Zhea
Zhea spent the entire time on Dragonstone in only two rooms: hers and the Princess's. At mealtimes, food mysteriously appeared in her room, and her chamberpot was emptied when she was with Shireen, so there was never any risk of running into another person. Soldiers escorted her to and from her room, leaving Zhea no windows to escape. She thought if she could sneak downstairs and somehow grapple down the side of the cliff, swimming to the mainland would be a piece of cake. And maybe Zhea was being a little arrogant, but she was getting desperate. Ser Davos was her only ally and he rarely came to visit her. The Princess was happy with the arrangement and never truly grasped how Zhea felt until their last night together.
Stannis Baratheon had successfully kept any outside information out of reach from Zhea. It was months before she even found out Renly had left the capital and started his own campaign for the Iron Throne. Zhea had her twenty-third name-day on the lousy island and received a parcel from Oberyn. Bitter that the man did not promise any rescue and was not bargaining for her life, she did not open it until the next night when Shireen begged her. Zhea relented and peeled back the parchment to find a beautiful YiTish dress made of the finest silk, embroidered with black designs that stood out on the red fabric. At the princess's insistence (she was catching on to the fact Zhea couldn't refuse her), she tried it on. The neckline was high, the body was form-fitting, and it ended just before her knee, but there was a slit that ran up the side of her thigh so she could move freely. She loved it.
"Where did he get this?" wondered Shireen, in awe of the gift.
"Yeah," mused Zhea. "Where did he?" The question of where he got the dress made of expensive material troubled Zhea for longer than she cared to admit, but she kept it safe during the rest of her stay in Dragonstone, even wearing it when she wanted to see Shireen smile extra brightly.
It was noon when Zhea was called upon by Shireen. The guards knocked on her door loudly, startling her out of her daze, and announced she was to be ready in five minutes. After so long on Dragonstone, Zhea had become accustomed to the ritual. She zipped up the dress Oberyn sent her, thinking it fitting to wear it since she was going to be lecturing about YiTi, and opened the door for the guards. Just as they did every time she wore the dress, they froze and stared at her before looking away like they did nothing.
"Let's go." Zhea walked past them up the stairs and knocked at Shireen's door.
The beaming princess whipped open the door immediately. Shireen waved to the guards and pulled Zhea in, cooing over the dress she had seen many times before.
"Are we finally learning about YiTi?" She asked, jumping slightly.
Zhea felt she could be open like she was in Winterfell. She was outside the game for the time being and would allow herself to relax. Zhea pushed the girl towards her seat. "Let's begin."
Zhea taught Shireen about the oldest and richest civilization in the world, beginning with the God-on-Earth, moving on to the Pearl Emperor and his successors, then the Golden Empire, and ending with the present-day emperor Bu Gai. It was a long lesson, but they would divide it later so they could study each part in depth.
"Princess, who was I named after?" Zhea noticed Shireen was beginning to zone out and lose focus. "Then we'll be done, and I will answer any question you want."
"You were named after a woman from Jogos Nhai," Shireen answered, hesitantly. At Zhea's encouraging nod, Shireen continued. "She united her people to defeat… Lo Bu who was slaughtering millions of Jogos Nhai and killed him."
"Yes, she stripped him of his flesh and dipped his skull in gold so she could drink from it and remember her victory," grinned Zhea. "You did good, Princess."
Shireen sat up a little straighter, more awake than she was before, and asked, "Do you miss the North?"
Zhea swallowed thickly and looked away. "Yes." She noticed that Shireen was just as interested in her life with the Starks as she was in her life in Essos. "It was my home."
"What about Prince Oberyn in Dorne?"
"I miss him as well, but, to be honest, I spent more time with the Starks than I did the Martells. Although, everyone still called me Martell," chuckled Zhea, remembering Theon and Robb teasing her. "Prince Oberyn was kind enough to bring me to Westeros, I just wish he had been cruel enough to keep me in Dorne with him."
Shireen fell silent and watched her hands playing with the pages of the book another tutor had given her. She wavered visibly, resisting the urge to ask about Dorne, before asking another question.
"Do you like it here?" Shireen asked. "Are you happy?"
Zhea sighed, despising the question. "My lady, if your father or Ser Davos was in danger, and you knew if you could just get to them you could save them." She reached out a hand and made a fist as if physically reaching for the capital but falling short. "But you couldn't because you're trapped . Princess, would you be happy?"
"I suppose not," she said sullenly, trying to understand where Zhea was coming from. "But I like having you here."
"Trust me, I love being with you. But it doesn't take away the fact that I am a prisoner here. Your father hasn't even visited since sentencing me."
Zhea returned to her room and fell onto her bed. She traced patterns on the drab sheets and imagined what it would be like if Ned never died before drifting asleep. Knocking at the door woke her from dreams of funerals and stags running from wolves, and she lit a candle as Ser Davos entered the room.
"My lady," he said in a whisper. "Follow me and grab your things."
Zhea grabbed her cloak, thankful that she had fallen asleep fully clothed, and strapped her dagger to her leg. She pulled a thin gown over herself to cover the dress and used her hair to cover the fancier, higher neckline. Zhea wrapped the cloak around herself, pulled her hood over her head, and followed Davos down the stairs.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"It's no longer safe for you here," Davos told her solemnly. "The Red Woman whispers things in Stannis's ear and he doesn't see how it is corrupting him."
"The witches of Asshai are powerful beings," cautioned Zhea. "I'm sure the Red Witch is no different."
"Do you speak High Valyrian?"
"Aye."
"'Ziry ēdruta sagon zaltan.' Can you tell me what that means?"
"She must be burned," translated Zhea, wincing at Ser Davos's pronunciation. "A common way of saying meaning to be cleansed by the fires or R'hllor."
"It means you aren't safe here," Ser Davos nodded. They rounded a corner to find the Princess waiting for them. "Say your goodbyes. Quickly now."
Shireen hugged Zhea tightly and slipped something into her hand. "It's to remember me on your journeys," she whispered.
Zhea looked to see the white knight chess piece with a choppy "S.B." engraved into the bottom. She kissed the Princess's cheeks and forehead and thanked her, before dashing out of the tower with Davos. He led her along the docks to a ship whose sails were plain and was waiting in the darkness.
"Renly Baratheon has stolen many of Stannis's bannermen," explained Davos as they walked. "I managed to get you a ride on a passing ship–here." He handed her the rest of her weapons. "Go on. Stay safe now."
Zhea smiled and hugged the knight before attaching the rest of her weapons and boarding the ship. The moment she touched the deck, men began raising the sails and hauling the anchor as if she was merely cargo–an errand they had to run before reaching their final destination.
The trip was long and arduous, and Zhea spent most of it in her cabin to avoid the suspicious stares of the sailors. She knew it looked strange that she leaving Dragonstone in the middle of the night, but Zhea didn't dwell on it. It was a four-day journey and when they reached land Zhea was the first one off the ship. She waited impatiently for the rest of the men to unload the food and drink before traveling to Storm's End where Renly was having a tourney to celebrate his marriage to Margaery Tyrell.
The bannermen and Zhea arrived at the camp mid-afternoon. It looked like preparations were still being made for the tournament, but most of the noblemen and women had shown up. Before she could jump off the wagon, the men grabbed Zhea by her cloak and pulled her close to their stinking bodies. She struggled while they laughed and tightened their hold.
"Do ye take us fer fools? Why should 'e let a spy o' Stannis into our king's camp?"
They cackled to themselves while Zhea shifted so they couldn't feel the swords she had on her back, but it was no use. They tore off her cloak and groped her, searching for weapons.
"I was his prisoner!" argued the woman as the hands began grabbing. "Why would I be his spy?"
"Likely story!" The men shoved her away from them and back into the wagon, pushing her into the hold of the men who rode in the rear. They chained her wrists and threw her from the wagon into the mud, pulling on her bindings and forcing her to follow them on foot. The noblemen and handmaidens snickered at her haughtily, presuming the worst.
"What is this?" she asked when they stopped in front of a tent, slightly separated from the rest of the camp.
They threw her into the tent and pulled the chain holding her hands over a crossbeam, forcing her onto the tips of her toes. Her weapons were tossed in the corner and her gown was torn. One good kick to her would send her flying, no doubt, and Zhea was worried that they might try it. To her surprise, the men left her suspended for the rest of the night, coming in once to splash their dinners over her and taunt her. They even pulled their swords out and poked her with them just for a laugh.
The next morning, Zhea squinted at the line of sunlight that shone through the entrance and into her eyes. She wiggled her fingers to see if she could feel them, but they were completely numb. Zhea thought waiting for the men to return was the worst part, but that was until Renly's Kingsguard barged into the tent loudly and began running their hands along her body. Zhea was not shapely. She held a slim, curveless, and unattractive figure, and men didn't want that. They wanted something they could grab onto and squeeze, something Zhea was never more grateful to lack.
"Who are you?" they demanded brashly after realizing she didn't have tits they could bury their faces in.
Zhea eyed their virgin armor, gold plated with a brown cloak, and their arrogant faces. They had the eyes of men who had seen no battle–young, foolish, and greedy.
"Untie me and take me to your king," she demanded in a hoarse voice. Zhea winced at her lack of authority and was embarrassed for not seeing this coming.
"Why should we?" the second, younger one snorted. "The bannermen who arrived told us you were a spy for Stannis."
"Lies," she snapped. "I know your king. I knew him before he was one."
"Sure you did," the men laughed again and pulled her towards them. "We'll take you to him after we've had our fun."
Zhea struggled against their wandering hands and tried to kick them, but their armor protected them and they just seemed amused. She spat in the larger one's face when he came to take off her cloak. The man froze, wiped the spit off his face, and backhanded her hard enough to throw her against her chains.
"Ugh, that's going to bruise," she groaned before freezing up when he grabbed her face.
"You whore." He tugged the neckline of the second dress down to reveal the much nicer one. "Which noble lord bought you this pretty thing?"
Zhea cussed. She should've left it behind. Shireen would've taken care of it.
"What in the Seven Hells is going on here?"
Zhea looked over the men's shoulders and nearly smiled. She could scarcely see his face from the sun hitting his back, but the crown on his head said everything.
"Your Grace," the men said, releasing her and kneeling.
Zhea laughed triumphantly. "I would kneel as well, but…" she looked up to where she was suspended.
"You two, outside," Renly ordered. "Wait for me. Ser Loras, a hand?" The King stepped inside the tent and was swiftly followed by the Knight of the Flowers.
He made no motion of recognizing Zhea, but he held her still as Renly unchained her. Zhea fell limp into Loras's arms once she was free and whimpered at the chaffing the cuffs did to her wrists.
"How long have you been here?" Renly asked as she struggled to regain her footing.
Leaning heavily against Loras, she rasped, "A day. Some late arriving bannermen brought me in but didn't let me go. Please my weapons."
"Your Grace, she should rest and eat," Loras suggested.
"Of course," Renly nodded. "See to it she is safe."
Zhea walked arm in arm with Ser Loras Tyrell out of the tent and past the Kingsguards who groped her. On their way to get Zhea food, they passed the bannermen frozen at the sight of Ser Loras helping their prisoner across camp...
"Ser Loras," she whispered, pointing at the men with their mouths hanging open. "Those are the men…"
Before she finished her sentence, Loras sent the guards who were trailing behind them to take them, with a wave of his hand and continued walking without a second glance.
"I remember you," Loras began as they approached the finer area of the camp. There was slightly less manure and the people who walked around were clothed in finer robes. The tents were larger and beheld banners and sigils signifying who resided where.
"You were at the Tourney of the Hand and you sat next to Renly," he continued. They fell silent from concentration as they entered a tent across from the King's and she fell onto the cot provided. Loras took a bowl of soup and a piece of bread from a remaining guard and shooed him out. He took a knee in front of her.
"Yes," Zhea said, taking a bite out of the bread and sipping the stew. "And you're King Renly's special Kingsguard."
He scowled at the insinuation but did not deny it. Loras left Zhea alone so she could finish her stew and bread but was given no time to rest when Renly walked in and pulled the chair from the desk provided. Behind him followed a woman with a matching crown. Her long brown hair fell in subtle curls down her back, and her face was sharp and regal.
Queen Margaery was a beauty; she wore a low-cut blue dress with a pale cloak draped over her delicate shoulders.
"Your Graces," Zhea bowed her head.
"Zhea, it's so good to see you again," Renly said, taking her hand in his. "What happened to you after you left King's Landing?"
Although exhausted, Zhea told him her tale of being Stannis's prisoner and Shireen's tutor before escaping and becoming another prisoner.
"That explains the bruise," Queen Margaery mused from behind her husband. "We'll get a maester to tend to you once you've had your rest."
"Thank you, you have been generous." Turning to Renly, "Thank you for saving me. I don't know how you knew I was there."
Renly shook his head. "Think nothing of it. There was talk of a foreign slave being dragged through the camp, and I was honor bound to investigate the claim to see if any slaves were being brought into my camp. I'm just glad I got there when I did–don't worry those guards will be stripped of their titles and punished accordingly."
Zhea bowed her head grateful and fell back on the cot. The pair left the tent and Zhea closed her eyes hoping she might dream of being back in YiTi. If she was being honest, the lesson with Shireen made her homesick. More so than ever, her dreams of Whitehabor and sailing across the Narrow Sea are at the forefront of her mind.
The next day Queen Margaery met Zhea at her tent so they could have a turn about the camp. Ser Loras walked on the other side of the Queen acting as her guard and as a confidant.
"I'm so glad to have another girl around here," Margaery said kindly. "The handmaidens are kind, but they're reduced to simpers too quickly. I like an active mind."
Zhea nodded. "It's been so long since I've had the company of another woman," Zhea smiled, patting Margaery's hand that was resting in the crook of her elbow sweetly. So this was the strategy Margaery used. Zhea could do that. "It's been nothing but men for months for me."
"How awful," grinned the Queen.
Zhea normally kept her wandering mind at bay by fiddling with the ring she made or memorizing the lines on the chess piece Shireen gave her, but today she watched Margaery. The woman walked with a grace she had never seen before. She was confident, bold, ambitious, and beautiful and Zhea struggled to keep her eyes off her figure.
"I was wondering if I could borrow a dress or two during my stay," Zhea said, looking back at her hands, curbing the dangerous path her thoughts were taking. "I only have the one Oberyn gave me and the ripped one I wore over it."
Margaery squeezed her elbow. "Of course. Anything you want here is yours. Dresses, ravens, you name it!"
Ravens. Zhea forgot all about sending word to Robb and the girls. She let her mood drop when she realized this and then once again when she remembered Sansa and Arya's position. The message would never make it past Cersei.
"Yes, I need to send a raven to Robb in Winterfell," she said. Margaery held her back and spun in front of her. Zhea's face took on one of concern. "What is it?"
"Oh, you don't know," said Margaery. "Robb has been declared King in the North. He's at war with the Lannisters in the Riverlands. They have Jaime Lannister as their prisoner."
Zhea was reduced to a statue again. She wasn't sure how much more stress she could take from this family. "It makes sense," Zhea said weakly. "He has every right to." But those words did not settle the storm in herself. "If you don't mind I would still like to send a few ravens."
"Of course," Margaery said. "I'll have a squire escort you to them later tonight."
"Thank you."
Zhea left Loras and Margaery to finish their stroll as she returned to her tent and began penning a letter to Robb. She went through sheets and sheets of paper but she could not think of what to say. The thought of greeting him casually sent her into a fit of giggles, but greeting him solemnly did the same. No, she could not do anything on either side; she must find a middle ground. At last, she finished her letter and read it back to herself. Pleased, she signed her name and sealed it, promising to take it tomorrow.
Zhea looked outside her tent and noticed it was dark. She figured she spent a while on the letter after getting lost on her way back to her tent so it was no surprise. Right now the only people still up were the soldiers drinking in revelry together and probably Loras and Renly going at each other. Zhea's thoughts turned to Margaery and deep brown eyes and decided to visit her.
She passed the men passing around a horn of ale and telling stories, then the tent where no guards should be standing and knew all her previous assumptions were right.
Zhea slipped into the tent a few down from Renly's and grinned to herself at the sight of Margaery in a nightgown penning letters.
"Zhea, I wasn't expecting to see you here," she said, surprised at the intruder. She gestured to the pitcher of wine and cluster of glasses on a table. "Help yourself."
Zhea poured herself a hefty glass and sipped it as she approached Margaery. She noticed how the woman stiffened slightly when she leaned in to look over her shoulder.
"What are you writing?" Zhea asked, leaning back against the desk.
Margaery put down her pen and turned slightly to face her. "I'm writing to my grandmother. She's asking how Renly and I have been."
"Olenna Tyrell," Zhea mused. "Are you sure she's not asking how you've been putting the men to work? Or what you've been doing with all her money?"
"Oh no, my grandmother has other people to tell her that," teased the Queen. "I just write to her about the fun stuff."
"Oh let me guess. A woman won the tourney against Ser Loras," Zhea counted on her fingers, "a foreign woman claiming to be Stannis's prisoner turned up, and we're all out of Dornish wine!"
"Mock all you want," Margaery laughed. She grew solemn. "I knew Renly hasn't been doing much fighting yet, but he's just strategizing. He's not hot-headed like his brother or a natural-born soldier like the other. He listens to his advisors."
Zhea said nothing and eyed the Queen as she spoke. If she was being completely honest the sight of Margaery in her dressing gown has been very distracting for her.
"Zhea," the Queen said in a warning voice as the YiTish's gaze lingered too long on her. "I'm the Queen. I'm married."
Zhea rolled her eyes. "It's a little fun," she urged. "Your husband seems to do just fine without you. I heard you're still a virgin." She continued at Margaery's smirking face. "Officially that is."
"That has nothing to do with you," she said getting up and poking Zhea with her pen.
"Fine, then we can just talk," Zhea pushed herself off the edge of the desk and strode over to the spare table. The legs of the chairs sunk into the ground making it more laborious that Zhea expected to drag it to Margaery. "What was like life in Highgarden?"
Brienne
Brienne arrived at the camp days earlier with her father. The Lord of the Saphire Isles made sure his daughter was satisfied before leaving to speak to the other lords and ladies of the court. Brienne was grateful to her father for everything he's done for her. It's not every lord who trains his daughter in sword fighting, but Lord Selwyn Tarth was a realistic man. He knew that all of the betrothals for Brienne had failed for a reason and that a woman on her own in the world was a dangerous thing. By letting Briennel learn how to defend himself he's telling her he loves her.
All of the faces blended together as Brienne walked throughout the camp. She was searching for someone she hasn't seen in a very long time. Brienne didn't want to admit to herself she loved Renly, even though she knew it. She felt pitiful that she fell in love with the only man who treated her kindly.
Unable to find the King, Brienne decided that she would return to her tent and sharpen her sword, and that was what she did, for days at a time, Sure Brienne trained while she was awaiting the start of the tournament, but it wasn't against an opponent. Her father visited her once or twice to make sure she was eating and staying healthy, but Brienne stayed in her tent.
Until the night before the Tournament start. The voices were loud as they kicked off the first day of festivities, and Brienne thought she might as well have a mug if only to drown out the sound. With a mug of ale in her, she might sleep sounder before she fought. Brienne was in line for her mug when she saw a lady with Ser Loras.
The woman made Brienne feel like a giant. She wore a black cloak over a green dress. Brienne followed her movements carefully as she grabbed the mug that was larger than her and took a sip. Such grace for the indelicate activity. Brienne looked down at the man who held out a mug of freshly poured ale.
"Thanks." Brienne grabbed it and began walking over to the woman. In the firelight, Brienne could see her face better and noticed she was foreign. How strange. "My lady," she said, bowing her head slightly.
The woman stood alone, as Loras left to speak to other comrades.
"Hello," she greeted in her strange accent. "Who might I have the pleasure of meeting?"
"My lady, I am Brienne of Tarth." Brienne puffed out her chest proudly.
Zhea looked at her, impressed with her presence. "Pleasure. I am Zhea of YiTi, King Renly's guest. Will you be competing in the tournament tomorrow?"
"No my lady." Brienne nodded to the unusual weapon on her waist. "And you?"
Zhea smiled tartly, "No, my rope dart is only for my enemies." She spotted something over Brienne's shoulder. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Brienne."
And before she could correct her, Zhea walked around her. Brienne followed her movements and saw she met up with the Queen. There was something about the way that Zhea touched Margaery's arm that made Brienne uneasy. Did Renly's wife even love him?
Fatigue weighed her arms down as she swung at the other knight. Barely able to lift her legs, Brienne dodged a swing from his mace and ducked behind her shield. Holding the guard in front of her face Brienne snuck a glance at Renly. He sat regally as ever looking on with a smile that told her he was entertained sufficiently. Next to him his queen, Margaery of Highgarden stood in a low-cut dress cheering on her brother who hit Brienne again. Brienne pushed back and struck him in the legs and ran under his arm. From behind Brienne struck his back and tackled his legs, throwing him to the ground. Brienne whipped open his face guard and unsheathed a blade.
It was the last day of the King's Tourney, and Brienne was in the finals. She was proud of herself for fighting well against the other knights, and she knew her father was proud too. He told her himself the night he left for the Isles.
"Yield!" came the immediate response from Loras. "I yield."
Brienne released the knight and stood up from her spot on the ground.
"Well fought! Approach," Renly called to the knight.
Brienne approached the king, took a knee, and stayed silent. All of the spectators were quiet, curious to see who bested Ser Loras.
"Rise," Renly said. "Remove your helm." Brienne lifted the piece off her head and pressed her lips together as the crowd murmured in surprise. "You are all your father promised and more my lady. I've seen Ser Loras bested once or twice but… never quite in that fashion."
Brienne nodded tightly. She looked at his wife and was surprised when she saw Zhea sitting beside her. She was visibly armed and wore a dress that looked as if had been altered recently as she lacked what the queen had.
"Now, now my love," Margaery countered kindly. "My brother fought valiantly for you."
The two gazed at each other lovingly–Brienne wanted to die–and Renly responded, "That he did my queen, but there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth, you may ask anything of me you desire. If it is within my power, it is yours."
Brienne, standing proudly before her king, did not hesitate one moment before kneeling again and asking for a place in his Kingsguard.
"Done! Rise, Brienne of the Kingsguard." Renly was eager in appointing her to his Kingsguard and clapped as she rose.
Zhea nodded to her and clapped along until Lady Catelyn was brought before Renly. A startled look crossed Zhea's face and she frowned slightly before regaining her composure.
Catelyn nodded to Zhea and turned to King Renly. "Lord of Winterfell and King in the North," she corrected the soldier's announcement of her son.
"Lady Catelyn, I'm pleased to see you," Renly said heartfeltly. "May I present my wife Margaery of House Tyrell.
"You are very welcome here Lady Stark. I'm so sorry for your loss" Margary said.
"You are most kind."
Renly continued, "And of course our guest you are all too familiar with."
Catelyn nodded. "Yes, Zhea."
"Lady Stark," Zhea, as Brienne now knew her, replied.
"My lady, I swear to you I will see the Lannisters answer for your husband's murder," Renly said solemnly. "When I take King's Landing I will bring you Joffrey's head."
The men cheered loudly at the statement and Brienne looked around, proud that her king could rally their love. He would make a fine king.
"It will be enough to know that justice was done my lord," Catelyn said.
"Your Grace," Brienne interrupted. "And you should kneel when you approach the king."
"There is no need for that. Lady Stark is an honored guest," Renly reproached lightly.
Brienne nodded and took a step back, slighted.
"Has your son marched against Tywin Lannister yet," Loras asked insolently.
"I do not sit on my son's war counsels. And if I did, I would not share his strategies with you." Catelyn did not even turn to look at the knight she was addressing. Clearly, she thought herself better than them, Brienne thought to herself.
"If Robb Stark wants a pact with us he should come himself," Loras said impudently. "Not hide behind his mother's skirts."
"My son is fighting a war, not playing at one." This caused a slight outcry at the accusation among the crowd. Brienne tried not to scoff at the lady and stood solemnly as her king descended the steps.
Brienne followed the king out of the melee pit and through the camp, though she did not possess a sword. She tried not to listen in on their conversation as they rounded a bend and ran into a stable keeper. Renly and his spoke briefly and Catelyn made another remark but Brienne started in the distance. She wondered who that lady was and why she was sitting with Margaery at Renly's side.
Margaery
She had never felt so sexually frustrated since she was a teenager at Highgarden. Margaery had no idea the affect Zhea would have on her, but as she watched her figure leave her tent for the night she felt the butterflies in her stomach again. That fluttering sensation that started in her belly and spread lower to between her legs. That heat that she felt when she was alone at night. Margaery never knew she could want a woman the way Loras loves men.
Zhea had made it very clear to her that she wasn't looking for a commitment. She also told Margaery, when she began to worry, that woman could feel towards men and woman equally-something that Margaery identified with strongly now. When she thought about the romps Zhea might've had before her, Margaery grew jealous, a new feeling. She was jealous that all these other men and woman might've had a chance at knowing Zhea's body and she never would because of what she said that first night.
In the beginning, Margaery promised herself she wouldn't let herself get attached to Zhea and made this clear to her. After all Zhea wasn't going to be staying with them as they left Storm's End. She was leaving to support Robb Stark, that much was made certain from the appearance of Catelyn Stark. Margaery jsut hoped that she would have the chance to sleep with her before she left.
The night ended with Margaery finishing herself to the thought of Zhea, a growing reoccurance and the morning began with the same thing, new.
"You've been brighter as of late, sister," Loras said cautiously. "If I may inquire–"
"You may not," countered Margaery sharply. The two siblings looked at each other, amused. They both knew that sooner or later she would confess what was on her mind.
"Did you know," Loras brushed off, passing men from the capital, "Littlefinger has arrived from the South?"
"Has he?"
"Yes, I can't tell if Renly is irritated or happy that he's here," Loras mused. "All we know for certain is that he followed Catelyn Stark here. Seven hells, if he won't just move on."
Margaery laughed and nodded politely to handmaidens who passed them.
"Grandmother wrote to me," Margaery said slyly.
"Yes, she did me as well," Loras sighed. "I am a member of the Kingsguard. I don't have time for marriage."
"If you think I brought this up to scold you, think again," Margaery said breezily. "I was just wondering what she said to you."
"The usual, keep the king safe, but don't try too hard, and keep the family name out of the mud, but be able to return home to make the future of House Tyrell."
"Grandmother just wants the best," protested Margaery. "At least someone has to keep Highgarden together while we're gone. We both know Father is hopeless."
"Unfortunately," Loras sighed. "So, what are you going to do about your crush?"
"Probably nothing, hopefully everything."
"That's my sister."
note: In case you didn't know or were pronouncing it wrong in your head, Zhea's name is two syllables. Zhe-ah, like Rhea and NOT like Shea.