At King's Landing…
Prince Tommen Baratheon, now 15, stood in front of the Seven-Pointed Star inside the Great Sept of Baelor listening to the bells ringing loudly and people cheering and shouting from outside. Today was a big day for him since it was his wedding day to Lady Margaery Tyrell; guests in attendance were primarily from his own family, his sister Myrcella, his uncles Tyrion and Jaime Lannister. The one important person missing is his own brother, Daveth, who remained bedridden due to his illness.
"Brother…" he said quietly under his breath.
*BONG!*
*BOOM-BOOM, DING-DONG!*
He glanced at Lord Mace Tyrell who accompanied his daughter Margaery down the aisle near the steps towards the Seven-Pointed Star. Tommen examined his wife-to-be; Margaery was lovely in sheer ivory silk, Myrish lace and seed pearls, donned a maiden's cloak made of a hundred golden roses sewn to green velvet. Mace brought his daughter to the front of the steps, lowered his head and stepped backwards as the High Septon opened the Faith's holy book.
Remembering the events of his brother's wedding, Tommen instructively removed the maiden's cloak from Margaery's shoulders and draped her in his family's cloak—detailing the sigils of House Baratheon before fastening it. At that moment, she passed from her father's protection to Prince Tommen's. His and Margery's hands were joined together and tied in a knot, symbolizing their union.
The High Septon cleared his throat. "Lords and ladies of the court," he begun, "we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Tommen of House Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul." He continued as Tommen and Margery's knot came undone. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He took a moment to look at Tommen and Margery. "Look upon each other and say the words."
With that, Tommen and Margery turned to look each other in the eyes.
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Tommen declared.
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Margaery echoed.
Having recited their vows, they share a kiss. It was light, but gentle; Myrcella watches them from the crowd, applauding for her youngest brother with her betrothed Trystane Martell—their wedding was around the corner once Tommen's was completed. It was a happy day for the newlyweds, yet even Tommen and Margaery knew that it wasn't exactly the same without their eldest brother with them. Even so, the newlyweds turn to the crowd, holding hands.
*APPLAUSE!*
As the guests applaud, Prince Tommen and now-Princess Consort Margaery exchange glances and smile at each other. Compared to the magnificence of Daveth's and Sansa's wedding, Tommen's was a modest affair and small.
––Some time later––
In their bedchambers, Tommen and Margaery were breathing heavily. Sweat stuck to their bodies as they sought to catch their breaths; across the room, their clothes were scattered around—indicating the Prince and Princess Consort had finished consummating their marriage. The Young Cub, inexperienced as he is, was rather quick to finish. Margaery, on the other hand, wiped her brow as she pulled the covers over her naked both with one hand and wiping off the seed sticking to her thighs with the other before turning onto her right side to gaze at her royal husband. Her second husband.
Tommen was worn out, but remained aware of feeling his wife's soft, warm breasts pressing against his bare skin; their naked bodies still remained intertwined with each other. Turning his head to his left, he soon met her gaze.
"Did I… did I hurt you?" he panted nervously.
Margaery looked amused about his brief lovemaking skills. 'Oh my sweet Prince, you're going to have to do a lot more than that to wear me out,' she thought. "No. You were lovely," she replied, shaking her head.
"It all happened so fast."
"Yes," she chuckled.
"I was scared maybe I hurt you, it sounded—"
Margaery scooched forward, brushing the trip of her fingers across Tommen's golden hair. "No, no, no. You're very sweet. The sweetest Prince who ever lived."
Once reassured that his bride was indeed all right, Tommen's attitude quickly shifted from being nervous to somewhat confident. "This is what I want to do all day, every day for the rest of my life!" he declared. 'Wow! So this must've been what Sansa and my brother felt.'
"Wouldn't that be glorious?"
Tommen began brushing his hands up and down Margaery's back before giving her buttocks a squeeze, earning a quiet 'eep!' in response. Before he could lean in, he noticed his wife pressed a hand on his chest to stop him.
"Shouldn't we rest a little while? Just to catch our breath," she suggested. "There's no rush, is there?"
'Oops. Perhaps I was a bit too carried away,' he withdrew. "Of course not. Are you hungry? Shall I have them bring you some cake? Or perhaps some pomegranate juice?"
Margaery shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I just want you all to myself… Husband."
"Wife."
They both laugh, visibly seeming to enjoy each other's company (one in particular). Tommen, however, soon felt somewhat disheartened.
"It's just…" he begun, pausing occasionally. "I was really hoping my brother would be there at the ceremony with us; to see me get married to the most beautiful woman in the world… all because Daveth arranged it for me. I wanted to thank him for doing so much for me."
'Even now he still goes on about the Oathkeeper,' Margaery realized. "I understand how you feel. But it's not your fault your brother grew seriously ill," she reassured him. "Sometimes there are circumstances that are beyond our ability to control, no matter how hard we try to avert it. You know that, don't you? You mustn't feel guilty."
"I know, but… I just… I hate feeling so helpless."
Margaery looks at him curiously, before Tommen suddenly sits up—hoping to change the subject.
"Do you like to sail?" he asks.
She sits up. "I love to sail," she answers. By the Gods, Margaery Tyrell finds Tommen Baratheon hilariously easy to charm.
"I do, too!"
Margaery smiles at Tommen, looking forward to years and years of getting everything she wants. She takes his hand in hers.
"I think we're going to be very happy, you and I."
Tommen smiles excitedly. "I do, too."
Margaery leans in and kisses Tommen on his shoulder before turning around. The Young Cub watches as his bride gets up, her exposed naked flesh, and wraps a bedsheet around herself as a cover until finally finding a proper elegant nightgown.
"Living in a tower so high it touches the clouds," she muses. "Of course my grandmother couldn't wait to go home. The capital is not for everyone, I suppose. Does your brother not like it here?"
Now Tommen was curious. Why would she ask about Daveth? "What do you mean…?" he asked. Knowing he wasn't going to get an answer, he figured at least a little something wouldn't hurt. "All four of us were born here, though Daveth always told us to never let our guard down—even for a moment; says it's so that people don't take advantage of us or use us as pawns in their little games."
Margaery sat on the edge of the bed to do her hair, stopping slightly as she listened. 'Clever stag…' she thought before pouring some wine. "It's so wonderful to know you have a brother who looks after you. Wolves and lions always hunt together in packs."
"But that was something I couldn't always seem to understand, especially if you have an older brother who apparently casts a very large shadow in which there's almost no getting away from."
"Oh? How so?"
Tommen realized he might've pushed a little too far. "I… what I meant was that… It's just that no matter what I did as a child, no matter how hard I tried… I could never catch up to my brother."
"But wasn't that his duty as King Robert's heir?"
"I believe so. Daveth's the oldest, and I'm the youngest. But when Joffrey abused me—both physically or mentally—killed my pets, sometimes he did worse than that. 'If you tell anyone, I'll arrange an incident and say you did it to yourself.' So I just… go away inside sometimes to ignore the pain."
Margaery looked confused. "'Go away inside'?"
Tommen shook his head as if he still relived every event. "Mother just ignored us despite our pleas, father was… distant. But when Daveth found out what Joffrey was doing to me and Myrcella… I had never seen my brother get so angry like that. I don't know what he did, but all I knew was that he later came back with bloodied knuckles dragging Joffrey by the collar. 'Try that again and you'll get worse than what you've already got,' he simply told him off."
"Sounds like he's been a good brother."
"Yes. He still is, despite everything that's happened to us. There's been a lot of gossip about Daveth, but I think most of it isn't true," he shook his head. "I suppose it takes a lot to send him over the edge. People are quick to judge."
"And yet given his current state and health problems," Margaery seemed to have suggested, "I suppose it comes with the burdens and stresses of wearing the crown."
"I guess. Every trial, every battle… He's pretty much been forced to go through it alone these last four years."
'Yet the Baratheon men are as stubborn as they are headstrong in their pursuit of getting what they want,' Margaery speculated in slight annoyance. "Perhaps it should be best, for the sake of His Grace's health, that he should take at least some time for himself."
Tommen blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.
"Has your brother ever missed Storm's End? It's the seat of House Baratheon, after all."
"Umm… I think the last time Daveth visited Storm's End was what father called 'a rite of passage into adulthood' in the Kingswood when he was 13. Or was it during his lord's progress throughout the Stormlands with uncle Renly? Either way, Daveth was born here in King's Landing, like me and Myrcella. Why do you ask?"
Margaery soon stood up, with both hands holding two cups of wine. She hands one to Tommen to drink and sets hers down to comb her hair. "My mother used to say that all work and no play tend to cause some health problems of men. With the amount of stress, betrayal and corruption at almost every corner… even Kings have their limits, but sadly chose to ignore it. I respect your brother and am grateful for bringing us together, I fear that he might be on an unfortunate journey to the grave if he doesn't take time for himself… out of the capital."
Tommen gulped, uncertain as how to respond to either the notion or the fearful thoughts which now entered into his mind. Stay and succumb to illness or leave and rejuvenate? The Young Cub had deep affection for his wife, though he also had great respect for his brother. He'd have to speak with Daveth when he was better… but little did he know it would ultimately set the stage for another clash at court.
In Maegor's Holdfast…
Resting on his bed, King Daveth Baratheon's breathing was shallow and haggard. Eyes closed, shivering slightly, the Young Stag was engaged in a battle with his ailments. Since returning to King's Landing from Dorne, he was already sweating pretty profusely, his cheeks were flushed and his face was very pale… By the Gods, he hadn't felt so sick or miserable in a very long time! Bouts of hard coughing and occasional moans of discomfort, Grand Maester Pycelle and a few Septas specializing in medical care tended to Daveth's needs.
"*cough, cough!*"
Daveth's coughing soon caused him to spit out blood from his mouth; the septas quickly wiped his mouth with a cloth.
"Oh dear," one of them said concerned.
Another septa—possibly high-ranking in seniority due to her robes were of a cloth-of-silver and crystal coronet design—moved one aside. Now while she was in her early- to mid-50s, her physical appearance often caused her to be mistaken as a young woman in her late-20s or early-30s. She brushed her hand against the Young Stag's forehead. Leaning forward, she pressed her brow against his to check his temperature.
"His fever is high," she said calm and composed. "We'll need to change the sheets and bring in another bowl of cold water. Get some more dreamwine with salves if possible, and be sure to acquire some leeches from the Grand Maester to drain the King's blood of any infectious bacteria so we can ease the pain."
"Oh, uh… w-well that much has already been pre-determined," Pycelle stated.
"Has this happened before?"
"Once back wh-when he was just a boy, b-but we've since assumed that i-it would never come back."
"If that's the case, then that was rather careless on your part to simply assume so."
Despite feeling so sick and physically weak, Daveth still had enough energy to communicate. "Well…? How bad is it?" he asked hoarsely.
She looked at him. "Your sickness has spread rapidly throughout your body, but it was more quickly than we initially speculated. Had it been anyone else, they would have not been able to survive such an illness."
"Well… you know me—*cough, cough!*—I… always hated sitting around doing nothing, Septa Rosyn…"
Rosyn smiled. "Please, Your Grace. Call me 'Rosyn'," she said in a motherly tone. "I've known you since you were a wee babe, after all."
Daveth coughed again.
"W-we'll go get the medicine from my lab," Pycelle suggested and soon left the room, accompanied by a few septas. Septa Rosyn, however, opted to remain to stabilize the Young Stag.
"Where— *cough, cough!* …where's my wife?" asked Daveth, his voice straining.
Almost on que, Queen Sansa Stark entered the room unexpectedly. "I am here, my husband," she announced.
Daveth weakly turned his head; a wave of relief washed over him as Sansa sat at his bedside and placed her hand on his.
"How is he?" Sansa asked Rosyn.
The senior Septa shook her head. "We have been working around the clock, Your Grace. I will not lie to you: the King has a terrible fever, coughs up blood… and from the looks of it, I fear that he appears to be in terrible pain."
Concerned, the Wolf Queen looks at her sick husband. "Does it hurt?"
Daveth gave a neutral response. "The pain comes and goes, but… *cough, cough!* but each bout is… worse than the last."
Sansa frowned. Taking a moment to twist a wet rag, she placed the cold cloth on her husband's forehead and neck—dabbing away the sweat sliding down his body. Daveth shuddered as he felt the cold cloth touching his skin.
"Prince Tommen and Lady Margaery just got married today," Sansa began a conversation.
"Ah, that's right… Today was the day," the Young Stag groaned.
"Everyone's been asking about you."
"Hopefully not just to— *cough!* gossip about this."
Sansa shook her head. "We did what we could to keep it quiet, but that didn't stop certain dignitaries from requesting an inquiry. It's been like this since we came back from Dorne."
"Uhhh… of course it'd come to this. What of 'Cella's day?"
"The council's made the necessary arrangements for another royal wedding within the fortnight. The Master of Coin Lord Mace Tyrell has donated a rather generous sum of Gold Dragons to the royal treasury in advance of such a wedding."
'Obviously, but only because that oaf is expecting to get something in return,' the Young Stag theorized. "*cough, cough!* And Trystane Martell?" he asked.
"He's still working to get his bearings, love. Lord Tyrion and Prince Oberyn are doing all they can to show him how to be an effective Master of Laws."
"Mmm. Good."
Septa Rosyn watched the two, content on watching the King and Queen spending quality time with one another.
"And the twins?" Daveth asked.
"They were tucked in their cribs 30 minutes ago. Shae and Brienne are watching over them," Sansa answered. "Lyonel took a moment, but Cassana… she wouldn't stop crying. She misses you terribly."
'Ah, firefly…' Daveth thought, ignoring the occasional return of pain in his chest and the sudden urge to vomit.
"Daveth?"
The Young Stag looked at his wife and shook his head, still noticing that Sansa's hand was placed atop of his. "It's all right, Sansa. Just… got lost in thoughts for a moment."
"Tell me."
Daveth looked out the window, knowing that it's nighttime with only a few stars illuminating the city of King's Landing below. The King and Queen, meanwhile, also noticed a change in the wind's temperature—even as far south, they knew that the seasons had already started to change.
"All this cold breezes, the weather already beginning to turn… *cough, cough!* it makes me think when I first met you at Winterfell."
Sansa smile reminiscently. "I remember. You were so handsome."
"Am I still?"
She found that remark amusing. "Yes, dearest, you still are – no matter how many scars you get. When father told me I was to marry you… it was love at first sight. Did you feel the same way?"
Daveth repressed a discomforted groan, yet chose to reply nonetheless. "Actually… *cough, cough!* all I could think of was, 'Who is this northern girl father was so dead set on marrying me off to?'"
Sansa rolled her eyes. "Ah, Daveth. You're so charming when you try to be funny," she pouted.
"Was never one of my strong suits," he said in defense. "Still… not like I didn't understand the attraction. But… *cough!* the more time I spent with you, the… more I saw the real you lying beneath th— *cough, cough!* the surface." Daveth gently gave Sansa's hand a squeeze. "And you know what?"
"What?"
"I'm… glad, to have you as my wife. And the mother… *cough!* of my children."
Sansa smiled warmly. "I love you, Daveth. You know that, right?"
Daveth gave a week nod. "I love you t—"
After a short intimate moment, the Young Stag quickly clamped his eyes tight and groaned in pain with a loud 'Nnngah!', unintentionally applying a bit of pressure to Sansa's hand. The Wolf Queen was taken by surprise, yet wormed her fingers out of Daveth's palm as Septa Rosyn moved to the side to concoct a vial of dreamwine with a single drop of Essence of Nightshade.
"Dearest?" Sansa's voice slightly elevated.
As soon as Daveth's body ceased twitching, he gritted his teeth and groaned. "Can I… can I have some water? Please?" he asked. His throat sounded dry and hoarse.
Sansa stood and poured a cup of ice, cold water into a small cup and placed her right hand underneath Daveth's head to lift him up and brought the cup to his lips. Raising her left hand slightly, Sansa carefully observed Daveth opening his mouth to gulp down. He coughed a bit as a small stream slide down his cheek. Sansa grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped her husband's cheek. Daveth shivered slightly after feeling the cool liquid sliding down his throat.
"Thank you…" he moaned.
Septa Rosyn examined Daveth closely, handing the vial. "Take this, Your Grace. It'll help you sleep."
Daveth steadily drank the concoction, ignoring the bitter taste. "Gah! Seven hells, I hate this…"
"I know you do," Rosyn said sympathetically, "but it's for your health."
Feeling lightheaded and drowsy, Daveth slowly felt his eyelids growing heavy and before long he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. Sansa remained at Daveth's bedside, insistent on spending the night with Septa Rosyn so as to help take care of her sick husband. Rosyn didn't object, but recommended following her instructions thoroughly in the morning. Given what they've already seen, the King's condition was bound to get worse as time progressed.
Unbeknownst to them, a certain red priestess observed from a distance. Twiddling her glowing red amulet around her neck, Vaeraleah's eyes remained locked on a now-sleeping Daveth Baratheon and Sansa Stark and Septa Rosyn arranging the necessary procurements they're going to need in the morning.
"Ziry won't sagon bōsa sir (It won't be long now)," she said out of earshot. "Aderī, Daveth Barāthēon, ao'll aderī gūrēñagon bona se Āeksiot Ōño ēza kȳvana isse tistālion syt ao (Soon, Daveth Baratheon, you'll soon learn that the Lord of Light has special plans in store for you.)" Glancing down, she hummed into her amulet. "Rhaenagon se bēvilagon kȳvana. Nyke'll rhaenagon kesīr isse dārys tegorīr, ao rȳ sombāzmion zōbrie. Se ao rȳ Mīrīn. (Begin making the necessary arrangements. I'll start here in King's Landing, you at Castle Black... and you at Meereen)"
Chapter End
Author's Note: Hey guys, so here's the newest chapter including the early interaction between Tommen and Margaery as well as Daveth's ongoing medical treatment. Obviously Margaery has something in store, possibly trying to encourage Tommen to convince Daveth (once he's well enough) to "leave for personal time off". That might mean that she plots on separating the two brothers from one another. And we get to see how the Young Stag, the Black Lion, the Oathkeeper King Daveth Baratheon coping with his illness now that he's literally bed-ridden. It's nice to see how Sansa's being a devoted wife tending to her sick husband and a Septa who knows him for quite a long time… but Vaeraleah appears to be like a predator stalking her prey, intent on having Daveth getting ready for what possible future has in store. Thoughts? Let me know.
Also, I like to give a big shout out to everyone who's been sticking with me for a long time and those of you who are new to this story. Recently, "Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper" just gained more than 1,000 followers; I honestly wasn't expecting this particular Game of Thrones fanfiction to reach that milestone after I began posting it almost a year ago! It means a lot to me that you guys have been reading it and I'm glad to keep going.
Remember, one more month until Season 8 is released so be sure to leave either a hashtag #ForTheThrone or #WinterIsComing in acknowledgment! Stay tuned for more updates!
DaddyChad: #ForTheThrone
Diving in: I really like your oc Daveth, he has as much flaws as he has qualities, it makes him more human like, more real if it makes sense? Anyways great story, update soon please!
Poseidon3000: good fic
—Thanks
xx. az. xx: Kinda not a very important question but, why does Daveth call Cassana firefly?
—Just a nickname Daveth gave his daughter; most parents today tend to give their kids any sort of nicknames.
C.E.W: I hope Daveth gets better soon, if Daveth dies then the unity of the Seven Kingdoms could die with him. Or if the Sparrows interfere now, then Daveth will be too weak to stop them. The Sparrows are fanatics in the Faith of the Seven, they afraid that Sansa Stark who is from the North might get the Crown to turn away from the Seven. The High Sparrow is looking for any excuse to interfere in the affairs of the crown. The damage that they can cause could break the unity of the Seven Kingdoms that Daveth worked so hard to achieve. If the unity of the Seven Kingdoms dies, then Daenerys could acquire the support she needs to invade Westeros to take the Iron Throne.
Hear My Fury: Alright that's it. Have the Sparrows deal with the Tyrells then. Have Margaery go through what Cersei went through and break her for usurping Daveth's rightful throne. Hope Vaeraleah cures Daveth and he blows up at the Tyrells and banishes them from King's Landing.
Shark: No way Margery and Olenna could be stupid enough to try and take the throne from Daveth. He has most of the loyalty of the 7 kindgoms. Plus he has heirs, two in fact. However I can't wait for Daveth to meet Daenerys
Moshi: Is Margaery that desperate to be Queen? Good grief, does she even think? Lyonel is heir, she going to poison a child? It would evoke much wrath, unfortunately, she's not as beloved as the Wolf Queen and Daveth as well as Sansa are more cunning than she thinks. Plus there is Myrcella to tend with.
Hope Daveth convalescents at the capitol just to fuck with Margaery's plans.
—Margaery is quite an ambitious, cunning woman.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
—Thanks
mitchn: First of all, congratulations! Second, Do you think Olenn knows what Margaery is doing, because I would have thought she told her to leave well enough alone? Especially since House Tyrell has a somewhat shaky relation with Daveth. The last thing they want is for him to conscript Loras to the knights guard if they anger him. Also true Margaery is a gold digger, but it is obvious she loves her family ( her grandmother, her brother at least) and I can't see her endangering their safety for even more power.
—Thanks! The Tyrells do have a strong familial bond and is an unofficial matriarchy, so it's possible that Olenna knows what her granddaughter's doing. In that case, we might see them as a cross between the Starks and the Lannisters. Powerful Tyrells tend to sometimes jest that they're trying to underplay their greedy nature in favor of a generous, kind reputation matched only by their sharp, protective thorns (i.e., the sigil of their house). Cunning in court politics and ruthless when their loved ones are in danger.
Silent Wolf Singer: I don't know who to be cautious with, Margaery or Vaelareah.
Get well soon, Daeveth!
10868letsgo: Please tell me he will live!
The Last Kenpachi: Aaaand Tommen's an idiot. How long until Daveth starts bleeding from his eye sockets?