A/N: MaryEvH here - *dodges rotting fruit* I know, this update took WAY too long! But Anne and I are back with a new chapter for you, and we hope you love it as much as we do, because it took a LONG TIME. (As you all know.)
So, here's chapter 16!
Chapter 16:
Stannis Baratheon, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, sat at the head of the table in his council chambers at Dragonstone, a sour look on his face. His fleet had been defeated in the disastrous battle of the Blackwater, and he still had not recovered. Every single one of his ships had gone down, and with them, his chance to sit on the Iron Throne.
But in his hand, he held something that might change his fate. The missive had reached him a day ago, but he had not yet decided what to do with the information. Apparently, part of the Tyrell army had been seen marching north. Far north. Stannis frowned deeper, thinking to himself.
Soon, the clack of boots on the hard floor interrupted his thoughts. "Your Grace," a familiar voice said.
"Ser Davos," he replied almost boredly. "What news?"
"Nothing good, Your Grace, as usual," his Hand sighed grimly. When his Lord did not reply, Davos looked down at the letter in Stannis' hand. "Have you decided on a course of action, Your Grace?"
Glancing down once again, Stannis frowned thoughtfully. Did he really have anything to lose? "Yes. I believe I have…"
"Your Grace?"
"Prepare the men, Ser Davos. It seems we have a long voyage ahead of us."
Ser Davos raised his eyebrows, but bowed all the same. "I'll see to it immediately."
"Very good." Stannis rose from his seat with a stretch. Whether this move turned out to be genius or folly would depend on the next few weeks, but he was determined to see it through.
/*/
Training was more essential than ever now, but that didn't mean that Jon enjoyed it any more than usual. It wasn't technically his job to train the men, but with the threat of the Wildlings hanging over them, he felt it was his duty, as their leader.
"Just because you lost your sword, doesn't mean you can't fight!" he told his opponent after he'd disarmed the man, a new recruit. He swung at him, but the man just clumsily jumped backward.
"You need to step into his swing and plant your feet!" a feminine voice interrupted before he could offer that same advice. Every head in the courtyard turned to its source.
Margaery. Of course, he thought, suppressing a grin.
"And wha' th' 'ell does a lady know abou' fightin'?" One of the recruits yelled back.
Jon was tempted to interrupt, but held his tongue when he saw the lady's smirk. I know that look.
She trotted down the stairs and picked up a practice sword. "I'd be happy to demonstrate," she dared. The men wisely hesitated, and Jon stepped up before any of them could get any ideas. Once he was in place, Margaery assumed a balanced starting stance. The new recruits roared with laughter, but the more seasoned men - Jon's friends among them - exchanged looks. He tried not to read too much into that.
"Ready?" she asked playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes, along with a barely suppressed smirk.
Jon lunged, knowing she would swiftly block the strike. She spun out of the parry, launching at Jon with a thrust of her own, which he only dodged in the nick of time. Margaery made up for her lack of strength with her swift slashes. None of them would do much damage against a properly armoured opponent, but it would definitely wear them out.
They circled one another, the rest of the world forgotten. Jon knew Margaery had improved by leaps and bounds since he'd started teaching her, but she was still no match for him. Some of the newer recruits, certainly, but not someone who'd been training since he was a boy. In a few swift moves, he'd divested her of her sword.
Still, she smirked, and when he swung again, she stepped into his swing, planted her feet, and pushed him off balance. Jon would have been able to recover from a move like that, but that wasn't the point of this exercise. And so, he allowed himself to stumble back, but kept to his feet. No need to embarrass himself further.
By now, the new recruits who had been laughing at her had gone completely silent. Until a somewhat timid voice broke the silence - "Say, can you show me that move?"
Jon looked over to see Podrick - who had called out - standing next to his sister on the edge of the training area. He didn't look in the least offended that a woman would be a good fighter. But then, as the squire to Lady Brienne, why would he?
Margaery, now with a slight blush on her cheeks - looking more beautiful than ever - nodded. "Of course."
"Jon." Ed strode over to him, a serious look on his face. "Bad news," he said under his breath. "The Wildlings are closing in. They'll be on our doorstep at any moment."
Jon's stomach dropped. "I'm afraid that'll have to be the end of the demonstration, Miss Flowers," he said, only slightly looking away from Edd. "Get the men ready," he whispered. "I need to speak to you, Sansa, and Lady Brienne in my office," he said to her, out of hearing range of the masses.
/*/
As Edd started barking orders to the men, Jon and Margaery gathered up the others and headed back inside the castle. Margaery knew the look on Jon's face - and the tone in his voice when he ended her demonstration. This wasn't going to be good news.
"Bethany?" an unassuming voice came from her left. Gilly. "What's going on?"
Margaery paused for a moment before answering her friend - Jon hadn't included her in the original group of people listed, but if things were as dire as she thought, Gilly would need to be there to hear Jon's plan. "Come with us," she said, taking the hand the young mother wasn't using to cradle her child.
Once the whole ensemble had all been gathered up, Jon locked the office door and got straight to his point. "The Wildlings are practically at our gates. I have no doubt some of them will try to climb the Wall."
Margaery's stomach dropped, and Sansa went white as a sheet next to her, gripping the arm of the chair. It occurred to Margaery that the other woman might not have heard Jon's whole saga of going beyond the Wall, and she took her friend's hand in an attempt to quell her fears. Gilly sat mute behind Margaery, still holding little Sam. Jon continued - "Sansa, Margaery, and Gilly - I'm going to keep all of you - and little Sam, of course - in here for the duration of the fighting. Lady Brienne, as I see it, it's hardly my place to keep you from combat if you wish to fight alongside us."
Her hand tightened around the pommel of her sword as she nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Commander."
"I'll guard the door so the Wildlings don't get in," Podrick put in. "I'm not that great a fighter just yet, but I can do that."
"Good man," Jon replied with a nod. "Any questions?"
"What if they get in here anyway?" Gilly asked pointedly, speaking up for the first time in their little conference.
Before Jon could answer, Podrick spoke up. "They won't, milady; I can promise you that."
Nodding, Gilly cradled her son a little tighter. "We'll be safe," Margaery told Jon quietly. She knew that he needed to know that in order to focus on the coming fight. Even though they both knew that she couldn't promise anything, not with the odds they faced. But he needed to hear it, and she needed to say it.
"Be careful," Sansa said, hugging her brother as he approached the door. Margaery locked eyes with the Lord Commander over her friend's shoulder, and they exchanged a meaningful look. Gods how she ached to throw caution to the wind and follow Sansa's example. But even here in the far north, where the rules of society were nearly nonexistent, she did not have that freedom.
Jon released his sister, and held out a hand towards Margaery. It was an odd gesture, but she wasn't about to complain. He pressed something into her hand and nodded, before letting go. Margaery quickly hid the item in her skirts.
After another moment, Jon and Lady Brienne departed, leaving the ladies inside the office while Podrick took up a stance by the door. "So what happens now?" Gilly asked.
Margaery sighed. "We wait. There are about 300 fighting men in Castle Black, and a few more that have yet to take their vows. Hopefully Jon won't have to enlist them as well."
Sansa took a seat beside her friend. "But how many Wildlings are coming?" she asked worriedly.
Margaery bit her tongue briefly. "It's hard to know," she replied, not wanting to frighten them unnecessarily. "The scouts bring back varying reports. The Watch could be outnumbered ten to one if some of their stories are to be believed." When she saw the horror on Sansa's face - and realizing she had failed in keeping them calm - she quickly continued, "But it's possible all of this is a false alarm. It could just be a scare tactic from Mance Rayder." She looked the other two women in the eyes. "We'll make it through this. I'll make sure of it."
Leaving Sansa and Gilly to sit down and hopefully calm themselves, Margaery made her way to the door. Beside it hung the bow and quiver she'd been using to practise. She wasn't an expert by any means, but at least it was something with which to defend herself. As she glanced at the squire by the door, though, she hesitated. "Podrick," she said quietly, making sure the other women didn't hear her.
"Miss Flowers?" he replied, looking at her in askance.
Margaery hesitated. "If they lose the battle… if they come in here…" she trailed off, uncertain of what it was she was asking.
"I won't let that happen. And Lord Commander Jon and Lady Brienne will do whatever it takes to keep you safe," the man reassured her, but it didn't make her feel any better. His eyes flitted to something over her shoulder.
"If they come in here-"
"Then we fight," Margaery interrupted, grabbing her bow. She didn't know what her friend had been about to suggest, and she was sure she didn't want to know. "I'm sure Jon has some knives around here somewhere; I'm going to look."
As she looked around for possible weapons, she remembered the item Jon had handed her just before leaving, and drew it from her pockets. It was wrapped in cloth, and lighter than she realized from the way he had pressed it into her hand…
Margaery barely stifled a gasp as the edge of the wrapping fell away to reveal a Tyrell rose, forged in gold. The chain was thin, but clearly sturdily made, and long enough that she could easily hide the pendant under her dress. Not a detail of her house sigil had gone unnoticed; her eyes grew misty as she clutched it in her hand. Margaery could hardly believe it was real. Jon would have taken a great risk in having it commissioned.
Jon…
A horrible thought suddenly engulfed her; as much as she tried to suppress it, she couldn't. "I'm going to the Sept, Podrick; I'll be back in a moment," she said abruptly, hurrying off in the direction of the small seven-sided attachment to the castle. Thankfully, she was undisturbed on her way there. She assumed the septon must have already taken cover.
Margaery let out a deep breath as she stepped inside. She always felt the presence of the Gods most acutely in the Sept, though it offered her little comfort now. Nevertheless, she was here for a purpose. She walked past each statue of the Seven, lighting a candle with each intercession. "Father, give him courage." A few steps. "Warrior, give him strength." A few more steps. "Smith, sharpen his blade." The process continued. "Mother, protect him. Maiden, have mercy. Crone, guide him. Stranger…"
Margaery sighed, lighting the candle and looking at the hooded statue.
"Please don't take him just yet."
/*/
A/N: Leave us a review and let us know what you think!
Credit goes to ShanMah, author of the fantastic "Lady of Flowers" (a Sansa/Loras fic you should all go check out) for the prayer Margaery uses at the end.