At King's Landing…
Word had already arrived to the court, preparations were being made for the inevitable return of the royal family from their voyage to Dorne. Prince Tommen Baratheon, in particular, was among the first of many to stand at the shores of King's Landing… eagerly awaiting to greet his older brother and sister. Tommen hadn't seen Myrcella since her departure from the capital. In accordance with Daveth's decision, Tommen's wedding to Margaery Tyrell would begin once he came back and Myrcella's to Trystane would begin a fortnight after his.
Whilst overlooking several documents, Hand of the King Tyrion Lannister shuffled about and readied himself for his eldest nephew's return. Accompanying him were the Master of Whisperers, Varys, and his uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister—now having assumed full command of the Lannister armies.
"Still, the reports we've been getting have been… very odd," Tyrion remarked.
Varys had his hands folded in his sleeves. "Stranger things have happened, my friend. My little birds tell me things are proceeding as discreetly as possible, and word has already been sent to the North ahead of schedule."
"Meaning the Stark boy will likely determine what has happened. I'd expect quite a vicious retaliation from his part, considering current events."
"Oh, no one disputes that, not even the multitudes that often worry they might be next."
Tyrion, Varys and Kevan walked down the steps towards the bay. "It's almost funny," he mused. "My brother was the youngest Kingsguard in history at the age of 16. My sister became Queen at 19. When I reached manhood, my father put me in charge of all the drains and cisterns in Casterly Rock."
"A most highborn plumber," the eunuch remarked.
"The water never flowed better. And all the shit found its way into the sea. I never expected to have any real power. So when Daveth named me Hand of the King—"
"You're quite good at being Hand, you know? Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were good men. Honorable men. But they disdained the game and those who played. Lord Tywin was a brilliant administrator and a master strategist, but even he had his flaws. You enjoy the game."
"I do. Last thing I expected."
"And you play it well."
As they saw the King Robert's Warhammer coming into view, the party arrived with the rest of the Small Council—waiting for the King, Queen and their entourage disembark. Even moments before the ship even reached the dock, Tyrion and Tommen both felt something was wrong; eventually, they see Sansa wrapping Daveth's right arm over her shoulder to help keep him steady with Myrcella and Jaime assisting them.
The Young Stag's face was so pale some color appeared to have been drained; he had developed dark circles under his eyes and was bloodshot as if they were inflamed. Daveth could hardly stand with his knees slightly buckling and had experienced shortness of breath.
Tyrion, looking concerned, approached them. "What's going—?"
"Grand Maester, take the King to his chambers. See what you can do for him," Sansa hurriedly ordered. "Serella, try to convince the Septas to lend us get any medicinal herbs you think can help us."
"What's wrong with my brother?" fidgeted Tommen.
"Daveth is sick, Tommen," Myrcella answered. "We're trying everything we can to make him feel better, but he's steadily getting worse."
Delirious and somewhat disoriented as he may be, Daveth shook his head—still retaining his awareness as his body continued fighting off whatever illness he had. "That's… putting it nicely," he coughed.
Tyrion looked at Jaime, the Kingslayer nodding his head in agreement with the current situation. They both had seen this illness before and moved into action. Ser Barristan Selmy, meanwhile, approached the royal party and extended his arms out.
"I'll take him," he suggested.
Sansa hesitated, but nodded understandingly as she gently transferred Daveth over to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The Young Stag groaned slightly and felt queasy, shutting his eyes and placing one hand over his gut—trying not to get the sudden urge to vomit. Pycelle, stretched out his arms, the maester's chains chinking against each other with each step.
"Eh, uh… C-come now, Your Grace," he stuttered. "Let's get you taken care of."
Before they left to tend to Daveth's illness, the Young Stag glanced over his shoulder. He looked physically weak, but still gathered enough strength to get several words out.
"Tyrion," he called out. "As I'm to be… *cough, cough!* indisposed, you'll… you'll need to chair the Small Council meetings in my stead."
Varys, Pycelle, Barristan and Randyll Tarly looked to Tyrion, but they each steadily nodded at the situation. Daveth had more to say.
"And one more thing," he continued. "Begin making preparations… *cough, cough!* for the wedding at once. *cough, cough!* Two, in fact."
"For whom?"
"One for Tommen and Lady Margery, and the other… for Myrcella and Prince Trystane."
Myrcella and Tommen looked to their brother. "Daveth, are you… sure?" they asked, somewhat concerned.
He nodded weakly. "I promised to ensure you two were wed upon my return… *cough, cough!* I intend to keep that promise."
Both didn't say anything nor did they protest, instead watching as Daveth was eventually led away by Serella and Pycelle. The twins Lyonel and Cassana each made a small sound of discomfort, with Cassana stretching out her hands in her father's direction—her upset squeaks led to her becoming fussy which in turned to her being visibly upset.
"Dada," she whined.
Sansa's heart ached. Daveth loved her and their children and was no longer in a position to spend time with them; understandably so, considering his current condition. Once he was better, they'd make up for lost time. Shae and Tyrion noticed this and approached her.
"Don't worry, Your Grace," Shae reassured her mistress. "We'll take good care of him."
"Do what you can for him," Sansa told her. "Lyonel, Cassana… they both need their father."
"I know. We'll keep you aware of his state."
Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard, having accompanied the royal party back from Dorne, ventured off to the side with Jaime, Barristan and Lucius to discuss security details. Olyvar Frey, a newly anointed knight, opted to stand guard over the King to ensure any suspicious characters would not be permitted entry unless told otherwise. Brella accompanied Sansa throughout the gardens of the Red Keep.
"Dada, dada, dada," Cassana continued pouting.
Sansa bounced each of her twins. "I know, sweetie, but your father's not feeling well."
"Dada! Dada! Dada!"
"Shhh, shhh."
No matter how much Sansa hushed, the twins continued to whine and fuss. It was then that the Wolf Queen was paid an unexpected visit.
"Children being fussy again?"
Sansa blinked and rose her head up. Standing before her was none other than Lady Margaery Tyrell, Prince Tommen's betrothed. She was clearly caught off guard for a moment; indeed, Margaery is regarded as extremely beautiful with thick and curling brown hair, large brown eyes and a slender but womanly figure. Fair and lively, Margaery had a sweet smile.
"You are Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, are you not?" asked Sansa.
She nodded. "I am, Your Grace. I've been arranged to marry the King's brother, Prince Tommen for some time. You look radiant this morning."
"Thank you for your kind words, Lady Margaery."
"If it pleases you, Your Grace, won't you call me Margaery? We're going to be sisters soon. Are those two the perfect little angels?"
Sansa looked at her. 'True, but why tell me this at this hour?' "Yes. This is my son, Prince Lyonel," she said before trading glances to the other twin, "and my daughter, Princess Cassana."
"My, aren't they just adorable?" she said and took Sansa by the hand.
She rose from her seat in the gardens and accompanied Margaery. "Where are we going?"
Before she got an answer, Sansa recognized they were being escorted to a private meeting in the gardens. With the castle so crowded, on the edge of a yard held two banners depicting the sigil of House Tyrell, a golden rose on a green field. Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breastplates. The Reach personal guardsmen were of wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled.
Taking a few more steps in the private gardens, Margaery brought Sansa before a wizened white-haired doll of a woman at the head of a table.
"Your Grace," she spoke, "it is my honor to present my grandmother: the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell."
Sansa recognized Olenna as the Queen of Thorns from one of her earlier conversations with Daveth months ago. "Olenna Tyrell might be an old woman, but her mastery of court politics, plotting and intrigue are almost on par with my grandfather Tywin Lannister. DO NOT underestimate her!" he warned her. Had Daveth told her a few years ago, her naiveté would have brushed such warnings aside, but Sansa had grown and matured over the years and had taken her duties as Queen seriously enough. This would be her first encounter with the Queen of Thorns.
Olenna smelled of rosewater. "Kiss me, child," she gave a warm, grandmotherly smile. Dutifully, Sansa kissed the old woman on the cheek. "It's so good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens."
"Thank you for having me, Lady Olenna," Sansa greeted courteously.
"I knew both your Stark and Tully grandfathers, Lords Rickard and Hoster, though not well."
"Lord Rickard died before I was born, but… Lord Hoster had been struggling from a prolonged illness for quite some time."
"I am well aware of that, Your Grace. Still, night falls for us all in the end, and too soon for some. You and the King have each had your share of grief, I'm sure. We are sorry for your troubles once we heard of Daveth's ailment. The Reach is praying for his swift recovery."
Sansa glanced at Margaery. 'How did…? Word travels fast,' she thought. "You're very kind to say so," she answered. "And I would like to extend my apologies for Lord Renly, Lady Margery. He was very gallant when I first met him."
"You're very kind to say so," replied Margaery.
Olenna snorted. "Gallant, yes, and charming and very clean. He knew how to dress, bathe and smile and somehow this gave him the notion he was fit to be King," she sniffed. "The Baratheons must have a queer notion, to be sure; must stem from either their hot-headed temperament or their distant relations to the Targaryens."
"Renly was brave and gentle, grandmother," Margaery pointed out. "Father liked him and so did Loras."
"Loras is young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick," Olenna said crisply, "That does not make him wise, especially considering how lucky he is to still have his head attached to his shoulders after foolishly challenging the Oathkeeper in single-combat at Blackwater Bay. As to your fathead father…"
"Grandmother! What will Queen Sansa think of us?"
Sansa felt the atmosphere shifting, with each mention of the Stag Sedition as well as the Battle of Blackwater Bay brought forth long, old bitter memories. Some people just don't know when to let go of the past and move forward, lest they face the risk of reopening old wounds; especially if it hits close to home.
"She might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at any rate," the old woman continued before turning back to Sansa. "Look, I already told Daveth that I warned my family that what they were doing was treason. Robert has three sons and Renly has an older brother. How can he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? 'Tut-tut', says my son, 'don't you want your sweetling to be Queen?' You Starks were Kings once, the Arryns and the Lannisters as well, and even the Baratheons through the female line to the Durrandons, but the Tyrells were no more than stewards until Aegon the Conqueror himself came along and cooked the rightful King of the Reach on the Field of Fire. If truth be told, even our claim to Highgarden is a bit dodgy, just as those dreadful Florents are always whining. 'What does it matter?' you ask, and of course it doesn't, except to oafs like my son. The thought that one day he may see his grandsons on the Iron Throne makes Mace puff up like… now, what do you call it? Margaery, you're clever, be a dear and tell your poor old half-daft grandmother the name of that queer fish from the Summer Isles that puffs up to ten times its own size when you poke it."
"They call them puff fish, grandmother."
"Of course they do. Summer Islanders have no imagination. My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way the Baratheons do their stag, mayhap that would make him happy. We should have stayed well out of all this bloody foolishness if you ask me, but once the cow's been milked there's no squirting the cream back up her udder. So here we are to see things through. And what do you say to that, Sansa?"
Sansa replied, "But if I'm not mistaken, the Tyrells can trace their descent through the female line back to Garth Greenhand of the First Men 10,000 years ago during the Age of Heroes, who not only founded House Gardener but also became the first King of the Reach."
The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the Reach. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say. I shouldn't wonder that more than his hands were green."
"Your Grace," Margaery broke in, "you and your children must be very hungry after such a long journey back to the capital. Shall we have some lemon cakes?"
Sansa felt her stomach growl a bit. Lyonel and Cassana reached out their hands, fussing about. Her maternal instincts suggested they must be hungry too. "Lemon cake's my favorite," she admitted.
"So we've been told," declared Lady Olenna, who obviously had no intention of being hushed. "We'll be sure the royal children have some food in their bellies as well. Coren, are you going to bring the food or do you mean to starve us to death? Here, Sansa, come sit with me. I'm much less boring than these others."
Sansa felt herself being almost unable to respond to each request, blinking slightly at the Queen of Thorn's barbs being hurled all around. Normally her initial thoughts were to address Olenna on her mannerisms, but Lyonel and Cassana fussed some more—obviously demanding they be given something to eat so Sansa's primary focus was on them for a while and knowingly accompanied Margaery and Olenna to a more remote section as the Reach servants brought out a broth of leeks and mushrooms with a side dish of sweets for Lyonel and Cassana to eat and Lady Olenna pushed herself forward to rest her elbows on the table.
"Here you go, sweeties, eat up now," Sansa cooed to her children, taking occasional each spoonful to feed Cassana and Lyonel some sweetened (prepared with little sugar to ensure the children eat healthy) porridge; the twins shared the same visible reaction to tasting strange products.
Margaery and Sansa tried to hold back a chuckle when Lyonel and Cassana's face twisted before Sansa wiped their messy face with a napkin.
"Do you know my son, Your Grace?" Olenna asked. "The Lord of Highgarden?"
"Lord Mace? We've met on several occasions at court when my husband named him Master of Coin," she answered politely.
"A ponderous oaf," said the Queen of Thorns. "His father was an oaf as well. My husband, the late Lord Luthor Tyrell. Oh, I loved him well enough, don't mistake me. A kind man, and not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same."
Sansa was both appalled and felt her cheeks flushed when she heard Olenna using such vulgar words in the presence of her children, and instinctively covered their ears. Lyonel and Cassana looked equally confused, but paid no mind as their sights were focused solely on the porridge in front of them as Olenna kept on talking.
"He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him. And now my son is doing the same, only this time he's riding a half-lion, half-stag instead of a horse. A lion is not a lap cat, I told him. A stag is not a harmless gentle creature of the forest, I told him. But he only chuckles and gives me too much tut-tutting. All these Kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers."
Sansa realized that her mouth was open again. The other women of Highgarden and the Reach were giggling at the spectacle, only ceasing for a moment when Lyonel playfully flung a spoon of porridge at a nearby bird.
"No, no, Lyonel. We don't play with our food," Sansa scolded.
Olenna noticed this. "Does the boy plan on taking after his father?" she asked abruptly.
"Difficult to say, my lady. He's still learning, but all children make mistakes at some point and learn from them. Sons learn from their mothers, so I've been told. And I plan on teaching mine a great deal."
"Mmm. That sounds reassuring. Now," she leaned in, "I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy, this Tommen lad."
Sansa froze, feeling a wave of suspicion. "Tommen? What about him? He's Daveth's youngest brother."
"Yes, yes, we all know that part. Ever since that disgusting slaughter instigated by the disgraced Joffrey, we've been hearing some troubling tales. I hope they are not all true."
'Don't even think of putting Tommen into the same category as that horrible monster!' the Wolf Queen wanted to say. Instead, she shook her head. "Prince Tommen is not at all like Joffrey in the slightest," she answered.
"How so? Is he kind? Clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand? Will he cherish Margaery and treat her tenderly, protect her honor as he would his own?"
Margaery spoke up. "I'm to be his wife, Your Grace. I only want to know what that means."
Sansa felt her shoulders stiffen; now feeling suspicious out of respect for Daveth's brother, her eyes traded back and forth glances between Olenna and Margaery. Having learned about political players seeking any sort of elevation might often try to take advantage of someone's nature, something she herself had to learn during her tutelage in King's Landing. Something told Sansa that behind the Tyrell's charitable and poised outer temperament lies a cunning if not ruthless ambition, seeking to take advantage of every opportunity like a flower bending with the wind and sun. Yet the Tyrells also have a familial bond that Sansa herself acknowledges, though that didn't stop her from feeling somewhat apprehensive.
"My father always told the truth," Sansa spoke.
"Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation."
"Tommen," Sansa said, "is a good-hearted lad. A kind one. Sure he stumbles at times, but he really does try his best. He…" She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth—knowing she said too much.
"'He what'?" Olenna said impatiently.
"Go on," Margaery urged. Tommen's own Princess Consort-to-be.
Lyonel and Cassana stopped eating and looked up at their mother, both curiously staring at her with their big, blue eyes. Sansa knew that others would likely listen in to the conversation and Varys would know about what transpired either way.
"Joffrey abused him when he was younger, both physically and emotionally," she whispered, quiet enough to avoid any unwanted attention but loud enough for her two guests to hear. "My husband put a stop to that, and protects him. So you can understand why Tommen goes out of his way to impress others. Not for the sake of wanting attention, but out of his desire to learn."
Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. "Ah," said the old woman, "so then the rumors were unfounded then."
'Rumors? What rumors?' "Now that we've come home, we can begin proceeding with the wedding as promised."
Even Margaery was caught off guard. "Already?" she asked.
Sansa nodded. "Those we're sworn to protect don't necessarily call my husband 'Oathkeeper' for a reason. Your wedding to Prince Tommen will take place before Princess Myrcella to Prince Trystane of House Martell within a fortnight."
Olenna bit down onto a piece of cheese. "Then the Lord Oaf of Highgarden will most likely beside himself with Margaery marrying into the royal family. And the word of a Tyrell is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock. At least it was in my day. Even so, we thank you for your honesty, Your Grace."
Sansa said nothing further, only watching as more servants came by with a plate of lemon cakes. The day appeared to be a long one, with the sun shining bright in the sky. Her son and daughter apparently had their fill and yawned, rubbing their eyes. Sansa rocked the twins in each arm, occasionally trading verses with the Queen of Thorns and Margaery. Even if they did mean well… what was the purpose of all this questioning?
'Even if it's a small amount of information, it should prove to be useful,' Margaery thought.
Sansa glanced at Margaery. 'You say you want us to be sisters, as friends… But do not risk falling out of our favor again. Don't do to Tommen what Ser Loras did to Renly. Daveth will not be happy about it if he does find out.'
At Winterfell…
Lord Robb Stark was seen accompanied by his men, with Ser Rodrik Cassel, Theon Greyjoy and Lord Harald Karstark entering the courtyards of Winterfell with Rickon Stark and the wildling Osha in tow behind them. The Young Wolf had recently returned from the Last Hearth with his youngest brother and Osha, but was somewhat disappointed when Lord Greatjon Umber told him that no one had seen or heard from Bran Stark. The Night's Watch was too preoccupied with its own problems and even though the wildling threat appeared to have dissipated, Greatjon's son Smalljon remained adamant that they still posed a threat one day. After all, the Last Hearth is the furthest stronghold in the North that had to occasionally tangle with the Free Folk now and then.
"He wouldn't let us go with him," Rickon complained.
"Go where?" Robb asked.
"Beyond the Wall. I'm supposed to protect Bran; he can't even walk anymore!"
'By the Gods, no…' he felt stunned. The lands Beyond the Wall are considered the most dangerous, most perilous, vast and mostly uncharted with uninhabitable polar wastelands and below zero freezing temperatures; all of whom are considerably too dangerous. A storm was recently coming in hard so not even the Night's Watch could dispatch several rangers and was busy recuperating from fending off King-Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder's massive army.
Whatever the odds, Robb knew that his family was not complete even if one Stark was successfully returned. As they rode into the courtyard, Robb was his mother Catelyn standing in the middle with his wife Talisa and their son Eddard. His mother was visibly upset and Talisa tried everything she could to calm her mother-in-law down.
"Robb!" Catelyn panicked.
Robb dismounted and approached. "Mother? What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked.
"Arya's gone!"
"Wh… What do you mean 'gone'?!"
Talisa intervened. "Your sister just disappeared in the dead of night. We sent several scouts to find and retrieve her, but they've had no luck."
"How could she just leave like that? Did she at least leave a note explaining why?"
Catelyn shook her head. "No, Robb, no. All her belongings are still here! She didn't… she didn't leave any note! She's gone!"
Little Ned was visibly upset at his grandmother's distress, whining and complaining. Robb felt like he was being unable to keep his family together.
"Why not seek out help?" suggested Theon.
"And who would be in a position to help us?" Harald pressed doubtfully.
Ser Rodrik spoke up. "If Lady Arya's missing… we could appeal to the Crown for help! Houses Stark and Baratheon are bound by blood with King Daveth's marriage to your sister. Queen Sansa should be able to help us with the search."
"Last I remembered, Lady Stark and Daveth didn't exactly part on good terms," Theon pointed out.
Catelyn noticed, seemingly calmed down a bit. "That was a long time ago. But Ser Rodrik's right about this… If anyone can seek out anyone missing, it would be the Master of Whisperers Varys."
"I'll go to King's Landing," Robb offered.
"No," his mother refused, "there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go."
"Mother—"
"Robb, don't… Just don't."
Robb didn't say anything as Catelyn gathered whatever belongings she could. Rather than just let her go by herself, Ser Rodrik and a few dozen guardsmen offered to accompany the Stark matriarch on the long journey to King's Landing with the intention of petitioning the Iron Throne for assistance in locating one of their own.
"I'll send a raven to the capital and let them know of our plight," Maester Luwin recommended.
"Do it," Robb commanded.
Theon felt a headache; one problem resolved somehow ended up with another sprouting in its place. Especially with the season beginning to change in the North; the Greyjoy felt snowflakes beginning to fall. Starks were all right eventually in the end, winter is coming. And the North was always the first to feel the seasonal changes. As Robb and Talisa went into the chambers they shared together whilst Catelyn and Ser Rodrik departed Winterfell again, Theon was pulled aside by Maester Luwin.
"There's also something else," the old man said, "something that couldn't be shared in front of Lord Stark."
Theon looked confused. "What's that?"
Luwin unveiled a scroll. "A raven came in from Deepwood Motte. Your sister—"
"What happened?"
What came next was an utter bombshell.
"Your sister, Yara Greyjoy… has escaped."
Chapter End
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay guys. Construction of the house had apparently taken away most of my free time during Spring Break so I was unable to post more chapters as quickly as I used to. But even so, Sansa Stark has her first encounter with the Queen of Thorns Olenna Tyrell and Margaery. How did you think she handled herself? And word has arrived that Yara Greyjoy has suddenly escaped captivity from the Glovers. How will the entire North react to the news in addition with the growing suspicions of Ramsay Snow? Thoughts? Let me know.
Silent Wolf Singer: I pray Daveth gets better soon.
DaddyChad: Tommen would never rebel against Daveth or try to take away the throne from him or his son and/or daughter.
So i'm not afraid of that at all.
Hear My Fury: Again I'd watch out for the Tyrells they're planning some kind of revolt I'm guessing. Margaery's just as ambitious as Cersei, and given Daveth's condition she could plan for something so that she could be queen.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.