Just to make it clear, since I know some of you aren't to trusting of Margaery: she isn't lying when she says she doesn't want to marry for politics or social standing anymore. Thanks for the favs/follows/reviews, they really make my day. Expect an update on Thursday/Friday.

Chapter Five

Daenerys

The feast went well, Varys was right, it was the perfect way for Jon to consolidate the people's love for him. The people of Kind's Landing had screamed themselves hoarse at their king's coronation the next day, and lit candles all around the city, displaying their love for their Targaryen king—though some had thron rice from their windows, symbolising snow, which had thoroughly angered Daenerys. I will have to do one of my own when I return to Mereen. Slowly, Daenerys had begun to accept that she was extremely unlikely to sit the Iron Throne. Much to her surpise, though, she had found that she harboured no hard feelings towards Jon for taking it from her, only irritation that she had spent so long vying for it, when she could've remained in Pentos, in the house with the red door, and Viserys, before he went hungry for power. No, if I hadn't come here, then Jon would've never have known of his heritage, and I would've never had my dragons. Daenerys walked purposefully towards the chambers of Sansa Stark, with her two bloodriders and six Unsullied behind her. I should've taken to ten, that would scare her. What Daenerys had really wanted to do, was bring Drogon with her, but the dragon was much to big to be brought inside the throne room with its high ceiling, never mind Sansa's chamber.

"Does Khaleesi wish for blood of her blood to knock?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Daenerys strode inside, finding Lady Margaery braiding Sansa's hair, while the two giggled.

Another one I need to speak to, Daenerys hadn't liked the way Margaery had been looking at her nephew at the feast, or how long she'd spent dancing with him, either.

"Your Grace," Sansa said hurriedly, jumping to her feet, eyeing the Unsullied soldiers nervously, while Margaery only smiled and performed a small curtsy.

"Mother of Dragons," Margaery said smoothly.

"Lady Sansa, it's nice to see you smiling. And always a pleasure, Margaery."

"Er—thank you—"

"I believe it's Princess Sansa, right?" Margaery interrupted.

At the coronation, much to Dany's displeasure, Jon had also named Sansa and any other of his remaining Stark cousins Prince's and Princess' and Daenerys Queen of Slaver's Bay, to be referred to as either: Your Grace, my Queen, or Mother of Dragons.

I will definitely have to get rid of this one.

"Only for those of lower station than her," Daenerys replied silkily.

"Oh, yes, my mistake."

"I hear your father and brother set sail for Highgarden yesterday," Daenerys commented. "Didn't you wish to go home, too?"

"I did, but His Grace asked me to stay longer," Margaery answered sweetly. "To keep Princess Sansa company."

"I'm sure you could've kept Lady Sansa company in Highgarden by bringing her with you. It is not as if either of you have any business in King's Landing any longer."

"I never thought of that," the girl said. "I will ask His Grace next time I see him."

"You need not bother," Daenerys said. "I'll tell him."

"If Jon—His Grace does not want me here, I will be happy to return to Winterfell," Sansa said quickly.

"No, no, the castle is only half built, the King wouldn't want you staying there as yet," no matter how much I insist.

"Would you care to join us, Queen Daenerys?" Margaery asked. "I'm showing Princess Sansa some of our Southern hairdo's, though I'm sure she'd agree that we'd much prefer for you to teach us how you do yours," Margaery stepped forward, taking a strand of Daenerys' hair in her fingers. "It is always so pretty."

"Maybe another time," Dany moved back. "I'd like to speak with Lady Sansa privately."

"Of course, Queen Daenerys," Margaery curtsied once more before gliding from the room, making sure to hand out a few of her pretty little smiles to the soldiers by the door as she left. Daenerys was happy to see that none of her Unsullied paid any mind to the dimpled smile, nor her bloodriders.

"I apologise for Lady Margaery's behaviour, she forgets herself sometimes, Your Grace," Sansa said, keeping her eyes firmly planted on the ground.

"Lady Margaery will apologise for her own behaviour in time," Daenerys said breezily. "I am here to discuss you."

"Me, Your Grace?" The girl squeaked.

"I am watching you, Sansa, and I do not buy your innocence act, so I'm warning you, Jon may have named you princess but I am Queen, and if you step even toe out of line, Drogon will feast on your pretty little eyes, and burn your pretty little dresses. Am I understood?"

"Y-Yes Your Grace."

"Good. I'll be leaving one of my Unsullied here with you. As protection. You can never be too safe, Sansa."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Good bye, Sansa," Daenerys smiled, and left, ordering Dry Sand to remain with the princess.

First, play with the dragons, then find the Tyrell girl and warn her away from my nephew.

III

Margaery

That was so stupid of me, Margaery berated herself as she walked through the gardens. If only grandmother was here, she could tell me how to behave with this Dragon Queen. Margaery didn't know why she'd tried to snub the Daenerys, it was in her nature—and her training—to be polite and courteous to those of higher status than her. Especially when she was currently person non grata—I will have to change that while I'm here, visit a few of those orphans, maybe ask Jon if he could come too, we could have so much fun. We could even bring Ghost, the kids love his direwolf. Despite what many around court thought, Margaery was not out to charm and seduce the new King. Not only was the notion stupid, as Margaery knew the King's council would never approve of the match, but Margaery had already promised herself that from now on, she was done charming those she didn't truly love. I deserve to marry for love, and I can as well, grandmother can use my brothers to make political matches, I am going to marry for myself, whether it is a king or a pauper. Plus, Jon is only a friend, we both know that no marriage could ever occur between the two of us.

III

Jon

Almost a month had passed since Jon's coronation, and the new King was pleased for many reasons. My kingsguard has arrived, Rickon, Shaggywolf and the woman he was travelling with are only days away, Winterfell is only weeks from being fully built, and Mace Tyrell has gifted me with eighty of his ships, which means Daenerys can finally set sail for Dragonstone. Jon suspected Lord Tyrell had only given away so many of his ships so easily because he thought Jon was courting Margaery. Jon did like Margaery, more than he liked any other girl he'd met—excusing Daenerys and Arya of course—and found her company, when she wasn't hiding under that charming facade of hers, enchanting and fun. But he'd already been warned by his entire small council, even Littlefinger before the man had set sail for the Vale, that the notion was silly. Daenerys had encouraged Jon to marry someone Dornish, and Tyrion and Varys had both agreed with this. And although Jon knew this, it didn't stop him from seeking out Margaery's company at least twice a week, or promising that he'd go with her to Highgarden when she left, and return with her father for the man to assume his position as Master of Ships. She is so interesting, much more so than those silly girls that had been sent from Casterly Rock the other week. Why their fathers thought he would ever marry anyone even distantly related to a Lannister, Jon had no idea.

"Daenerys," Jon said upon sight of his aunt, and her bloodriders. "I hear you and Princess Sansa spent the afternoon together last month."

"Is that so?" She asked.

Jon had considerably widened his spy network, and found it exciting that he now knew the going on's of nearly everyone in the castle. Although, it took far too long for word to reach him than he would've liked.

"Yes. And that you insulted the Princess and her friend, Lady Margaery, whose father is the reason you're finally getting the chance to sail to Dragonstone."

"I only threatened the girl," Daenerys said playfully. "I worry about you and wanted to make sure she was no threat to your safety, once I leave."

"Right," he rolled his eyes. "Well leave her alone from now on."

"I have, haven't I?"

"And Lady Margaery, too."

"Don't worry, threats won't work with her, she knows her father is too important for us to have as an ally. No, I'll be that one's friend."

She probably sees right through you, dear aunt. "Good. Where are you off to?"

"An orphanage with your sweet Lady Margaery."

"Oh?"

"She frequents them often, so I go to make sure she's saying what I want her to say."

Oh yes, that's how she won King's Landing before, befriending the orphans. Dany need not worry, I normally go with her, or after her, with food and presents and stories of the North and the Wall.

"Your natural suspicion seems to have increased these past months," Jon laughed.

"You'll thank me for it later," she smiled. "Oh, and I have received word from Ser Jorah, he found Ser Barristan."

"Yes?"

"They spent the first days arguing, I threatened to dismiss both of them, and now it seems they've found Arya."

Jon calmed himself, do not get too excited, it could be any girl. "Where?"

"With the Faceless Men. It seems she wants to become one."

"What?"

"From what Barristan says, she wishes to stay with them, but Jorah claims that they'll have her on a ship within the week."

Arya is well, Arya is safe . . . Sansa, Rickon and Arya . . . Arya is safe and coming back to me.

"They say that after mentioning you missed her was what made her begin to change her mind. I am glad this one seems to care for you as you do her."

"Oh, Dany, thank you," Jon drew her into a tight hug, which startled the woman.

"Jon," she said. "I would do anything for you. What are aunties for?"

Jon laughed. "And I, you."

"I was also speaking with Varys earlier," Daenerys said as they neared the courtyard where Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal were kept. "He tells me that you rejected several girls sent here last week and continue to visit Lady Margaery's chambers each night."

Jon stiffened; he knew rumours were now rife what with more and more people arriving at court now that the kingsroad was safe, and he knew that should be enough to stop him from continuing to visit Margaery's room, or gallivanting around Flea Bottom with her each week with Ghost. I haven't even let Sansa play with him yet. But he couldn't, Margaery was Jon's friend, and he hadn't had many of those since he left the Wall, except Tyrion; and he wasn't prepared to lose any. Anyways, she keeps Sansa happy, the two spend nearly every day in one another's company.

"You make it sound much less innocent than it was."

"So you have been frequenting her chambers."

"Only so I can escort her to wherever we've decided to go."

"You know you can't marry her."

"And why is that?" Jon asked, curious for her reaction.

At first, Daenerys didn't answer, but merely played with her dragons, her face lighting up in a way Jon had come to treasure. "Because she's a harlot," she eventually quipped.

"She's a maid, daughter of the Lord of Highgarden—"

"And the widow of both those Lannister bastards."

"Can you blame her," Jon said. "Who wouldn't want their children to be kings."

"So you want to marry a girl known for her scheming ways?"

"She doesn't scheme when she's with me."

"Of course, Jon," Daenerys said patronisingly. "I don't like or trust her, but if you truly want this girl, then I suppose I couldn't stop you."

Wait . . . Did Daenerys just give me her blessing for the match?

"Are you—"

"Yes, you may marry her. I don't think I'd like any wife you take if I'm being honest, and though she's certainly no maid and a sly bi—"

"Dany."

"Fine. Though she's sly and sneaky, if you treat her well, I suspect her girlish impulses will overtake her and she'll soon fall in love with you as you have her. However, if she has your children, she may kill you and rule as Regent."

"She's not Cersei," Jon sighed. "And you already know that if I should die before my children come of age, you will be named Lord Protector of the Realm until they do."

"Well," she said. "Tyrion will still be around once I'm gone, I don't think he'd let her kill you."

"No, I don't think so either."

"You shouldn't take this as a go-ahead to marry and impregnate her, Jon. We still have to go to Dorne, and you may find that you like some of the girls there."

"Dorne?"

"Yes. Before I go to Dragonstone, we're going to sail to Dorne where you'll meet Prince Doran and offer him the position as Master of Coin."

"Oh. I fear that trip will have to be postponed."

"Don't tell me you're off to Highgarden," Daenerys teased.

"Well . . . "

"Jon," said Daenerys scoldingly. "What has she done to you?"

"Nothing," he protested. "I promised her I would a few weeks ago, and she must have told her grandmother and now I can't refuse."

"Of course," Daenerys sighed. "The King of the Seven Kingdoms is afraid of a frail old woman."

Hardly a frail old woman, Jon thought as he watched Daenerys coo at Viserion, who replied with jubilant bursts of flames. The Queen of Thornes and one of her other granddaughters had arrived at King's Landing a week or so before. She'd immediately introduced herself to Jon and demanded to know when he would be visiting Highgarden, along with how he'd convinced Margaery to remain in the Red Keep for so long, with only Sansa Stark for company. At first, Jon had found the woman tiring, but he'd soon grown fond of her, and found her just as fun and entertaining as Margaery., though slightly more intimidating. She's definitely the one I'd have to seek if I wanted to ask for Margaery's hand . . . His thoughts began to stray a week or so earlier, when he, Margaery and Ghost had all ventured to Flea Bottom, bringing wine and bread for some of its inhabitants.

"I still can't believe you're doing this, Your Grace," Margaery laughed, feeding Ghost a few bites of bread.

"It's all going to waste in the castle, since I don't drink," Jon replied. "And I've already told you to call me Jon."

"Sorry, Jon," she said. "But even so, Lord Tyrion will be very upset to see all the wine gone."

Jon had chuckled. "Trust me, we're doing him a favour. Myrcella and Tommen will need him sober."

"Myrcella. . . " Margaery said wistfully. "What I wouldn't give to be that young again."

"You and me both," Jon said, remembering how much easier life had been when he was eleven, had all his family, and didn't quite understand what bastard meant.

"I can't imagine you wanting to be that young again," Margaery frowned. "Don't you like being king much better?"

"Sometimes," Jon admitted. "When I'm doing things like this," he gestured to the bread he was currently handing to passing strangers who all thanked him and 'his lady' fervently, along with stroking Ghost as they passed him.

"But not all the time?" She inquired.

"No," he shook his head. "Not all the time."

"Jon?" Daenerys' sharp voice snapped him back into reality. "Are you coming or not?"

"Where?"

"The orphanage."

"No," he said. "I think I'll bring Ghost to see Sansa."

Daenerys pursed her lips. "If you're sure."

"We can go flying once you're back. Rhaegal hasn't been out in weeks."

"Well, that's because his flyer has been too busy parading around with Highgarden's whore."

"Dany," Jon said warningly.

"Whatever," she said. "But once I'm back I'll send Missandei for you, and we can go. Give us time to discuss when you actually plan on visiting Dorne."

"Alright, dear aunt."

Daenerys stuck her tongue out jokingly in response.

III

The Northern Handmaid

Zora—a distant cousin of Lord Edmure of House Tully—quite enjoyed her post at the castle. She was always a hardworking girl, who knew she would never get to marry a fancy lord and spend her married life sitting around having others do her work for her; so she didn't mind being a handmaiden herself, especially since Myrcella was such an easy girl to serve. His Grace was merciful to have spared her, if it had been me or my father, we might've killed her along with her scheming bitch of a mother. All Zora had to do was draw a bath each day, and fetch the girl her dinner. Most of the time Zora spent exploring the grounds and gardens, or taking sneak peeks at the king's infamous dragons. I still think Ghost is much more interesting. House Tully had always been allies of House Stark and the North, which is why Zora preferred referring to Jon as a Stark, or the Northern King as some in the castle and the city did. Most, however, were more enchanted by his Targaryen descent and Rhaegal than the direwolf, although many did comment on the formidableness of the animal. I still cannot believe His Grace remembered my name and let me pet Ghost. I've always wanted to see a direwolf ever since Lady Catelyn's children found theirs. Despite Zora never having met Lady Catelyn, she'd heard tales of the woman's beauty and dedication to her family ever since she was little, and had always been instructed to be like her, in order to bring honour to House Tully. Zora, amongst many, had also felt the immense shame upon finding out how horribly Lady Catelyn had treated the new king in his youth for being born a bastard—something he could not help. It's understandable for her not to have loved the boy, true, but purposely setting out to separate him from his family and siblings. . . Zora could not help but notice that the treatment of baseborn's was much friendlier since the crowning of Jon. It must be because they now see that bastards aren't always evil, sly creatures, as His Grace is the complete opposite. Then again, he is not technically a bastard.

Due to Zora's small physique and average looks, many did not notice her as she scuttled around the castle. Meaning that she often heard what she maybe should not have, such as Myrcella and her brother discussing who was going to be their mother now that King Jon had killed theirs. Enraged, Zora had quickly told them that their mother had been an evil creature who would've probably ruined their lives. Tommen was quick to agree, but Myrcella had stayed silent, probably trying to remember what her mother had been like before she was shipped of to Dorne. Still, that had not been enough to satisfy Zora, so she had quickly reported back to Jon what she'd heard. If they begin to get ideas and let them fester, we'll have another Lannister War on our hands, and His Grace might be slaughtered like King Robert was. Zora certainly couldn't have that; His Grace is the best king we've seen in decades, and she was not the only one to think that. Each night, nearly every house in king's landing, and even those not in the city, lit candles to show loyalty and love for their new king, and always waited eagerly for his visits to the common people each week, more often than not with 'his lady'. I'll get rid of those Lannister's myself, before I let them kill His Grace, even if they are pretty and sweet. When she'd relayed the news to Jon, he'd regarded her thoughtfully, before thanking her for letting him know. He'd then promised her a good life and husband if she wanted one once she came of age if Zora continued to bring him news of this nature or anything else she might deem important. For some reason, Zora had brightened at the order, and spent weeks scouring the castle for anything even slightly treacherous, and had even managed to recruit some other young maids for her search. We all love His Grace, we won't have him murdered in his own castle, not another one. It was why Zora hid in the shadows, listening to Lady Margaery and her grandmother converse, when she'd heard the young maid should be out visiting orphanages with Queen Daenerys.

"Grandmother, I've already told you," Zora heard the woman say irritably.

"And I've heard you, Marg, but I still think you have a chance with this King Jon," another voice answered.

Long may he reign, and long will he reign.

"I am His Grace's friend, nothing more."

"But you could be—"

"No, grandmother."

"Don't tell me the episode with Cersei scarred you this much? Do you not want to the Queen any longer?"

Zora sucked in a sharp breath.

"Cersei is not the problem, here, she's long gone—" thank the gods. "I am done marrying for power, grandmother, I've done it three times already and each time I lost a part of myself. I deserve love, grandmother, and that's the only thing I'll be marrying for, from now on."

The old woman sighed. "I think this is folly."

"Then let it be," Margaery replied. "Let me marry a pauper and suffer the consequences. At least it will be my mistake, and not yours."

"I have already apologised for the Joffrey incident," the older woman snipped. "And don't you forget that I dealt with it as soon as possible."

"How could I forget," Margaery muttered.

"I still think this is utter nonsense, and I do hope you don't marry some pauper who'll most likely only be using you for your title," the woman sniffed. "But if you insist that you're done marrying kings, I won't force you."

"Thank you, grandmother."

"Though your parents may be another story."

"I'll deal with father easily enough."

"I'm sure you will."

"Grandmother?" Margaery asked shyly after a while. "Do you really think His Grace likes me?"

The woman laughed fondly. "Oh Marg, what has he done to you?"

"Oh, stop it."

"Come girl, I'll explain elsewhere, the walls have ears in these places."

Oh yes, they certainly do.