spend nearly as much time with Willas, but the whole family pretty much held vigil over Willas until Maester Lomys finally figured out how to splint Willas's wrist, to heal the bone, and Willas wasn't constantly in pain. About a week later, Samwell Tarly arrived to act as Willas's page, a change that definitely both pleased me and caught me off guard. Sam was definitely every bit as sweet and kind as he was in canon, following Willas when needed, and absolutely pleased to help Willas recover and dive into academic texts together. The thought of him, as well as Jon Snow, in the far, far future, not having to resort to being in the Night's Watch sounded like a sweet possibility indeed.

To be fair, it wasn't as if his actual injury was as debilitating as his canon injury, which forced him to walk with a cane for the rest of his life, and made his legs flare up in injury every so often, but it was bad. From what I had gathered (and I had definitely NOT been a doctor in my last life), the wrist had broken in a way which caused irreparable nerve damage to his hands, making fine movement impossible. Even after his arm would recover, the nerve damage would make him shake consistently if too much pressure was applied, which meant that he could write a sentence, but the sentence turned into chicken-scratch as a result, and that was with the lightest of implements. Essentially, it was a more problematic version of the injury Stephen Strange in the MCU received, before becoming the Sorcerer Supreme (or was it the Supreme Sorcerer? My memories are about seven years off at this point, and slowly fading….)

I'm not sure why I reacted so badly, to be honest. Maybe it was the fact that I had hoped my brother would get out of the tournament, unscathed. Maybe it was the fact that I challenged fate, and had it violently disagree, giving me what I asked for as well as what I didn't want in a different way. Maybe it was the worry that fate would remain the same, and I'd die in wildfire if fate really wasn't malleable. Maybe it was pent up stress and grief. Whatever it was, it definitely frightened me and everyone around me to the point at which I hope I never repeat it again.

I pretty much followed my brothers like a shadow after that, for as long as my duties could allow me, and was more determined than ever to learn anything and everything I could about Westeros, from the interesting stuff (the political histories, economics, and so on), to the boring stuff (jousting, military strategy, and so on). Unfortunately, I was not very militarily minded, but mistakes kill, and if the Series wanted a tooth-and-nail battle, by the Seven, it would get it.

Of course, it was around that time where all of the real lessons on what was needed to become an effective Southern Lady started for my entourage of ladies and I - after all, you couldn't have a Southern Lady without all of the necessary components. This meant an introduction to embroidery, ballroom dancing, common songs, etiquette and ladylike manners that would allow us to become every bit the courtly lady we were meant to be.

I'm pleased to say that I succeeded at the more academic pursuits involved, like learning the languages of Westeros and Essos, the various histories of Westeros and heraldry, or learning how to handle inventories and ledgers, as any Great Lady ought to, even managing to sneak in any information about the North that I could in my lessons. Maester Lomys praised my precociousness, and with the academics, I really felt like I was back in university once again. However, the lessons geared towards being a lady, with Septa Nysterica? They were absolutely terrible.

The bright side of those lessons were in etiquette and singing lessons. Etiquette came easily to me, as an extension of politics and an academic pursuit, and singing lessons were fun - I had a decent singing voice. My ability to use musical instruments, like the high harp, were passable, and lessons using The Seven Pointed Star went alright, considering that I would either happen to 'accidentally' fall asleep, or question a certain part of the Seven-Pointed Star that would make Septa Nysterica glare at me for the rest of the lesson (and wash out my mouth with soap, on one particular occasion, for my perceived blasphemy).

However, some of the more physically-inclined subjects were nightmares due to my klutziness, which seemed to follow me into my second life. Fine detail in the form of embroidery always managed to escape me, and my entourage giggled every time I yelped in pain from accidentally pricking my finger with the needle or doing an incorrect stitch, which would usually result in me being asked to redo the stitch or given a new stitch (after all, you can't have a stitch if it's bled on). Not only that, I had no real mind for creative stitches, so things like stitching a pretty golden rose or designing my own outfits would not be happening in my future, which meant that I would probably need a particularly good personal dressmaker and embroiderer. This also really sucked because I would never be able to use my stitches for the battlefield, which would be highly likely as a Northern lady.

Dancing was almost just as bad - I stepped on a lot of toes as I was learning, and even if I had taken a dance class in university, my muscle memory clearly had not followed me. I hoped Robb was a particularly good dancer, as my dancing skills were passable and would probably never lead the ballroom to a standing ovation.

Being a Southern lady was a difficult task, and my respect for the noble ladies of Westeros drastically increased, when I realized that ladies like Sansa were able to easily do things like embroider or dance effortlessly. I had absolutely no idea what it meant to actually be a trophy wife. Unfortunately, while I would never look pretty and embroider at the hearth, I would rather be dealing with statecraft and running a Great House, which only reinforced my desire to become a Northern Lady. At least my skills would be in use there, and my skills respected because of it.

As Willas recovered, Samwell and Willas bonded, and of course, with their duties, it was often that I would run into both of them in the library, Willas reading a text, and Sam writing whatever notes Willas wanted written. I highly doubted that Randyll Tarly would allow his son control of Highgarden, but as Willas's page, it was possible that he would be sent to the Citadel instead of the Night's Watch, to serve as either a Maester or to learn scribing techniques to become Willa's official scribe. So long as Willas stayed in Highgarden, Sam would most likely be there. Perhaps if we either integrated Sam into our household or had him marry a cousin and grant him a small holdfast, Sam would live a happy life without having to contest Dickon's claim, even if his sparring in the tiltyard gets better, day by day. I doubted Randyll Tarly would dare send Sam to the Night's Watch, especially with how fond all of the Tyrell children were of him.

My schedule continued in that same manner, learning what needed to be learnt and brushing up on my knowledge. I wanted to be as prepared as possible, for anything that came up, and be able to react to surprises. Fortunately, one morning, all of the Tyrell children were called into our Father's solar to break our fast, a move most decidedly unlike him.


The family meal in the solar was wonderful, with all of the main branch of House Tyrell present. We talked, received gossip, and ate a hearty meal of carbohydrates. Of course, as kids do, Loras and Gar nearly started a food fight, as Loras threw some berries at Gar after Gar teased him. These berries nearly hit me, which meant I had to retaliate at Loras by throwing some berries at him, and hit Gar instead (childish, I know, but I was a child, so I could throw them back).

This went on for about some time, as we carefully avoided Father, Mother, and Grandmother. Willas laughed, his shaking forgotten, until Loras started using him as a human shield. Eventually, Mother shouted at us for our lack of manner and stopped the fight. I looked guiltily at the berries strewn around the ground for the household staff to pick up, and clambered down from my chair to pick some berries up, as daintily as I could, to not run my dress. After I shot my brothers a glare, they helped as well, leaving a very appreciative household staff.

Eventually, as we re-seated, Father's face turned serious, and he commanded us to sit down, facing us. Mother looked worriedly, and grandmother had her "Queen of Thorns" face out in full force, looking neutrally at the proceedings. Loras and I shared a glance, both agreeing that something was going on, and all of us sat, looking at our father expectantly.

Father cleared his throat briefly.

"My roses," he began. "You have most likely learned about your roles in the future to serve House Tyrell from Septa Nysterica, yes?" We all nodded hesitantly, sharing glances with one another in nervousness and/or confusion. Oh shit. Here it was, the betrothal talk. Evidently, the Queen of Thorns had been plotting, using Willas's tourney injury to spark a chain. Perhaps, with Willas's injury not as bad, father would betroth his son to a Lady in the Reach? We listened carefully as he continued.

"There is a time and place for everything, my children, and the time and the place is now. We do not wish to scare you, indeed, we are very proud of you. Do not take this announcement as a bad thing, as a matter of fact-" Father said genially, lost in his own world. Mother looked more and more nervous as the conversation went on, her hands running over the sleeves of her dress in an attempt to calm her down.

"Oh, by the Seven, Mace, just spit it out already!" Grandmother barked, exasperated.

"But Mother, ah, I-" Father waffled, clearly nervous. This was big, then.

"Now, Mace!" Grandmother commanded sharply.

Father gave us a nervous smile. "Willas and Loras, you have both been betrothed." Father said.

Willas looked at our father, surprised. "To whom, father?" he asked, hesitantly. "Yeah, to who, father?" Loras asked loudly.

Father looked more nervous, his eyes darting around the room. Oh no, this was going to be bad.

"Willas, Prince Doran has sent me a reply, and both of us agreed. You are to be betrothed to Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, and will be her Prince Consort in Sunspear." Mace replied.

Willas looked absolutely dumbfounded. For that matter, I was too. Prince Doran actually sacrificed his plans to have Arianne on the throne with Viserys? He approved of the match? Then again, Prince Doran was a very cautious man, and it wasn't as if he couldn't just kill off Viserys and install Daenerys on the throne with Quentyn as King, to put Westeros under the control of House Martell. After all, he didn't know about the dragons, or Daenerys's independent streak, so he probably just recalculated his plans, with the Reach included, as per Willas and Arianne, for a more likely plan.

Willas flipped through a range of emotions, excitement, neutrality, worry, and settled on sorrow. His hands shook, as he looked near tears. Garlan and Loras both looked confused, until Garlan's eyes widened in recognition and sadness, and both Gar and I looked at our brother sadly.

"Father?" Willas asked, in a fragile tone of voice. "Is- is this because of my arms?" Tears dropped silently down his face as he continued brokenly. "I know I can't- can't pick up a sword and fight like Leo Longhorn, but…..is this because I'm a cripple?"

Father turned pale, looking like he didn't know what to say, as Mother immediately rushed over to Willas and embraced him in a warm hug.

"Oh sweetling," Mother said softly. "This is not your fault, in any way that matters, and you are NOT a cripple. We are just entrusting the most solemn of our tasks to our bravest boy, and we know you will grow strong in Dorne. As a matter of fact, Prince Doran requested you directly, because he knew you were the most qualified. We love you, sweetling, and we want only the best for our precious Willas."

Willas seemed unconvinced, as he slowly wiped his tears, and Mother reluctantly let go of the embrace to rejoin father, who looked guiltily at Willas, unsure if he should comfort his son or continue. I stood up and stepped out of my chair, and sidled next to Willas in his chair, like I used to when I was younger. It was a tight chair, and we were a little too big for that. His brief embrace was shaky, but his breaths softened with my presence, and I knew we were okay.

Father nervously continued. "Because of this, Garlan, you will be heir to Highgarden, as Willas will not be able to inherit as a husband of a ruling Princess of Dorne."

Gar looked dumbfounded, but for a completely different reason this time. My brother would have power, and his children would rule our family seat, but at the cost of Willas's position and his future relationship with Leonette. I doubted our family would allow him to marry a Fossoway, as a Heir Paramount of a Great House - the Fossoways could field a midding army and held no real advantage politically or militarily. Gar stared at the solar contemplatively. Gar had not had any lessons on ruling Highgarden, and it would be a steep adjustment for him from a knight, to a Lord Paramount.

"Father, who am I betrothed to?" Loras asked curiously.

"You are to be betrothed to Talla Tarly, daughter of Randyll Tarly," Father answered. Hmm...that wasn't exactly a bad match either, to be honest. Randyll Tarly is probably the most important Reach lord we could sway over, and if Sam were toughened up, or sent out of the way, and his daughter betrothed to a Tyrell, he'd be indebted to us, with the motive to back us up and run our armies for generations to come.

"But Talla's older than me! And she's weird!" Loras exclaimed. Everyone else in the room laughed, save for me, because I knew my poor younger brother had no affectation towards women, at least, not in canon.

"Oh Loras, settle down. You will have many moons to get to know Talla, mayhaps you will be her Jonquil!" Mother said happily. Ah, mother…

"As for you, my little Queen," Father started. "Your mother told me that you had desired a Northern noble to exchange letters with. Is that correct?"

Surprise showed on my face, before I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, father, I did!" I practically sang, in pure happiness. It worked! I'm really going to be exchanging letters with Robb!

Father presented me an unopened letter. "Lord Stark and I corresponded, and we agreed to allow you, and his heir, Robb Stark, to exchange letters, for you to learn more of Northern customs and traditions, and for him, to learn more of Southern customs and traditions, as well. Father's eyes twinkled briefly, in a hint of mischieviousness from him. "Make the best use of this as you can, little Rose." he finished merrily.

Our family then spoke for a bit, before Grandmother shooed out all of us children out of the solar, most likely to begin whatever daily work they needed to do. I ran to my room, and when I arrived, I opened my letter excitedly. It had a child's handwriting, with some ink slashes and the corrected word written atop, which I presume must have been done by Catelyn Stark, but it was Robb's handwriting. It read the following:

"Dear Lady Margaery Tyrell,

Hello! My name is Robb Stark! Mother says that I am to be your writing com-pan-ion, and that you wanted someone to learn more about us Northerners, and that maybe I can learn more about the South as well, because she says it is important for heirs to learn about all of their con-sti-tu-ents. I've never had a writing companion before, and I'm excited to share more about my people as well as myself.

I am seven name days old, like you, and I have three younger siblings, Jon, Sansa, and baby Arya, who was just born two moons ago. Jon is a bastard, or so the servants say, but he's my younger brother and I love him. I live in Winterfell, and father says that one day, I will rule the North. Winterfell is an amazing place, and mother says that down south, there is no summer snow, so I don't know what you do all day, but it's pretty here. I spend a lot of my time learning with Maester Luwin, or sparring with Jon with Ser Rodrik.

Do you have any brothers or sisters? Sansa likes to play Princesses and Knights with us, except her and Jon don't get along as much anymore, which makes me sad. Jon loves Arya though, he cried at her birth, but he always says he doesn't. Do you make your brothers play Princesses and Knights with you too? I want to hear more about your family as well!

I'm excited to answer your questions about the North, and to hear more about the South. It sounds like a lovely place. I hope I can help you learn more about our home and people, and I hope you like the letter!

Sincerely,

Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell

It was weird reading the letter - certain parts were clearly wrote under Catelyn's instructions, like the formal parts at the beginning at the end, but other parts were all Robb. It was weird thinking about wanting to marry this kid in the future, but we would be….friends, first, so it wouldn't be creepy.

I grabbed my quill at my little desk and began the letter,

"Dear Lord Robb Stark,"...