Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. I also don't own the Game of Thrones books or tv series or anything related to them.
AN: Again, I've only seen the tv series, so if I've botched this, that's why. I tried though. Hopefully y'all enjoy this mess.
Betrothals, pt 2
Gale tugs at the neck of his doublet, silently cursing the heat that's settled over the Reach.
It's miserable, but if the heat is what keeps Madge wearing such appealing dresses, he'll gladly suffer it. For a few more days anyway.
Lady Madge he reminds himself. He loathes the formality of it. His parents are never so coldly civil, but there's no way around it. There are just some particularities of courtship that have to be observed.
So Lady Madge she must remain, at least until after the wedding.
Despite the fact that he'd been angry at the arrangement, to the point of being admittedly sulky, Gale has warmed to the idea. Lady Madge isn't stuffy or dull as he'd imagined. The past few days have given him time to get to know her, at least a little.
She's been bright and witty, hardly the voiceless dullard he'd imagined her to be.
It's hardly a deep connection, nothing compared to his parents, but he thinks it could grow to be that.
Besides, they're hardly getting married soon.
He'll have time to get to know her better. There will be plenty of trips south to ease any further doubts in his mind.
Running a hand through his hair, spreading sweat and standing it on end, Gale sighs, squinting out into the garden.
Madge is already up, sitting at a shaded table under a canopy of lilacs.
He hadn't simply been flattering her that first night. Lord Undersee hadn't done her justice when they'd met him in the Riverlands.
"She's a lovely girl, my Madge," he'd told them. "Her grandfather compared her to Shiera Seastar once. He claims to descent from her, you know?"
Whether Madge's bloodline includes Aegon the Unworthy's famously beautiful daughter or not, it doesn't matter. She's a beauty in her own right. Besides that, she's witty and kind, more than he could've hoped for in a future wife considering how against the match he'd been.
His eyes and his heart had been set on the daughter of the Hawthorne family's captain of the guard, Katniss Everdeen, for as long as he could remember.
She was fiery and wild, rode as if she were half horse herself, and a better archer than all the men Gale knew.
Katniss wasn't his future though.
"I'm sorry, Gale," his father had told him. "The Everdeen girl isn't a good match for you, in any respect."
"She is-"
"No, sweetling, she isn't," his mother shook her head, taking his hand. "You need someone to live a life with, keep the fires of the Hearth burning warm, not burning it down."
For the past few years he'd argued with them about the practicality of a match with a Northern girl, his mother was from a Northern family after all, but they'd cut him off every time.
"Gale, I want you to be happy, and I know you think that girl is the way to it, but I promise you, she isn't." He'd shaken his head wearily.
"But it's like the Starks say, father, 'Winter is coming'. The strong will survive, and Katniss is strong," Gale countered.
"Strength comes in many forms, son. You're only looking at one side of it."
He hadn't understood what his father was talking about, only assumed he was toeing the old line for the sake of a politically adventitious marriage. Then they'd gone to the Riverlands.
It hadn't started as a trip to find Gale a wife.
They'd intended to find Gale's wayward aunt, Olive, and convince her to come home. Her mother was ill and not likely to survive much longer and Gale's father wanted her to see her only daughter one last time.
So when Uncle Levi heard she'd been spotted in the Riverlands, they'd wasted no time setting out to find her.
"Her and that idiot husband of hers are visiting Raventree Hall," Uncle Levi explained as they rode south. "Setting a match for their son Matthew, or at least trying."
When they'd gotten to the home of the Blackwoods, however, neither Olive nor her Dornishman husband were around. Instead, they'd found her daughters.
"Pity you rode all this way only to find disappointment, uncle," Phoebe had said, sipping her wine and not sounding even the least bit sorry for the mix up. "Our parents sent Hester and myself to the Blackwoods to find my brother a wife. You see, I've been at court in King's Landing for some time now, and they felt I was better suited to the task than themselves."
It was ridiculous, sending a girl no older than Gale to set a match for her brother, but his aunt was hardly a sound thinker, nor her husband, and the Dornish tended to do things their own way, so he wasn't all that surprised.
"And your mother? My sister, Olive? Where has she gone?"
Phoebe shrugged and took another sip of wine.
Her sister, the bastard girl who'd been the reason for his aunt's fleeing to Dorne in the first place, was surprisingly more helpful.
"Mother and father went south, home to Dorne," she explained. "Mother is loath to go any further north than the Stormlands. She says the weather doesn't agree with her."
It was the stupidest thing Gale had heard in a good long while, which was something considering he lived with Rory.
The 'weather doesn't agree with her'? She's of the North! It's the Dornish heat that shouldn't agree with her.
There'd been no point arguing it though. Olive was hardly going to hear Gale shouting abuses at her from Raventree Hall.
To punctuate their failure, a heavy rain had set in before they'd headed home, trapping them in the Riverlands. It had also been the safe haven for Lord Undersee.
"I've been traveling for days," he told them, after he'd dried out some. "Returning home from Seaguard, when this ocean fell from the skies."
He was surprisingly cheerful for a man who'd nearly drown in an overrun tributary.
"Awful far north for a man of the Reach. What business did you have in Seaguard?" Gale's father asked.
Lord Undersee had puffed on his pipe and chuckled.
"What is the only thing that drives an old man from the comforts of his home?"
When Gale and his father only exchanged bewildered looks, Undersee smiled.
"The future and happiness of a much beloved daughter." His smile dimmed a fraction. "I'm afraid I'm not getting any younger, and my girl is far too charming to be sent away as a septa. Simply won't do."
"If my endeavors with the Blackwoods don't succeed, I have a brother I might offer you, Lord Undersee," Phoebe told him, grinning wickedly. "We aren't so fond of the Reach, but bridges must be built."
He'd chuckled at that. "So they should be, my lady, so they should be."
After that he'd told them about the fruitless trip to Seaguard, the many rejections he'd made for his daughter's hand, and made polite inquiries about the Hearth.
"It sounds charming," he'd said with a smile, after Gale had described, in loving detail, the stables and the Weirwoods. "You seem a sturdy young lad. Are you much for hunting?"
That had been all the encouragement Gale needed. He'd talked about the trips to the woods surrounding the Hearth, helping to teach his brother's and little Posy to use the bows, and the meals they had after the hunts.
"You certainly love your brothers and sister very much."
Gale nodded. There'd been many lost babes between himself and Rory, and he cherished his living siblings more than he could say. Even if he sometimes wanted to beat Rory.
"My son is just as attached to his sister," Lord Undersee sighed. "I'm afraid it shall break his heart when she's taken from him."
A strange tightness forms in Gale's chest at that, imagining Posy, a woman grown and being married off to some foolish lord without a clue of her worth.
"Mine shall too, when my sister is taken," Gale agreed. "My brothers too. I'd keep them close if the gods would allow it."
His father would never allow his younger children to be handed off to unhappy lives, but an only daughter and second and third born sons aren't likely to meet as happy ends as Gale.
Lord Undersee had nodded thoughtfully at that, his light eyes appraising Gale, searching for something, before closing his eyes.
"I believe you."
After a few days the rains stopped, but during that time, while Gale was trapped avoiding the Blackwood girls, his increasingly drunk uncle, and his awful cousin Phoebe, his father spent an unnerving amount of time with Lord Undersee. It wasn't until they were headed south a few days later, toward Dorne, that he told Gale what they'd been discussing.
"She sounds a lovely girl," he tried to comfort Gale. "She'll make you a fine wife."
"Shouldn't you have taken a look at her first?" Gale snapped.
It was shallow to his ears, but he didn't care. He deserved a say in his life.
"If she looks anything like her Auntie Maysilee, you'll be happy as a babe on the tit," Uncle Levi laughed. "Saw her once, with father when we went south for a tourney. She'd given Ashara Dane a fight if you ask me."
"Did you bloody your sword on her, uncle?" Phoebe asked, trying and failing not to smirk at her attempt at wit.
Levi burst out laughing. "They teach you no manners in Dorne, bird? That's hardly the talk of a lady."
"I'm hardly a lady."
There was no arguing against that.
Rolling his eyes, Gale urged his horse ahead of them as his father admonished her for her filthy talk.
Shaking the memory of that long, painful, and ultimately fruitless ride south away, Gale crosses the lawn to the table where Madge is sipping tea.
She smiles at his approach, brushes a wayward strand of pale hair from her face.
"Good morning, my lord. Did you rest well?"
He almost teases her that he'd have slept better with company, but bites his tongue. Madge may have a playful sense of humor, but he isn't sure she'll appreciate him pushing the boundaries that far yet.
"Well enough," he finally settles on as he takes the seat across from her.
Her expression tenses a bit and she begins toying with her teacup.
"You'll sleep better once you're home," she almost whispers, a bit downcast, eyes glance sadly around to the lilacs hanging sleepily around them.
She loves her home, Gale's known that since the first time they'd toured the garden together.
"We have the largest garden in the Reach outside Highgarden," she'd explained, eyes bright with joy. "Father added to it when he married mother, and Ser Haymitch brought hundreds of flowers from my mother's home in the Westerlands for her."
Gale had only nodded, eyeing the vibrant blossoms sadly. They were too delicate to survive even the summers in the North. They'd wilt and die, probably not survive so much as a single moon, and he can only hope his southron bride won't meet the same fate.
Madge is every bit as bright as her flowers, and he fears the harsh Northern weather will take its toll.
He dearly hopes not. He may barely know her, but he can't wish that kind of fate on a girl so clearly loved and kind as she is.
Hopefully, when Posy is a woman grown and ready for marriage, her future husband will have as much regard for her happiness.
"I will," he agrees, catching her eye and smiling, hoping to ease her mind. "Perhaps your father will bring you North soon. Then I can give you a tour of our gardens. You can plan out how you'll improve it."
They aren't as big, nor as beautiful, but he hopes she'll like them every bit as much as he does. Maybe she'll make them lovelier someday.
A delicate blush blossoms across Madge's cheeks, creeps onto her neck, then vanishes tantalizingly down the front of her dress.
Gale is so distracted by his filthy eyes desperately trying to see how far her blush goes past her neckline that he doesn't hear her response
"My lady?" He asks, forcing himself to focus.
If she noticed his leering, she doesn't make mention or adjust her bust line, just smiles and repeats herself.
"I've-I've been reading about hearty flowers and plants. There are a few here, actually." The blush deepens in color and Gale struggles to stay his eyes. "I was hoping you'd accept-maybe a gift for your mother?"
It takes him a moment to understand what she's said, but when he finally does, he can't help but grin.
Her strength might not show, but it's definitely there, if in an unexpected way. She isn't shrinking away from the life that's been thrust upon her, but planning her survival.
Standing, Gale goes around the table and offers her his arm.
"She'd love that, my lady, and I'd love it if you would show me where these sturdy blossoms grow."
A pale little hand reaches out and wraps around Gale arm and Madge starts to lead him deeper into the garden, softly telling him the names and origins of the flowers and the meanings of them in lore, she's taking him to see.
An hour into their walk and Gale's mind has started to wander again.
Mostly, he's wondered at the seamstresses in the Reach and their ability to so wonderfully dress their ladies, and occasionally considered asking his father if they might bring one with Madge when she moves North. It would be a well spent expense.
It isn't until Madge has stopped in front of him, her nose wrinkled up in concern, that he realizes she's stopped talking.
"I'm boring you," she sighs. "I'm sorry, my lord. I forget the language of flowers isn't as fascinating to everyone as it is to me."
Gale shakes his head.
"You're not boring me, my lady, I promise you." He forces a smile. "I was just...distracted."
"By?"
Hand jumping to his neck, Gale grasps for anything to blame for his wandering mind that won't make him sound like a louse, finally blurting out the first thing that comes to him.
"My aunt."
Her nose wrinkles more, and Gale knows she doesn't entirely believe him, but she doesn't question it.
"You've not spoke of your trip to Dorne since your arrival," Madge finally says, and Gale instantly knows he's in trouble. "What makes you think of it now?"
Gale hasn't spoken of Dorne because he has no desire to think of the place.
His cousins are useless, his aunt is heartless, and it's an uncomfortable, strange place to him. There isn't one positive feeling he can muster for any of it.
The only good thing that had come from his trip south was the detour he was now enjoying on his journey home.
"You'll wait at the Twelve Corners, one week, no more," Hester had told them as she'd seen them off. "If Phoebe and myself can't convince mother to come to the North before that time, it won't happen."
"I'd rather just go home," Gale grumbled, not at all eager to halt his trip home for anything.
Phoebe grinned. "And miss the golden opportunity to meet your future wife? What a man are you."
Once they'd sent the raven to Lord Undersee, Gale and his father had decided not to air their troubles to Gale's future wife and good father. They'd explain Olive's appearance in the unlikely even she turned up at the gates.
"Flowers," Gale finally answers, instantly realizing it's a nonsense response. "Uh, my aunt had a garden, with...flowers, it-I was thinking how much nicer yours is."
One of her pale eyebrows arches up.
"Do you think me simple minded?"
Gale grimaces. "I'd chance to say you're cleverer than anyone I've met, my lady."
Which is both a pleasant surprise and a little frustrating. She's cleverer than him by more than half, at least.
She frowns, nose wrinkles up, and sighs. "Then why spin lies? And such poor ones at that?"
Since he'd rather discuss her choice of dress than his aunt's refusal to come home to see her ailing mother, or his mad cousins' promise to convince her to do so, Gale decides to oblige her.
"Because the truth is unflattering to myself, my lady." He tries not to grin, but feels his lips twitching anyways. "Such a lady as yourself would be scandalized by the things that had been occupying my mind."
Another blush floods her face and she looks away.
"Oh."
To Gale's disappointment she hitches her neckline up.
"If it makes any difference," he tells her, his fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. "I regret my filthy mind, but when faced with beauty not seen since Shiera Seastar, a man can only muster so much self-control."
A moment passes, then an unladylike snort breaks the silence.
"My father's been telling my grandfather's ridiculous family lore, hasn't he?"
Reaching out, Gale brushes a strand of hair from her face.
"I wouldn't call them ridiculous."
Her blush intensifies and she takes a step back, her smile unmistakable.
"I shall have to ask my septa what she's heard of you and your shameless flattery," she half laughs. "I can scarcely believe you'd save all your charm for your intended. There will surely be broken hearts across the North."
Shrugging, Gale grins. "Well, practice makes perfect."
For half a heartbeat he considers dipping down and kissing her, the moment feels like something from a song, with the scent of flowers in the air and the dancing shadows of noonday around them, but he's stopped short by the blaring of trumpets.
Madge frowns and turns toward the walls, squinting up as if waiting for a signal that doesn't come.
Instead, Ser Haymitch comes huffing up the path.
He stops just short of them and Madge rushes to him, giving him a gentle pat on the back as he grunts to breathe. A scowl forms on his face as he finally straightens up and shoots Gale a dark look, as though he knows what thoughts had just been on his mind.
"There's a carriage at the gates," he tells them, still struggling to breathe. "Spotted it a bit ago. Looks to be Dornish."
Gale groans.
His aunt had changed her mind.
His useless cousins aren't quite as useless as he'd thought.
Forcing a smile, Gale's rubs at his neck.
The time had come to air his family's troubles, and hope Madge's understanding nature extends to mad aunts and forgiving her future husband for making his first visit to meet her a means to an end.