A/N: Welcome to the first crossover chapter between Goldenhand and A Rose By Any Other Name, by popular request. It's a long one, but hopefully, this sort of thing goes on regularly. Firstly, before I begin, HUGE thanks to conjuredseventyseven for working with me on the crossover - not only was this crossover hilariously fun to write, his Willas SI is a work of art and I HIGHLY recommend that my readers take a read on it. It 100% has the juicy Tyrell SI content you want, and in the hands of a writer who knows what he is doing. This first crossover will be there for readers to see that they are there, but future ones will probably go under "The Rose Garden's Bloom", my companion fic with all of my side stories.

There are a few key points for the sake of continuity:

1. The universe will be a separate universe from each of the ones from canon, diverging at Goldenhand's Chapter The Sowing in Oldtown and A Rose By Any Other Name's INTERLUDE: Olenna, Mace, and Alerie, and will strictly go from there - so nothing in this fic is canon for EITHER of our verses. If anything, this crossover is a "How the Tyrell SI combine forces to solve things faster".

2. A few assumptions are laid in this - that Westerosi is an entirely different language than English in A Rose By Any Other Name's verse (otherwise known as the Roseverse, thanks conjuredseventyseven!). Goldenhand hasn't really gone into the issue but it's following the Roseverse for now), Willas and Margaery are the exact same as they are in their individual fics, and both have memories of their respective childhoods, and that age-wise, Margaery has just turned seven, and Willas is about to turn thirteen at the time of the tourney, which roughly occurs at the end of 288 AC, just before the Greyjoy Rebellion.

3. The links for each of the fics will be posted here. A Rose By Any Other Name will be at (id:13780178) and Goldenhand will be at (id:13920127).

Happy reading, all! Please let me know what you think!


Westerosi
Thoughts
English words

OMAKE - CROSSOVER I - ENCOUNTERS AND PLOTS

Willas and Margaery (Dual POV)

MMargaery's eyes hastily opened in the infirmary of Highgarden, and she stared out the window, trying to figure out what time it was, and it was dark, most likely indicating it to be nighttime. Seven, did she really faint in the middle of a tourney in front of everyone?

The rest of her memory of the day's events hit her, and she remembered Willas's injury and the reason why she fainted in the first place.

What happened to Willas? Is he alright? With his hands, he…., Margaery thought, before turning her eyes and seeing her brother laid on the bed next to her. She decided to do what she always did, and carefully climbed out of her bed with all the sneakiness her seven year old body could muster, before climbing atop Willas's bed, sitting primly at his bedside and poking his face, like she used to do when she was younger.

"What the- I- what the-," Willas shouted, as he awoke from his slumber. Strange memories assaulted him, memories of a life he could recall yet also one so different. To his growing panic, his eyes widened as he observed his hands- they were shaking uncontrollably. Yet it was not as much as the panic that he felt when he observed further down- and saw his legs moving- both of them, easily and painlessly.

"What the fuck? Nobody else is supposed to know English here!" Margaery cursed, but quickly covered her mouth guiltily. If someone else knows English, a language native to my...well, our homeworld, I guess, and it's through Willas, then…

"Who are you?" Margaery asked coldly, staring down at her brother. "What are you doing in my brother's body?"

Willas rose from his bed faster than he had ever done in his body. To his shame, he had only managed to sit up- somewhat something inside still making him unable, or perhaps, afraid to move his legs so much. "Y-you M-margaery? You're small! A-and- and you, how do you- when did you- what?"

"I'm seven named- I mean, seven years old, as far as I'm concerned, so I've always been like that," Margaery replied sardonically. "But someone is in my brother's body, and I want to know why."

"Why don't you keep the clever bites for later and tell me why are we children again! No- wait! How in the name of God are you saying these- how could you know," he stumbled around looking for the word, his hands- still shaking to his ever-growing horror, "No, why don't you tell me what fucking happened to my fucking hands!?"

"I-" Margaery stammered. "Okay, let's slow it down. First, I assume you're some kind of self-insert or something equally fantastical? I mean, considering that you're...well, you're speaking English in a world where English doesn't exist. I haven't exactly gotten around to teaching you, Gar, or Loras, so…."

"Of course I am! It's been seven years! I'm nine-and-ten on a ship to the Arbor with Garlan, so tell me- how do I end up in Highgarden, several years younger, with you speaking English!?"

"It has most certainly not been seven years-I've been here since I was born! And you've shown no inclination for English, so I guess…"Margaery said quickly. "Okay, seriously, fuck Westeros. No way is this happening."

"Wait- so this means that- this means- that this is some sort of a… parallel world of some kind, you're seriously telling me this!?"

"Well, I always knew self-insert fics existed in my- our? Homeworld, but uh, I guess some bastard decided to insert you into my world, so I guess I should update you, since you'll be here permanently." Margaery said in wonder.

Willas brought his hands to his face, cupping it ever so gently, but they didn't stop shaking- they didn't no matter how hard he tried to reign them it, "Fuck- fuck- fuck….," he cursed as he threw his head backwards, collapsing yet again into the bed of what he assumed- was the infirmary in Highgarden. "It's all for naught, then… fuck fuck fuck- my hands, what happened to them? I'm supposed to be crippled by the leg!"

"Honestly, stop acting like Father...er, a version of Father," Margaery replied, rolling her eyes. "It's most certainly not all for naught, considering no divergences have happened yet other than the tourney. Also, I should probably let you know that your hands are the injury I tried to change - I tried to change, uh...Original Willas's...injury by, you know, reminding him not to catch his feet in the stirrups, but I guess Bloodraven had it out for us or something…"

"Oh, really-" said Willas, anger quickly coming to him, "Why don't you spend seven years- building new ships with new designs, get a trade with Qarth and Yi Ti, arrange a variety of betrothals throughout the Reach, get rid of the Freys, discover the secrets in the Hightower, and then it turns out- they're all for naught!" he finished, groaning into his hands yet again.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm a lady. I mean, seriously, do you know how hard it is for ladies to do anything? At this rate I'm going to be betrothed to Joffrey, play nursemaid to Tommen, deal with Cersei's...Cersei-ness, and die via wildfire!" Margaery shouted.

"Yeah well, you don't have to contend with being a lame cripple. Poor, sad, wilted Willas Tyrell," said Willas mockingly. "Fuck- did you say Bloodraven?"

"Who else would go so far as to manipulate a tourney injury? I mean, the Fates don't exist here, we're not in Percy Jackson, so…." Margaery replied tersely.

"I don't know- how about whatever eldritch abominations lay in the Hightower, then. They have a glass candle there for fuck's sake, lit and alight! With flames!"

"No fucking way, I always knew Grandfather and Aunt Malora were doing something but…" Margaery said, before her eyes brightened. "Wait, that must be the insert point! WILLAS, I FIGURED IT OUT!"

"Yeah… imagine getting dropped that bomb in the middle of night. And then all of a sudden- wait what, you figured what!?" Willas said. His eyes were tired and he let out yet another sigh to his fucking stupid shaking hands.

"Okay, assuming this isn't some weird shadow magic shit, which...it probably is, the glass candles probably triggered the dimensional shifting through….I dunno, magic?" Margaery replied excitedly.

"Could be… Aunt Malora did say that the candle lit for seven days after my insertion- in my… world, that is."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think this is permanent, which means I've been going about this whole thing all wrong." Margaery noted, before holding out her arm awkwardly. "I guess it means I should introduce myself? I'm your...sister now, and I mean, unless you've lost all memories of us, welcome to this new world?"

He brought his hands to his face again, feeling his nails deepening into the flesh of his cheeks. "I guess, now. And I'm your new brother. And no- you can't imagine how stupid it is to have a memory of a 17-year-old back on Earth, two set of childhood memories from this body, and a memory of being a self-insert for seven whole damn years…"

"Oh, are we talking about those lives? Well, I mean, I died because I was in a car crash with Taylor Swift blaring in the background, so as far as deaths go, mine was pretty embarrassing." Margaery stated sheepishly. "Anyways, we should probably work together now to, uh...fix the realm. Just don't marry me to Joffrey, please."

Willas barked a laugh at that. "Yeah- that's pretty stupid. Although I must say- my original memories feel quite suppressed, and I don't really recall my death or anything like that…" he muttered as his voice turned small at the end. "Joffrey- no! Do you know how many moves I have planned against the Lannisters in my world! A dozen of dozens! No- instead, you will be marrying the perfect Dragon Prince out of the stories if I had my way…"

"Ah yes, the Blackfyre. Lovely thought, getting burnt to a crisp. Daenerys is still a threat, which is why if I had it my way, I would be marrying Robb Stark."

"Daenerys is a frightened little girl who has dragons. Then, she turns into a lovesick teenager playing the Conqueror. Honestly Margaery- can I call you that, then? All we need is to scoop her up before or right after her marriage with Drogo. Robb Stark- no, no, no- we already have too much in our hands, you don't need us carrying the stupid North the whole time throughout the war!"

"Frightened little girl she may be, but I mean, she's one with WMDs, so I feel like we should take the appropriate caution. Also, must I remind you that the whole point of this is to survive the Long Night? Robb Stark may be an idiot, but he should be an attractive idiot with a built-in safety net, so…." Margaery said, before continuing. "You;ve always called me Marge in...our childhood, so feel free to do that, and I guess...I've never given you any nicknames, so unless you want to be called Will…"

"Ten gold dragons say that the Northmen here- are probably not Sophie Turner and Richard Madden. No, a secret Valyrian Prince would be much better," he finished with the stupidest smile he could muster at the moment. "Marge, huh, reminds me of that- aunt of Harry Potter, then. Eh, Will is fine, Garlan called me that, a lot- fuck, I left him at a ship to the Arbor! What am I ever to do now..."

"If we're assuming divine self-insert shenanigans, it wouldn't be improbable that you still exist in the other world." Margaery pointed out, thinking about what she knew of the whole self-insert process. "We'll just call this a separate world and leave it at that, your Garlan and your other self are probably fine, and are plotting right this minute. Anyways...we probably need to discuss plans now before we ambush Grandmother."

"Well- I don't have to like it, but I guess- what choices do I have. The Gods really love their cruel japes, huh?" Willas said, his voice solemn. "Alright then mastermind, whatever is going on in here? What changes already?"

"Uh…." Margaery began, before turning red with embarrassment. "Nothing, actually, other than cultivating a more bookish reputation and trying to convince Mother to set up a penpal thing with Robb Stark. Did you know that Aunt Malora was originally betrothed to Father and plotted with Mother to change their betrothals?

"Huh, in two years after I was inserted- I arranged the death of our good-uncle Jon Fossoway, married Aunt Janna off to Monford Velaryon, constructed the semaphores along the coastline- and told Paxter Redwyne to patrol the coast during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Wait- what? Father… and mother? I guess they always seemed kinda happy- although I was never really… close to them by any means," he stopped as his voice turned smaller, "There's some- there's some… hatred, or resentment, perhaps, carried along from the memories. Mace Tyrell is the one who forced me into the stupid fucking tourney, anyway- and why didn't you try to change it?"

Margaery sighed heavily, her face looking aged, and turned away from Willas guiltily.
"I'm a seven year old girl, and so...no matter how much I screamed, or begged Willas, or begged Father, he- they wouldn't listen. Even Grandmother told me to not worry, which is…" her voice hitched in helplessness and pain "..which is actually why I'm here right now - I passed out screaming because of the blasted Tourney. Watching Wil- I mean, you, carried off by Oberyn Martell while you were screaming in pain...that damned lance went in wrong. I guess it just had to happen the way it did."

"Well, I guess you're right- he could be really stubborn like that. It's not your fault- don't worry. Grandmother, huh… I think I was closest to her- in my world," he stopped temporarily, the memories coming back to him as a smile made its way through his sullen face. "We plotted many plots together, you know? And Oberyn… guess I'll just have to accept it and make nice, again. A Prince of Dorne would be helpful once we reach out to them. I was about to visit Dorne and finalized my betrothal to Princess Arianne there, you know?"

"Thanks, Willas," Margaery said, going through the familiar motions of hugging her brother, before aborting her movements halfway through the hug, aware that her...new brother might not be comfortable with that. "Anyways, uh, it seemed like it was better than in canon, because it was clear that it was an accident and not done deliberately, at least, from what I saw, before I fainted in Loras's arms."

"My hands… At least I could run again. But my fucking hands!" he said while yelling a muffled scream to the pillow, with one hand still kept around his- sister's body. "I- uh, I… write a lot in my original world, you see? So excuse me, but this damn stuff is just- gah, it's horrible!"

Margaery nodded, looking at her brother. "I know this...won't help much, but maybe...maybe you could get a page? Someone to do the writing for you? I know it isn't perfect, but as grandmother says, we play the Game with the hand we are dealt? I can do it too! At least, as long as I'm here."

"Could be… but I write blackmails and- stuff, you see? Or stories, even. I got Mace distracted by building him an Art Citadel. Yeah, the bards went to shit about it. Although a page might be helpful, I think I need a fucking Qyburn here."

"I suppose we'll spend a lot of time together, then, plotting with Grandmother" Margaery said, brightly "Or at least, I can deal with Father, Mother, and the rest. I'm obviously the favorite in the family, but Loras is my favorite right now and you've got a ways to go, New Willas. But back to the original subject, we need to plan. Grandmother is obviously having a meeting tomorrow, most likely with Father and Mother, to discuss the implications of the Tourney and you're actually both old enough and respectable enough that you can force your way in."

"Oh god- Loras. He was in his sick lovey-dovey part with Renly when the time I was- well, you know. Force my way in, huh?" he asked, smiling. "You know it was you that would force your way in through some of my and grandmother's quality-time plotting. I think you went into shock when you figured out the thing with Walder Frey."

"Yeah, I get that, I'm just...more aware of my position in this world, I guess," Margaery replied soberly. "I'd say not to involve Loras with Renly, but, he loved him, like, really loved him, and besides, it brings the Stormlands. Who else can we wrap our fingers around with Loras's move? I mean, he's gay, for gods sake, give him his doomed gay romance."

"I don't know. I just left it up to fate, to be honest. And I'm not that optimistic about the Stormlands- there's this little thing, you see? It's little and it's red, and it's fucking ancient and named Melisandre. But I supppose- we need to maintain the pre-canon influence that we have with Loras and Renly like in canon."

"Ha ha ha, very funny, Will," Margaery replied sardonically, "Melisandre and all of our enemies will be done for in time, after all, there's two of us to bounce theories off of now. You seem to be a Targaryen Restoration...ist, I guess, while I'm gunning for the Starks. Can we at least do Jon Snow? I mean, he is a Targaryen, bastard or no. We can use that."

"Starks, huh. Not that big of a fan, and yep- he's a Targaryen. Rhaegar's polygamy and Septon Maynard and all that- there's a book in the Citadel, his diary, I got Grand-Uncle Gormon to get it for me." Willas replied.

"Wait, no way!" Margaery said, excited. "That removes, like, half of the problems around him as an option! Only the other half is three big fucking dragons in the hands of a little girl...actually, why don't you marry Daenerys? Save her from Viserys, play the Big Damn Hero, etc etc etc, and you can be King instead. I've always wanted a sister..." she finished dreamily.

"First of all- that's icky. And second of all, you seem to be forgetting the little problems that came in two shapes- Varys and Mopatis. You don't just- move against them, you know?" he said, arms gesturing grandly as he tried to showcase his words.

"Forgot about Mopatis, that bastard. Obsessed with Serra, who could, y'know, totally be a Blackfyre?"

"Marge- if I can call you that, that bastard owned a freakin' Triarch of Volantis in his pockets. Which by the way- I got our Aunt Lynesse to marry one of the Old Bloods instead of Jorah Mormont. Well- what if he's not, then? Varys said that 'Power resides where men believe it resides' and I was planning to take Oberyn to find out the truth, anyway…"

"Yes, yes, Varys's magnus opum, his grand speech, I know." Margaery replied. "That still doesn't excuse the possibility of becoming dragonfire though. Any claimant against Daenerys Targaryen will most certainly die, unless you kill her first, but the dragons, and the alternatives are Cersei, who, y'know, mad bitch who blew me up, or Robb 'military genius' Stark and the wonderful Stark plot armor. Think of the plot armor, Willas! That could be us! Although, given that we're self-inserts..."

"Which can easily be solved by scooping her up when her beloved Drogo died! Nurse her back, be the damn heroes, old loyalists- always loyal and all that bullshit. Get her here, but I am not marrying a little girl. You do realize that Self-Inserts- well half of the time everything went fucking smoothly- half the time we're screwed ever more. And don't get me started on Euron-" he stopped, catchin a few breaths as the imagery came back to him. "When I was in Hightower. I pricked my finger on the Glass Candle- no, don't laugh! And then I saw visions, I suppose. One of them is a water of black washing over a field of green. If it's not some beacon about the fucking Not!Antichrist then I don't know what is."

"I'd offer to accompany you to the Hightower to see how it works in this world, but knowing our luck, we'll be screwed again or something, Margaery offered. but...no, I mean, I try not to think about the icky parts of it all, but we've got work to do, and might I remind you that we're biologically and mentally whatever our age is, even if we have memories of another life? Shouldn't we play it safe? I mean, Grandmother avoided the Targs to marry Grandfather, and from what I know, he was an idiot, but he did his job."

"Marge- playing Stark is not playing safe. Oh yes they're oh-so-mighty and noble. But a Stark Dynasty could never last.

"I'm not talking dynasty, Will, I'm talking surviving the long night! Look, we know House Tyrell needs to be a power equal to the other Great Houses, and the best thing we can do is to keep our asses alive and, I dunno, throw Loras at the Night King to cultivate a reputation that will lead our descendants through the ages before the smallfolk rise up and guillotine us all. Make up songs with those bards you talked about, or something, but you and I both know Queenship is a terrible idea, considering that we're at the precipice of an apocalypse. I say go for the experts on winters, which means the Starks, and unless you want to marry Sansa…." Margaery pointed out heatedly, her voice trailing off as she emphasized Sansa's name. "I don't think we're getting to the solutions tonight, so I suggest we talk about it with Grandmother. With her in the know, we won't get locked in a madhouse. Maybe we can do something to stop Father's mad planning - you know he has ideas, so let's...get some sleep and go for tomorrow?

"My, what a clever little schemer you are." Willas replied, face twisting into a playful smile. "I was planning to sic Sansa Stark on Garlan. Since he's all gallant and all, Sansa would love him. You know what else I saw with the Glass Candle? Dawn. Great Empire of the Dawn. Marble mountains and city carved from gold. A thousand dragons that danced the sky- up until the streak of black fell through the sky. I assume it was the Bloodstone. But whatever it was, it brought doom and the end of Dawn. I was planning to consult more with the Hightowers on the matter, they seem to have descended from them, I think."

"Garlan? Wouldn't that require the death of like, every Stark other than Sansa?" Margaery asked incredulously. "It'd be easier to, y'know, marry me to him or to Jon. Actually, Jon wouldn't be so bad, other than the brooding, and I mean...he does bring the Starks."

"Well since the Starks seem to have such bad luck- I'd probably save that match up until we could have Sansa in our hands. Jon Snow, huh, I don't know. Technically- we hold the key in our hands, with the Citadel. We could make him a Targaryen or not, depending on our intention. But unless- unless he does something really crazy during the Long Night, valiant deeds and glorious tales or that, I don't think the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms would warm up much to him. Since you know- Lyanna and Rhaegar started the war both. The girl was smitten and the Prince was convinced it was his duty. It was written in the diary."

"Jon Stargaryen-" Margaery said, trying to stifle her laugh "is literally walking plot armor. Seriously. Main character energy. Easily manipulated. Come on, have you read any Rhaegar Wins Fics? Jon Snow will always prevail against Aegon, simply because he has bullshit plot armor that Bloodraven specifically manipulated. Or the author."

"I hate those things to be honest… and nope, I'm not hitching my wagon to Jon up until I have the truth or the answer of Dorne to Aegon first. We have the time. We could even start earlier than I did in my world."

"Well, I still think you should be betrothed to Daenerys, but in lieu of that, Arianne is a good option, Garlan and Arianne wouldn't be bad either, considering that Father actually has leverage against Prince Doran. We need to take care of this tomorrow before Father does something drastic."

"Nah, poor Garlan would never be able to match her. She'd eat him alive. You know, I have him squired to the Blackfish and fostered at Riverrun in my world."

"Man, you really are good at all of the little side plots and schemes. Better than me, at any rate, at looking at the small things. And you set him up so hard for Sansa - honestly, Will, I'm starting to get a sense of predictability from you here." Margaery jested, sticking out her tongue at her brother.

"Why my lady," he mockingly bowed to her, "That's very flattering of you."

"We can at least terrify grandmother into working with our competence. Seven knows Loras and Gar won't do so otherwise, but...stop on the big plans, they're going to get us killed. I mean, killing off Uncle Jon? I know he's useless, but I mean, damn, did he tease you or something?"

Willas brought a hand to brush the strays of hair that fell down the front side of his face, remembering the reason that he had cut them short. "Man is a drunk, and a lewd one at that. And not even close to inheriting the Fossoway lordship. Father must be heavy on his cups when he arranged the match."

"Ugh, you don't just kill people off like that. You gotta think interpersonally, Willas, you can't just- just kill off people any time they annoy you! Father might be heavy in his cups, but you know that Aunt Janna is an idiot who fell in love with him at a tourney. Well, did she even mourn him? Because if not we might as well…"

"Huh, must be a divergence or some kind. Aunt Janna wasn't madly in love with him in my world. Yes she- well, hooked up with him. Foolish youth thing to do, and when Mace got words of it? He betrothed them!"

"I'm starting to understand why Grandmother hates our aunts, I mean, imagine if Loras or Garlan did that! But no, in this world, Mother pretty clearly confided to me that they are madly in love, and that Aunt Janna hated Grandmother's politics- don't give me that disgusted look, Will- so no, do not kill him off. Find another poor soul to get that Velyaron alliance.."

"I don't know what you're complaining about, grandmother is the one to pitch the idea to me. I just well- agree to it. Maybe, there's a cousin of ours that's supposed to marry a Bulwer or a Cuy, I can't remember which, but she should still be unmarried now. Poor woman? Aunt Janna was happily married with three kids already in mine. You know at this point, I can practically recite the whole family tree and who marries who in my sleep."

Margaery groaned. "Of course she would." She trailed off into light curses about her family's complete lack of interpersonal skill, and her new brother's clear trigger-happiness. "It is getting late though, Will, we need to sleep for tomorrow, and then we can go to the meeting, and, yes, interrupt Father's scheming."

"Fine, but I don't want words from you suddenly betrothing yourself to Robb Stark. You're not getting away that easily!" Willas said. His voice was serious but there was a smile on his face.

"Margaery Stark, Margaery Stark," Margaery taunted as she tried to dodge away from her brother's grasping hands. "You're looking at the next Ms. Robb Stark, I mean, hotter Richard Madden."

"Nuh-uh, future Ms. Aegon Targaryen, the perfect prince!"

The Maester entered the room to find Margaery and Willas teasing out another, and smiled.

"Willas, you are not supposed to be moving your hands like that! And Margaery, off to bed with you? I imagine you're feeling better already, so I will inform your Lady Mother to escort you to your room." Old Lomys chastised.

"Guess that's it, then, Will." Margaery said, smiling.

"I guess," he answered, giving her his favorite shrug, "I guess I'll see you in the big scene, tomorrow, then."

"Alright, the solar, at….noon, then? We can overhear the conversation - I can definitely butter up Left and Right to take a leave or something. I expect Father and Mother will be there at least, and Grandmother will walk in at some point. Sound good?"

"Yeah… that sounds good, I guess," Willas said, his voice trailing into nothingness as he absently stared at the silver light of the small window in the infirmary.

"Alright, bye Will!" she chirped in Westerosi, winking at him as their Lady Mother arrived. "Check your language skills for me before you sleep, dear brother."

"Language? There's no need to worry, sweet sister, I trade barbs with Randyll Tarly long before you're up to anything." He finished with a wink, returning it to his sister.

And with that, she left the room, and Willas had the time alone to finally think it through. He didn't, at the end. He pulled up his sheets and waited for his Lady Mother to pick him, a million thoughts running through his mind.


Olenna
In retrospect, Olenna knew the meeting was doomed the moment it had begun, but at the time, it had been a simple thing. It had started out as a simple meeting at first, with Mace and Alerie wishing to keep abreast of Willas's condition after the frightful tourney that they had experienced.

But, Gods, what a fool Mace was, sending such a green boy out to fight in the lists. My oaf of a son wanted prestige and it cost him Willas.

Still, that was an uncharitable interpretation, she chastised herself. The boy could still read, still write, and still had a brain, and if the Gods were good, he would only get better at dealing with the lordly pursuits with his time cut at the tiltyard, and she had reminded her son and good-daughter such.

The meeting, then, had become a simple measure of assigning a page for Willas, but then the conversation turned to the Martells, and somehow, there she was, watching all Seven hells break loose.

"What of the Martells?" Alerie had asked, hesitantly. "Surely there must be some recompense."

"It was clear that Willa's injury was an accident, yet a dangerous one for Dorne and for the Reach." Her son rambled. "I sent a raven to Doran Martell with plans for recompense. The one most strongly agreed upon in this moment was a betrothal between our boy and Arianne Martell-"

The doors slammed open, with a THUD!, and Willas and Margaery ran into the room, both out of breath. It looked as though Willas had kicked the door open with the sheer force of his anger, an uncharacteristic fire blazing in his eyes. Poor Margaery looked as though she was ready to run, her eyes darting frantically between Mace and Willas, as if they were about to explode at one another.

"We, uh...overheard-" Margaery said frantically, and out of breath, before Willas interrupted her.

"Dearest father. I do hope that you're not planning any betrothal with me without involving me, the actual groom-to-be. And pardon me if I do seem so intrusive, but I think I have the rights of it- to wonder… what is it that you have cooked so specially for your prized son?" He finished while bringing his hand to caress his chin, the little fits of shaking on display for Mace to see.

"Ah, Willas!" Mace brightened, going in to hug his son, but was rebuffed by his cold glare. "I- er- that is to say-"

"Arianne Martell, father?" Margaery said, belaying a knowledge that Olenna had only seen flashes of but was bright and full bear today. "Not that it's a bad betrothal, but you realize that either Willas has to be Prince Consort or she gives up her position?"

"They do have the right of it, Mace," Olenna found herself contributing. "Please explain yourself for us all, because I most certainly do not understand. Prince Doran will most certainly not want her to give up her position, unless you mean for Willas to become Prince Consort?"

"I- I mean for Willas to become Prince Consort to Arianne, and for Garlan to take up Highgarden in his place." Mace confessed, in a small voice as Willas glared down at his father.

"Mace! Are you so foolish as to hand away your eldest son's birthright because of an injury?" Olenna barked, angrily.

"Mother, I-" Mace babbled, but she continued to shout him down, glaring at her son.

"Have you even once begun to consider the implications of this? Willas may not even survive his wedding night, thrown to the Vipers, for what of the enmity between our house and theirs? Does that resolve itself before then?" the Queen of Thorns spoke venomously. "By the Seven, Garlan has not had any lessons on heirship, and your boy will see it for the insult it is! Your lords will begin to talk about the fat, ambitious flower, and resentment will build. Before we know it, we'll have an army of our own bannermen storming Highgarden-"

"I see." Willas said, his voice cold as the winds of winter. "So I am to be nothing. Lords and ladies, Princes and Princesses. You play the game of kings and queens and I am to be but a pawn. Hah," Olenna heard him laugh, more so at himself than any other. "Then I haven't got the thing to lose, then. That makes me dangerous if you think I'm going to stay silent and be the obedient little son as you sold me to Prince Doran. A broken thing, wanted no more."

"Willas, please," Alerie said desperately, trying to head off the conflict. "Your father didn't mean it like that, he just wants the best for you and Garlan…"

Willas brought a hand up to placate her good-daughter, and a little something in Olenna died when she saw her grandson's hand never stopping to shake. "Oh, please, let him continue, dear mother. I mean- I was to ride in a joust against the Red Viper. Clearly I was wrong here- and that father is always looking out for the best of his children, then. I mean, this was his tourney. He could've fixed the list, he could've- I don't know, matched me up with a random hedge knight or something. But no, chivalry matters more, apparently."

"Honestly, Will, we were supposed to butter him up before the insults," Margaery said, groaning. "I mean, you're right that Father has been particularly careless," and at that, she affixed her own glare at Mace, which looked out of place on her normally cheerful face, "But if Father does not stop this, why, I'm afraid we would have to do something about it."

"Margaery, Willas, really-" Mace babbled, "I mean no disrespect, but.." and he broke out into a nervous smile. "I just thought it would be best for you?"

This was Mace Tyrell's final mistake, in Olenna's opinion, as her grandson and granddaughter affixed the combined forces of their already-present glares at their oafish target.

"Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South. Born to Lord Luthor Tyrell and Lady Olenna Redwyne, the Queen of Thorns. Besieged Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion, he chose to stay loyal to the dynasty that gave his family their titles. He has four children- only one daughter. But Lord Mace Tyrell only has two sons, two prized sons; little Garlan and little Loras, so very good with their swords. But no, that's not enough. He wants for himself, another Leo Longthorn. Forces his eldest child and heir to ride in a tourney when he's two-and-ten. I never wanted any of this- swords, lances, shields. You know I have little interest in it. I have been but a dutiful heir, a loyal son, and a caring brother. Yet that's not enough for the great Lord Mace. And now his heir is a broken, twitchy little thing, and off to be sold to the vipers, carted off to the barren desert of Dorne, apparently."

"Not only that," Margaery continued angrily, "Why, by the Seven, would you even send him to the Vipers? I'll grant that they're not bad people, but Prince Doran wants the same thing every other Lord Paramount seems to want - to want their daughter to become queen, and Arianne Martell can most certainly not become Queen if she is married to Willas! You would literally be putting Willas in harm's way, only to have Gar replace Willas, and upending succession laws in the process? Father, you are a complete idiot!"

Olenna's face twisted in confusion. "How, granddaughter, would Willas be in harm's way, other than the Dornish-Reach animosity? I'll grant that Prince Doran wants his daughter to be Queen, but he is hardly going to marry his daughter to a Baratheon."

"The Sack of King's Landing." Willas answered. "Princess Elia Martell's blood is still unresolved. King Robert Baratheon welcomes the lions with open arms. A Lannister Queen and the Mighty Tywin now stronger than ever. Jon Arryn, the Hand who wishes nothing but peace. Oh yes, he brokered a peace with Dorne. But Prince Doran is an intelligent man, I highly suspect that he's playing the long game. The exiles- Viserys and Daenerys are still roaming the Free Cities. And I don't know about this, but maybe you forget who has a Free City wife here? Oh- and don't get me started on the Griffs, the Cheesemonger, and the Spider!"

"Don't forget Jon Snow too, Will," Margaery pointed out. "Targaryen claimants are all around and Prince Doran might find out what really happened at the Tower of Joy. Lyanna Stark's secret son with Prince Rhaegar was deadly, but a poor-man's dragon is much better than the alternative for Prince Doran."

With this, all motion in the room stopped, as Olenna, Mace, and Alerie simply stared at their children. How, by the Seven, did her two grandchildren know any of this?

"I'm sorry, grandmother, but...Willas and I cannot keep the facade anymore." Margaery explained. "Oh, we were content with your scheming at first, letting you think that we were merely precocious children, which is why I kept begging you, Mother, to write letters to Robb Stark, who, by the way, Will, I will marry! But now that you've truly gone and fucked it up, we're intervening with our superior knowledge, so for once in your life, shut up and listen before you make the worst mistake of your life."

"You most certainly will not! I will not have my sweet sister rotting away in the desolate North! Not when there's a perfectly available Dragon Prince waiting around the corner, and I'm talking about the one that actually knows something!"

"The Others are literally approaching, I thought we discussed this last night!" Margaery complained, exasperated. "Honestly, we're faced with a world-ending apocalypse where ice demons are literally going to destroy the entire realm, and dragons will burn us to a crisp if we don't support the right candidate, so no, actually, Will, I will not hitch myself to a potential Blackfyre." She threw her hands up in the air and stared at her brother, who returned her look with equally as much stubbornness.

Olenna's mind spiraled at the words dripping out of her grandchildren's mouths. What madness is this? Secret Targaryens? The Others- has Margaery taken a leave to her senses in her grief? And what's Lomys been feeding her grandson, was it Milk of the Poppy?

"You don't believe us, do you, Grandmother?" Margaery noted. "Okay, fine, let's do this the slow way, Will. I know you were once betrothed to a Targaryen prince, Grandmother-"

"Which by the way- was definitely not a sword swallower," interrupted Willas.

"And that you successfully got out of the betrothal by seducing grandfather and leaving him unable to walk," Margaery finished. "You haven't told me or Willas this, so how could we know if we didn't have access to some kind of secret piece of information, other than if we knew things beyond our age? What else do you want to know? We have all the information you need on the major players of the Game of Thrones, and yes, that does include Varys's master plan."

"Which by the way- may or may not be a secret Blackfyre, a secret Brightflame, or- whatever, really…" Willas continued.

Olenna stared in shock at her grandchildren. They were right, damnable business that it was, but how would they know? And dragons? How?

"Anyways, we need to decide as a family whose boat we are hitching a ride, or, I suppose, claim to, and you will listen to us," Margaery said fiercely. "We will be the ones deciding this family's future, as the next Lord Paramount of the Reach and the successor to the Queen of Thorns, unless you want to hear the grim future that awaits us. We hitch our claim to Renly Baratheon and he dies, so we go for the Lannisters, and their bastard gets."

"Oh yeah, Cersei Lannister's children are bastards, by the way, and with her twin, too, at that." interrupted Willas yet again.

"Father, Loras and I explode in a mad torrent of wildfire at the Sept of Baelor, all because Cersei Lannister, mad bitch that she is, does not want to share power." Margaery continued, as if this wasn't the most horrifying thing Olenna had heard in awhile. "Garlan and Willas die to dragonfire via Daenerys Targaryen" (and at that she muttered something incomprehensible at Willas, to which both shared a look),"...and, you know, the Long Night approaches, the Others destroy the Wall and half the realm, King's Landing once again burns in flame, and a sellsword by the name of Bronn takes over Highgarden, in the absolute worst case. This is why you need to listen to us."

"Anyway- I was thinking that we assassinate that Bronn fellow as soon as possible. Oh by the way- Loras died taking Dragonstone from Stannis Baratheon's hands- not wildfire, that's you sweet-sister. That and a ton of our lady cousins, probably."

Margaery sighed. "Shit, I forgot that's how it goes in one world, there are plenty of other worlds we know about too."

Worlds? Olenna thought in disbelief, Her grandchildren knew about their fates in different worlds? Alerie looked ready to faint out of shock, and Willa's cold glare at Mace kept him quiet, but…

"Willas! Margaery!" Olenna barked. "Are you two absolutely certain that these aren't fabrications? Because if this is some kind of jest, or joke, this ends now."

Willas answered first. "As sure as the sun that rises in the east, the blue that is the sky, and the water that flows down the Mander, beloved grandmother."

"We are certain, grandmother," Margaery answered as well. "We can prove it, seriously, go ask Uncle Baelor or Grandfather Leyton, they've got the magic for it, or so Will tells me."

Willas nodded frantically. "Oh yeah, they have a glass candle there. And it's lit too, by the way, by the hands of our Aunt Malora- which I just discovered, dear father, to be your original betrothed. My, aren't we a lovely little family, scheming their ways into the marriage beds, no? Oh and before I forget- Balon Greyjoy is going to rebel in about, say a year, I think, burning the Lannister Fleet anchored at Lannisport. Man, was Tywin happy about that, I wonder..."

"Yeah, no way I'm scheming my way into a marriage bed, Will, unless it's Robb Stark's, right Willas?" Margaery said, her voice trailing off into gibberish.

"No, don't give me that look. I may not be scheming my way into a marriage bed, but I damn sure am scheming a lot of other people's marriage beds. And yours, too, to Aegon Targaryen."

"Hah, as if, dear brother. The secret dragon up North is a much better match, and Ms. Jon Targaryen doesn't sound too bad if you really want a second choice. Seriously, I thought we were discussing this later!"

"If you want Mr. Cold Fish then sure, I'm sure that Ned Stark would be very happy to receive a letter from me, maybe a letter that by perchance- mentioned the Tower of Joy?"

"He's not a cold fish and I can totally fix him, Will! Honestly, he's a bastard and more obsessed with that purity thing than Catelyn Tully, but all it takes is a little manipulation on my part, and then you have a much better option then Mr. Who The Fuck Is He Really, Targaryen, Blackfyre, Brightflame, etc etc etc."

"Fancy yourself a second Natalie Dormer, aren't you? Well I'm just going to wait and laugh my way through you... learning seductions, dear sister."

"I'm Margaery Tyrell, damnit, my genetics are gonna carry half of me through this thing and the other half of it will be catering to exactly what he wants me to be. Someone who is kind, with a conscience, and also treats him the same way whether he's a bastard or not. If you are so insistent on me marrying a Targaryen-and don't give me that look-you were planning on just straight up watching the Starks die out and marrying Garlan to Sansa when we could, I dunno, secure the west with Myrcella Lannister? We've got options."

"I am not letting Garlan marry Cersei Lannister's bastard. Nuh-uh, I'd marry Lollys Stokeworth before it happens. And waiting for them to die- which I have to mention, by their own foolishness and not in any way through any possible future machinations from me- then marrying Garlan to Sansa is a perfectly reasonable idea. I'm sure grandmother would agree, right, grandmother?"

Olenna Tyrell would die of heart failure at this very moment, or spawn grey hairs. Her grandchildren devolved into gibberish, unintelligible except for mentions of Stark, Targaryen, and Lannister, after sassing her, Mace, and Alerie to the Seven Hells. Apparently, her barbs had transferred in the worst way to her two grandchildren.

Oh dear, Luthor, was this why you rode off that cliff?

"Fuck- you- you- idiot!" Willas barked at his sister. "Language check!"

"Well, shit, sorry Will, my bad," Margaery said sheepishly. "Anyways, to summarize, we are discussing the benefits of marrying either Robb Stark, Jon Snow, or Aegon….you know what, I'm not even going to bother with a House name. I still maintain you should marry Daenerys, but Arianne Martell and the Reach are your best options if not that. She's not going to give up her throne easily, you know."

"Oh, I think she is- she will be when I charmed her. It's not just you with the genetics, you know. They called me the Darling of the Reach in my world."

"Eww, Will!" Margaery groaned. "Did not need to hear that." "Okay, fair enough."

"I trade letters with Pedro Pascal! Are you not expecting some of his charms to leak out?"

"Yeah, but would Pedro Pascal even give you the key points you need to seduce his niece? I mean, if anything he would discourage it, no? But we're missing the point - and I think we need to wrap that up before we terrify Grandmother, Mother, and Father to death."

"Fuck no, that's- that's… very surreal coming out of a seven year old's mouth."

"Okay, sorry, Grandmother, we're being very rude, leaving you out of the conversation like this. It's this super secret language that we share. You know, to avoid Varys!" Margaery said sweetly. "No, Father, you do not get to talk right now...actually you know what, Father and Mother, shoo. The adults are talking."

"Margaery!" Alerie barked. "Apologize right now,"

"Oh Mother, you really think you're in control here," Margaery said, stifling a laugh. "No, I don't think I will, you both have disrespected Will too much today for me to care. We all know Grandmother runs this House anyways, why should we listen when we know more than you? This is a planning session, after all, and Father runs everything through Grandmother, though with his occasional cases of brilliance, so we know who is really in control here. Now go, before we take the really drastic measures...why, I'm sure Father's reputation would love to take a hit with his disowning of his son."

Willas gently nudged his sister's shoulder as he leaned down to level his head with her ears. "Uh, Marge- that's kinda stepping on what I was about to say."

"Margaery," Olenna sighed. "Fine, have it your way, you two. But we will be talking about this later, after this conversation. Mace, Alerie, I will talk to them myself."

Alerie and Mace exchanged a nervous glance, before fleeing the room, and so Olenna sat in the solar with her two grandchildren, staring her down.

"Now, what madness has befallen you two to insult your Lord Father and Lady Mother like that?" Olenna asked, "Queen of Thorns I may be, but I do not condone this behavior."

"Grandmother, we're literally learning from you," Margaery said, exasperated. "You're missing the point here - the point is the conversation we are to have. We want to run these moves through you because you have actually played the Game- sorry Will, yes, I know you've played the Game too- but you are here because we need to make a plan for the future, and that's all there is to it."

"So, anyway, I have this little idea about Aunt Janna and her husband-" Willas said before Margaery cut him off.

"No, Will, we are not killing off Uncle Jon because he's useless. I do need a sworn shield after all, or at least some kind of guard. Get one of the cousins to marry What's-his-face Velyaron instead." Margaery replied. "Grandmother, tell Will that we cannot kill people off because they're useless, unless...wait, is that what happened to Grandfather?"

"Hmmm, now that's something I want to know, too, Grandmother." Willas joined in, crossing his arms. "I read quite a lot of theories and fanfics about that, I think."

For one in her life, the Queen of Thorns was out of words. Completely outwitted, and out-thorned by her grandchildren, she had no idea where to even start. By the Seven, killing off people because they were useless? She marveled inwardly at the ruthlessness that her grandchildren showed, but knew she needed to take a handle on the situation before it went even further out of control.

"Willas! Margaery!" she snapped, as they both snapped out of whatever side conversation they had in their secret language. "If we are going to have a conversation of this nature, you will sit down before I kick both of you out of the room and send you there for a moon to think about what you've done. Impossible knowledge, you two may have, but you are not invincible, and you cannot kill off anyone you want to. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Margaery smiled at Grandmother. "Will?"

"Fine." Willas grumbled. "But I already got away with it!"

"Willas!" she snapped at her grandson. "No side conversations. Now, we will deal with your marriage, and we will deal with Margaery's marriage later."

"Ugh, grandmother!" Margaery complained. "This just gives him more time to plot against me! Now I'll never marry Robb Stark!"

"So I'm still thinking of Princess Elia's long-lost son for her. For me, hmm, I can agree with Arianne Martell- so long as I'm confirmed to still be the Heir. Sansa Stark is too young for me, I think. Mathis Rowan's daughter could also work, I suppose. Not Tarly's tho, Gods, I hate him."

"Okay, we cannot just double up on Dorne like that, Will." Margaery argued. "Jon Snow is a better option, and if we kill off Aegon before he arrives, no one will ever know, right? We'd have to lay a false trail or something so your lady wife doesn't kill you, Will, but whatever is necessary for the Game, right?"

"Hey- Grandmother has just said no just running around killing people, useless they might be. And talking about useless, now who you should talk about is your beloved Mr. I-Know-Nothing."

"He is very gorgeous to me, Will. The plot armor, Will, the plot armor!" Margaery rebutted.

"Plot armor, my arse. Let me know what happens once I'm done sending a letter to Tywin Lannister about the Tower of Joy."

"Ah, but normally House Tyrell would-" Margaery said, before pausing. "Wait, never mind, we are House Tyrell, so all I have to do is bat my pretty little eyelids at Father, and he'll bring armies to our side, or I suppose you...or did you want your sweet sister to die? For shame, Will, for shame."

"The Starks are nothing but heavy baggage, Marge- did we read and watch the same thing? The Red Wedding, the Pink Letter, fucking Lysa Arryn, all that- you really want us dragged down by their strings of bad lucks? You talk about plot armor- now you talk about the Lannisters!"

"Ah, but Bloodraven-enhanced plot armor will win the day. You know full well that Jon Snow is the Prince that was Promised, and someone has to beat the big, bad ice zombies before they kill us all. All Bloodraven has to do is to use his warging skills and realm manipulations to kill his enemies, but...whatever, we can decide that later. Grandmother, Willas and Arianne - is that a good enough proposal for us to end on?"

"With confirmation that I am still Heir."

"That too, Will, and you can't try to kill Father because he pissed you off. Think of how Mother would feel."

"I enjoy my schemes very very much, but I'm not one to be a kinslayer, sweet sister. Mayhaps just a few of something to loosen his bowels in times of war?"

"Just functionally dismantle Father from power and take control and we'll call it a day." Margaery replied. "After all, Father never wanted to be the Lord of the Reach anyways...give him an early retirement. He and Mother can spend their days touring the Arbor, touring Westeros - I promise, Grandmother, we'll give them something to soothe their egos so that they don't complain to you - but in terms of the big and small decisions, the three of us will decide it, at least, until I'm wedded and bedded to whatever King you prop me up to."

"A Tyrell Queen, Tyrell Hand, and half-Tyrell Princes and Princesses sure sound great."

"I dunno, Garlan looks like a good candidate for Hand right about now," Margaery teased her brother. "You're on thin ice, Will. Marry me to one of the Starks and I'll reconsider it."

"Oh you just and wait and see- Garlan will never go against me. Because unlike some, he's a loyal and dutiful sibling. If only we all could be like him!"

"Right, Will, we're excluding grandmother again." Margaery commented. "Grandmother?"

Olenna sighed. The sight of an open window never seemed so tempting for her. Dear Luthor, what if I joined you? What did I do in my misbegotten younger years to deserve this madness? I will quietly check up on their sources, to make sure they are not going mad, but if not...

"We will play it your way," Olenna said tightly. "Now, I need a drink or two. Or three. By the Seven, I have created monsters. Monsters, the two of you. Taking control of the Reach like that..."

She walked out of the room, her cane clicking as it hit the ground. Before she left, though, she heard one final piece of conversation from her two grandchildren.

"That went...well, I think." Margaery pointed out to Willas. "Next time we have to be a little less overt with the threats, I guess."

"I don't know, I think it's perfectly well, already."