Okay so commundrum . . . . I have run out of any pre-written chapters, so this is basically the most recent chapter I have written for I Am A Stark. So let me know whether you'd all prefer me to take a few weeks away so I can write up some more then post them in a regular schedule as I have been doing or simply upload whenever I finish one?

Chapter Eleven

Daenerys

"Is that for Princess Arya, my queen?" Missandei inquired after the letter Dany was writing.

"Yes," Daenerys replied, as she dotted her last sentence.

"Do you need me to send it off, my queen?"

"Yes, that would be helpful. Ensure nobody touches or sees it."

"Yes, my queen."

"And fetch Grey Worm. Tell him to come to me at once."

Missandei nodded dutifully before leaving. Daenerys took the silence to think, beginning with her own lady-in-waiting . . . It took ages for the small council to approve of the title, claiming she was of too low birth to be companion for the queen. Of course Varys supported me, who is of lower birth than he? Yet he is loyal, loyal as Tyrion, whose birth was considered higher than mine own at one point. Ah Tyrion, I wonder how he fares without Jon and I. I do rather miss him.

"My queen." Grey Worm announced.

"Grey Worm," she called. "We arrive at Highgarden tomorrow. Have you taken out the necessary checks?"

"Yes my queen. I spoke with the other captains on the other ships: there are four thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two Unsullied soldiers, two hundred and five ex-slaves, seventy handmaidens and squires, forty kitchen servants, and ten healers."

"Good," at least that's all in order. "Lady Sansa?"

"Princess Sansa is as usual. She is quiet and only speaks with Dry Sand."

"Have you spoken to Dry Sand?"

"Yes. He seems very happy with Sansa. He tells me she is sad often."

"I see," Daenerys murmured. "Instruct Dry Sand to keep a close eye on her."

"Of course, my queen."

"Thank you." With that, Grey Worm turned to leave. "Grey Worm," she called to his fleeting figure. "Missandei seems uncomfortable on deck, I fear the boys are being vulgar. You know what to do."

"Yes, my queen," he answered grimly.

As he left, Dany couldn't help but marvel at how far she'd come and how much she'd gained. And how much I've lost. Drogo, Rhaego, Viserys, that house with the red door. Despite her losses, Daenerys still felt content with how things had played out. She'd lost Viserys, but she'd gained Jon, and in her heart, she held much more affection for him than her crazed brother. However, she hadn't filled Drogo's spot in her life. And she feared she would never fill Rhaego's . . . Don't think like that, she berated herself, Jon will have children and they will be like my own.

She missed her nephew greatly.

III

Jon

Two days had seen Jon join Olenna in her bedside vigil. He had left Margaery precisely three times. Twice to relieve himself and once to carry out a few mandatory kingly duties, such as announcing that he was, in fact, residing in Highgarden for the forceable future, and write a few letters to Prince Doran, who'd been expecting him and Daenerys the following week. There had been no change in Margaery's health besides a slight twitch when Jon laughed at something Olenna said, that had him staring intently at the girl for the next two hours searching for any other sign of recovery. There was none.

During their two days together, Olenna and Jon had grown quite close, adopting a friendly banter, and bonding over mutual concern for Margaery, and mutual annoyance at Mace's reluctance to cause the fuss needed to get every healer in the Reach at the castle immediately. Deep down, Jon understood the man's actions, understood that sometimes duty came before family, and that it did not necessarily mean the man cared for his daughter any less than Jon or Olenna, but it still didn't stop him from being irritated by it. I left an entire kingdom in the lurch for her, and he cannot even summon a few more Maesters!

"Good morning, Your Grace," Ser Loras looked the epitome of misery as he stepped into the quiet room, hair unwashed and uncombed, clothes ragged. "Grandmother."

Jon acknowledged the young man with a polite nod; he knew Mace had ordered his family members to visit the king once a day in order to be good hosts and build some sort of friendship with the him, and since Jon spent all of his time in Margaery's room, it caused most of the Tyrells some pain to carry out their patriarch's instructions.

"You look horrid, Loras," Olenna said. "How can you present yourself to His Grace looking like that?"

"Lady Olenna," Jon said, pitying the poor boy. "He's fine. I probably don't look my best."

"You look fine, Your Grace, and it's understandable for you since you've been otherwise engaged; Loras has done nothing but sulk in his room."

"I've told you, it's Jon when we're alone," Jon hoped to take the heat of a seething Loras.

"Then you must call me Grandmother," the woman insisted. "Any person so clearly enamoured with my Margaery is family to me."

Jon smiled wearily. "So, Ser Loras, how are you these days? Apart from the obvious events."

"I'm well, Your Grace."

"How fares your jousting?"

"I haven't jousted in a while. There have been no tourneys. Your Grace."

"I shall have to throw one. To celebrate when Margaery recovers."

"Yes," Loras brightened somewhat. "It is admirable that you came so far just to see her. Many around the palace are saying—"

"Loras, the king is not interested in rumours," ever since Jon had revealed that Margaery's time at the Red Keep had been plagued by jealous and hateful girls spreading whispers, Olenna had come to venomously hate even the notion of them. "He has come to see Margaery because he loves her."

Jon blushed slightly and gave Loras a rueful smile. "Then the rumours are correct, Grandmother."

"For once," the woman snorted.

"I understand that you and your sister are very close," Jon cut in.

"Yes," Loras nodded. "She's my other half."

Jon sensed some hostility in the other man's tone, and decided to wade carefully. "Yes, it was for you that she came back. Your relationship is enviable, how I wish my brother were alive and here."

"I-I am sorry for your loss," Loras remembered Catelyn Stark visiting Renly in order to petition some alliance between him and her son, Robb. "Everyone should have a sibling, I think. Especially one close in age."

"I agree," Jon said.

"I hope this means plenty of great-grandchildren for me," Olenne huffed.

The two men chuckled.

III

Arya

"How much longer?"

"Just a few days, girl," the captain replied.

"You said that last week," she accused.

He peered down at her. "Don't you have some knight to parry with?"

Arya crossed her arms. "I've already had my daily sword lesson."

"And what about the reading ones?"

"I know how to read," Arya quipped.

"Ah, I see. Well you're going to have to find something else to occupy your time because we don't arrive in King's Landing for approximately four days."

"I have," she said. "You."

"How can I occupy you, girl?"

"Tell me what's going on in Westeros."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"With my brother and this Lady Margaery."

"You know the same as me," he replied. "His Grace has flown to Lady Margaery's bedside to be with her during her injury."

I know that, I want to know more. "Is that all?"

"It is said he loves her."

Arya rolled her eyes. "What of Queen Daenerys?"

"Her Grace is most likely sailing behind him."

"Why would she sail when she has dragons of her own?"

"You'll have to ask her, I suppose."

"Ha ha. I will."

Grumbling under her breath, Arya stalked off, sniffing her underarms while she walked, only to be chastised by Ser Barristan for it moments after, which worsened her sour mood. Since receiving news that Jon wouldn't be there when she arrived at the Red Keep, she'd permanently been in a sour mood, only lightened when she had her Dothraki lessons. She had been so excited to see Jon, and Sansa even, and curious to hear more about this Margaery person. She was still on the edge about Queen Daenerys, but when she'd been told that she definitely wouldn't be seeing the dragon queen, it had disheartened her. The only person on board the ship unhappier than Arya had to be Ser Jorah, who'd become a recluse mute upon hearing that he wouldn't be seeing his dearly beloved any time soon. With drooping shoulders, Arya returned to her room, wondering whether she should crawl into that hole she'd found last week and eavesdrop on the two young sailors who met up each week in the empty store room to fornicate and sometimes discussed things in King's Landing or simply return to her chambers. In the end, she decided not to, not having the stomach for their over-the-top sentiments.

III

Sansa

Sansa stood up on deck as their ship hauled into Old Town. Sailing had never been something Sansa enjoyed, but she'd come to enjoy the sport during her most recent voyage. The usually calm ship had soothed the girl and allowed her to organise many thoughts; her new friendship with Daenerys which had been strengthened during the trip, had also come to make the girl enjoy her ride. As she watched the green pastures of The Reach draw in closer, Sansa exhaled a long breath of relief, excited to finally see the place she'd held as her heaven since being tempted with it by Margaery all those years ago.

"This is it, my princess?" Dry Sand questioned.

"Yes," Sansa replied. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It is. A very long boat ride. We could not have just rode?"

Sansa shrugged. "We could've. I think it is cheaper and less hassle to use ships. And Queen Daenerys needs them, so she can sail to Dragonstone afterwards."

"You enjoyed the ride?"

"Very much," she smiled wistfully. "Relaxing, no?"

This time, Dry Sand shrugged, causing Sansa to chuckle. "I guess not."

"Princess Sansa," Missandei appeared behind the two. "Dry Sand, how are you?"

"Well, my lady."

"Just Missandei will do," the caramel girl said sweetly, slipping into Low Valyrian, placing a hand on the soldier's arm. "Her Grace sends her regards, and hopes you enjoyed the trip."

"I enjoyed it fine," Dry Sand said. "Tell Her Grace I am thankful for the opportunity to sail with her."

"She also asks after the princess."

"My princess is quiet, but seems peaceful."

Missandei nodded, and then returned back to the Common Tongue. "I came here to inform you that we will reach Old Town within the hour."

"Thank you," Sansa said, slightly uneasy at the conversation that took place without her. "How will we make it to Highgarden?"

"By horses, I believe. You will of course be travelling by a horse drawn carriage. "

"And Dry Sand?"

"I am not sure, princess. I will ask Her Grace."

"Thank you."

Missandei curtsied then left, leaving Sansa feeling out of sorts. Why did she come? She never usually speaks to me unless on Queen Daenerys' orders? The girl glanced at her personal guard, but he showed no clue in his expression of what had transpired between him and Missandei in their low, incomprehensible words. Sansa shook her head and focused once more on the upcoming land, wondering whether she'd meet her true love on this trip.

III

Olenna

Where are those blasted twins? For the first time in days, Olenna was away from Margaery's sickbed and hobbling towards her daughter-in-law's drawing room with a determined mind, and angry eyes. Though she knew no physical harm would come to her in her own son's castle, Olenna still felt all the safer with her seven foot guards: Arryk and Erryk, who also provided her with some entertainment. The only reason the woman had even considered leaving her sick protégé was because Olenna knew she was in good hands with Jon, who wouldn't even dream of leaving until she returned. At least someone here loves my Marg, she grumbled in her head.

"My lady," a maidservant said. "Lady Alerie has requested that any visitors be sent away."

"I'm no visitor, I'm her mother-in-law," Olenna replied. "So you can step aside, child."

The young girl looked slightly uncomfortable as she moved gingerly towards the right. "My lady is distraught over her daughter's injury and cannot—"

"Your lady is not the only one," Olenna said as she strode into the room.

Lady Alerie had always been a pretty woman—and one who knew her duty and her role, the qualities that had led Olenna to telling her husband that this was the woman their eldest son should marry. Someone who wouldn't get in the way of Olenna's plans for Highgarden, or turn her son against her, like that Lannister woman would've, had the union between her and Mace gone through. No, no, Alerie Hightower was and is a simple and dutiful woman. She has given my son four healthy children, she has never presumed to tell him how to rule the Reach and she has never objected to my opinions on the matter. Or my actions regarding her children, my Marg in particular. Had she bothered to, Margaery may have been turned into a bumbling, ambitious old idiot like her father, or a silent, pretty woman like her mother. Olennq still had no idea how she could've reared someone as inept as Mace, but she made up for it with her mentoring of her granddaughter.

"Mother," Alerie croaked, looking the epitome of beauty. As always. "I had Maya tell any visitors—"

"And I had Maya step aside. What are you doing, woman?"

"I am mourning," she replied.

"For the living? Margaery isn't dead, she's downstairs."

"Unconscious."

"So that is why you can't spare an hour to sit with her? Talk with her, like the Maesters suggested?"

"She has you."

"She always has done—the lucky girl. But you're her mother, you should be there with her. And all that sentimental tit aside, we have an appearance to keep up."

"Olenna, not now," the woman said tiredly. "Thirty years I've kept up with your appearances, so forgive me if I need a rest."

"Rest," Olenna scoffed. "Rest when the king doesn't reside by your daughter's bed."

"Of course," Alerie muttered. "It's not really about us being there for Marg, it's just about kissing up to His Grace. Aren't you tired of these political games you always play, Olenna? Look at what playing with royalty achieved last time. We're lucky we still have our titles and land."

"No thanks to you," Olenna quipped. "I am the driving force behind the Tyrell name and I resent some jumped up maid from Hightower telling me I've done a bad job of it. You're lucky you're even here, Alerie, and not married to some knight."

"You're a Tyrell by marriage," she spat. "Just like me. We're both jumped up maids, the only difference is I've done my duty and stood by my husband whereas you've taken it into your head to revolutionise the entire House, putting my only daughter and youngest son in jeopardy doing so!"

"Not revolutionise—just keep up with current events. I saw an opportunity for Marg and I took it. Despite her beauty and who her father is, she's still the youngest child, fourth in line from any inheritance. Had I left it to you, she'd be married to some jouster with pretty eyes and a charming smile; I married her to a king—"

"Three kings," Alerie cut in spitefully.

"I would've made her a queen, had anyone but Margaery heeded my advice. Stupid louts, the lot of them."

"Who?"

"Men. Renly, Joffrey, Tywin, and Mace particularly."

"I only wanted Margaery to be happy. She needn't have married anyone so soon in my opinion, she has three older brothers to take care of her. Unlike us, a political marriage wasn't necessary for her. She could've happily lived out her days here with Willas. I told Mace so, but you managed to convince him to send her to those Lannisters, preying on his ambitious streak."

Olenna sighed. "I regret some of my actions, supporting the Lannisters one of them. Had I listened more intently to the sailors, I would have heard of Queen Daenerys and sent Garlan or Loras to her. But I will not apologise for trying to give Margaery a position of power, where she wouldn't have to simper and smile for the rest of her days. Where she would be a queen."

"The queen, wasn't it?" Alerie smiled weakly. "I apologise too. Without you, I doubt things in Highgarden would be so prosperous; Mace can be short-sighted at times."

"Yes, very much so. It is a good thing he has a wonderful woman to guide him. And you, of course," Olenna winked, and Alerie chuckled.

For a while, Olenna had sensed the hostility between herself and her daughter-in-law, and had meant to address it earlier, but had been delayed by Margaery's fall. It wasn't the first time the two had disputed: it was bound to happen with Olenna being so headstrong and ruthless, while Alerie was soft and content yet firm. Usually Margaery would quietly and subtly diffuse any issues, but without the girl, the two women were forced to verbally have it out instead. Now that it had been sorted, Olenna moved onto the more pressing issue.

"I came up here to rouse you, we have a royal visitor."

"I have already been to see His Grace, and he pardoned me from any more painful meetings—"

"Not Jon, the soft hearted thing he is," Olenna said. "Queen Daenerys, mother of dragons. Infinitely more stern and a lot less forgiving than her nephew. I suggest you pull yourself together so that you may receive her."

"Oh, I forgot about her," Alerie breathed out heavily. "Alright. I will find Mace and have a feast laid out for them."

"And fetch one of the boys, instruct them to entertain Princess Sansa."

"Maybe Loras . . ."

"He'll scare the poor girl with his miserable state, and sour mood. No no, have Willas do it."

"I will. Goodness, so much royalty under one roof. I say, we certainly have come far."

"I'll have you know I was betrothed to a Targaryen, back in my day."

"I wonder if Sansa would count as a Targaryen? Royal, certainly," Alerie mused.

"Please," the elder woman said dismissively. "She's a Stark, not a Targaryen. She's barely even royal: once she or any of her other siblings marry, they renounce the title of Princess or Prince, remember? Even the mother of dragons will simply become a Lady or a Princess once Jon takes a wife."

"I assume those conditions were forced by the Faith."

"Obviously."

III

Sansa

The city is so warm, so warm and so bright. Highgarden had somehow managed to live up to Sansa's wild fantasies. The girl had yet to find something she disliked about the place: everyone was courteous, the air smelt fresh and sweet, and like the songs claimed, the city was abundant with knights. And they're rather handsome, too . . .

"Princess Sansa!" She heard her name being called as her palanquin passed through the streets.

"Are they truly calling for me?" She asked.

"It seems so," Daenerys answered, her own name being a prominent part of the smallfolk's cheers.

"My princess is very popular," Dry Sand added.

Daenerys coughed. "And my queen," and all three of them laughed, as well as Missandei.

"The city's quite . . . Margaery, isn't it?" Daenerys commented.

"Quite so," Sansa chuckled. "It's beautiful though."

"I suppose," Daenerys scrunched her nose.

"It's gorgeous," Missandei sighed wistfully.

III

Sansa was practically lifted from her carriage, once they reached the castle. The Tyrell family, along with the rest of their household was assembled in a neat formation, with Jon stood by Olenna. Sansa fought the urge to run to him, and watched with no small amount of amusement Daenerys do the same. He is still the same . . . She followed behind Daenerys who seemed to know exactly what to do, Dry Sand silently by her side, making the whole ordeal seem much easier and less nerve-wrecking.

"Lord Mace Tyrell," Dany said kindly, offering him one of her rare smiles. "A pleasure to be invited into your beautiful home."

"My queen," Mace hurriedly bowed, and kissed her hand. "It is pleasure and an honour to receive you."

Daenerys smiled once again, and nodded in acknowledgment of everyone else's bows and curtsies, before walking to Jon's side. Sansa followed suit, though her palms were moist and her fingers trembling. "My lord," she said surprisingly clearly, curtsying.

"My princess," again, Mace kissed the royal's hand and spurted out a few flattering words.

Keeping her head firmly held up, Sansa walked over to her cousin's side also, exhaling heavily in relief when he smirked at her and patted her arm. As she followed the crowd into the magnificent castle, flowers braided into the towers, she slowed down her heart, reminding herself that she's done that many times before. Only this is the first time Cersei isn't here, waiting for me to fail. It should've been easier, not harder. These thoughts swirled in her mind, when a someone politely tapped her on the shoulder. Sansa looked up to see Wilas Tyrell smiling down at her.

"My lord," she said unsurely.

"Princess Sansa," he returned. "You look stunning."

She blushed. "Thank you, my lord. You look very handsome." It is not a lie, he is rather attractive.

"That's new, it must be my hair. I combed it five times today, and not four," Sansa blinked at him, before he grinned. "A joke."

"Oh!"

"Sorry they're no good."

"There's no need to be sorry. I've just not heard that many jokes before."

"Really? No knights have ever tried winning your heart with laughter?"

No, just a king, and it was only him who laughed. "I'm afraid not, my lord."

"We'll have to remedy that, immediately," he pronounced, offering her his arm. "Come on, I'll show you where we keep our horses; the stable boys can always be counted on for a laugh."

"Of course," she accepted it. "Dry Sand, please tell the queen and Jon that I am with Lord Willas."

"Do you not wish for Dry Sand to come with you?"

"No that's fine, I'll be safe."

"Of course you will," Willas chimed in. "What harm can crippled old me cause? Except bore you tears."

Sansa giggled. "I'm sure you won't, my lord. Go on, Dry Sand, I'll be fine."

With a lot of reluctance, Dry Sand marched off, spear in hand, leaving Sansa giggling with Lord Willas.