Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I apologize for the lengthy wait between updates lately. I promise that will be the last break for a while. I made some good headway in the time period and now have another decent buffer of chapters I am sitting on.

Thank you so much for being so patient! You warm my heart with your support, your comments, your Kudos, and your faves!

You may have noticed some changes on the fic. TDR now has a book cover! The lovely WordsAndSwords (AO3) was offering free cover requests. As you can see, they're quite good! Feel free to show them some appreciation for their hard work.

As always, I'd like to thank catzrko0l for offering to beta! They are instrumental in making sure these chapters are in tip-top shape! All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 65

Margaery II

"Welcome to the garden, ladies! I am so pleased that you are all able to join me on this beautiful day. The news has been...somber of late, but there is still joy and I would like us to focus on that joy for just this afternoon. We must congratulate Lady Alysanne Lefford for her marriage to Lord Domeric Bolton. I look forward to having tea parties with you in the North, Lady Bolton."

Lady Alysanne gave her a smile and a courteous blush, but there was little warmth in her eyes. It was hardly surprising. A beautiful young lady like her could hardly expect a rejection, especially not from the heir of her lord paramount. Margaery had heard that it had been a rather abrupt and public cancellation. It made her wonder if Lord Jaime Lannister had had an eye for Lady Brienne since he'd been a Kingsguard.

Domeric Bolton was handsome with his dark hair and lithe form, but his eyes were strangely pale and unnerving. Unlike his sire, whom Margaery had seen at a distance a handful of times, he had an easy smile and played the harp as beautifully as he handled a sword. It was almost enough to forget the distasteful reputation of his house. She had only seen Lord Roose Bolton from afar and the son only appeared to have a passing resemblance. Margaery had made it a point to acquaint herself with as many northern lords as she could, but Lord Bolton had been within the first group relieved of their duty to gather their crops before the snows set in. Robb mentioned to her that they didn't have much of an autumn to speak of in the North, which she thought was sad.

The Starks and the Boltons had long been at odds, but she hoped now with another lady of the South in the North, that perhaps their friendship could ease the tension between the two houses. Unfortunately, Lady Alysanne had decided upon marriage to become as frosty as the winters in the North. She still smiled, she still spoke, and acted as a lady of noble standing was expected, but she maintained a careful distance. It was calculated. The majority of the other ladies either hadn't recognized it or, just like Margaery, had refrained from commenting on it.

Lady Alysanne had dropped her mask briefly. Since the marriage of a lower lord wasn't quite as big as the joining between lord paramounts' children, lords of the North were the only ones who attended the wedding. Not even the Lord Hand Jaime Lannister had made an appearance. It was during the dancing, when Margaery was in the arms of Domeric Bolton that she made eye contact with Lady Alysanne. The bride had been resplendent in a dress that was the sky blue of her house with yellow frills. A large bronze brooch in the shape of the sun, set with the largest cut of topaz Margaery had ever seen was affixed to her chest. For all of the dress' suggestion of warmth, the lady's look was cold and as hard as diamonds. It had passed in an instant and she had smiled widely before taking her new husband back for a spin around the dance floor.

Margaery would never forget that look because she recognized it in herself. It had taken years and years of practice looking in a mirror to disguise the ambition she had been cultivated with. Either Lady Alysanne had never bothered with that practice or didn't care to disguise it. It seems ladies of the Westerlands prefer to foster a culture of envy and hate, Margaery thought. It had been impossible to escape hearing about the ways Queen Cersei had run the Red Keep. She was infinitely grateful the former queen was tucked away in exile. She couldn't imagine having to deal with such a vile and cutthroat woman.

Was the look a holdover from Lady Alysanne's frustration at losing such a catch as Lord Jaime Lannister? From the gossip Margaery had picked up, she hadn't bothered setting her sights on King Aemon. Probably just as well; the king had rather forcefully shut her down when Margaery had prodded. If she couldn't get anywhere with him, then no one would. And the king remained steadfast. Would he still be so virginal after his trip to Dorne? She had heard of Prince Oberyn Martell's reputation.

After her failure to gain traction with King Aemon, she resigned herself to Robb Stark and found him quite pleasing. The Stark honor inspired a genuine courteousness that she had often found wanting in the South. He was handsome, with a pristine smile, a decent hand with the sword, and a good lover with room for improvement. Since Lord Stark was still head of the house, her duties were minimal as were the demands on her time. She and Robb could simply enjoy the other's company. If Robb had any fault, it was a lack of curiosity. He was smart and he had the presence of mind to ask before launching into his primary interests of battle strategy. She got the sense that if there was ever a time he had to lead his men into battle, he would be capable and an asset to the king.

Not that it still wasn't important to make inroads with those Northern lords and ladies who were already present. She still hadn't found a way to approach Lady Maege or her daughter Lady Dacey. They were uninterested in her tea or sewing parties. She'd have her work cut out getting to know them; learning to sword fight wasn't one of her interests, but perhaps treating the bumps and bruises they received one day would be enough. The men liked looking at her, even if they were too upright to say anything.

Lady Alysanne at least shared common interests, even if she had learned her cold demeanor from Cersei Lannister. They would all be returning to the North soon; she had the entire journey to thaw her. Until then, she would give Lady Alysanne some space, but not too much.

Her grandmother had also set her to coaching Lady Sansa on what she could expect as Lady of the Reach. Sansa was a sweet girl, but Margaery marveled at her innocence. By all accounts, Lady Catelyn had been a suitable player of the game, but she had apparently lacked the foresight to ensure her daughters could play. She would be good for Willas, but there was still a question about whether she would be good for the Reach. She had to make sure Sansa had a decent grasp on what her lessons would entail before her grandmother got a hold of her. She didn't want the poor girl to regret marrying into the family.

Was I ever that innocent? Margaery thought when she watched Sansa out of the corner of her eye. The girl was quite skilled with a needle and had already perfected the Tyrell sigil. May the Gods protect that sweet girl. The Reach had its share of hidden dangers, but it was a spring breeze compared to the maelstrom that was King's Landing

Margaery sometimes wondered who would drive the other insane first: Sansa with her oblivious innocence or her grandmother, with her barbs and abrupt demeanor. If she was good for the money, it would be on Sansa. Her grandmother was not the most patient of women, but she had her moments.

"Don't harangue me. I am her grandmother. I can invite myself to any of her tea parties."

Speaking of Grandmother, Margaery thought and she stood up. The Queen of Thorns was sauntering through the tables of ladies with her usual impatient annoyance. A servant was trailing meekly behind her as well as Butters the Fool. It took every ounce of strength not to raise her eyebrows at her grandmother. She fixed a wide smile on her face and held out her arms in a hug.

"Grandmother, what a pleasant surprise! You are always more than welcome to join the tea parties at your leisure."

"I should hope so. You are my granddaughter after all, even if your name is now Stark," her grandmother said. There was a peculiar inflection on her new house name that suggested the topic of their conversation. She led her grandmother over to where she was sitting with Lady Sansa and her cousin Alla. Both girls were sitting on a stone bench with pillows.

"Budge up. I'm an old woman. We can't stay on our feet for too long."

The two girls hopped up like a fire had been lit under them. They rushed their curtsies and pulled their needles and fabric along looking like two startled puppies.

Her grandmother sighed as she sat and arranged the pillows to her liking. Margaery studied her with her usual smile. While her grandmother never cared for tea parties, she showed up to them every once in a while for propriety's sake, but she was typically never satisfied without leaving a few girls in tears. Lady Sansa so far had escaped her harsher barbs, but then she appeared more confused by her grandmother's harsh words than upset by them. Rudeness was not accepted or expected. For all of her naivety, Sansa took each sour statement with a professional courtesy that would make any lesser lady envious.

"You there. Fetch me some cheese. None of that hard stuff, the spreadable. Teeth are delicate when you're older. And you, fetch me another cushion. There's no reason they couldn't have put in better seating under this pavilion."

Margaery waited patiently as the servants tended to her grandmother. This was her routine. She caused so much of a fuss that the servants couldn't wait to beat a quick retreat.

"I am so pleased you were able to join us. I was afraid the hot summer sun might keep you away."

Her grandmother regarded her with a shrewd expression. "Less the heat and more of the inescapable perfume of shit that permeates this city, my dear. I'm surprised you can stand it."

"I barely notice," Margaery replied. It was true enough. The smell of the city permeated the very walls of the Red Keep; the only ones who took notice of it were newly arrived, but they adjusted after a few days. "Besides, it's not so bad up here. Lady Sansa and I visit the orphanage down in Flea Bottom once a week. I pity those poor people who have to live in it. At least we just smell it."

"Praise the Seven for small favors," her grandmother replied. She turned once more to a servant girl at her side. "Well, are you going to get me tea? Lavender, cream, and a spoonful of sugar. Don't keep me waiting now."

Once her grandmother was settled to her satisfaction and had summoned Butters over to play a boisterous, loud song next to their table, her eyes transfixed on her and became keener. Margaery's eyes roved her face trying to find the reason for the conversation.

Just one day prior, it became known that Lord Yohn Royce had succumbed to an illness that had put him abed. In the span of the day, the aged but robust man was gone, much like Lord Jon Arryn. There were whispers of a possible epidemic with two such similar cases, but as they were so far apart, the rumor seemed to be largely dismissed. However, dying not long after King Robert Baratheon had perished raised eyebrows. The old king's death was almost certainly the work of a poisoner. Everyone seemed to know it, but Lord Jaime Lannister was attempting to keep a tight lid on the matter. If anything the effort made the rumor wheel spin more rapidly.

Lord Royce had served as a stand-in for the young Lord Robyn Arryn. His absence created such a void that it was unclear who commanded the Vale army at the moment. Would Lady Lysa Arryn resume control? The Eyrie was still under quarantine, but she imagined they could still send ravens. Her brother, Willas, had asked the question and it now circled in her mind like a vulture: What had led to the king declaring a quarantine over the Eyrie? Such measures had been used before, but those typically lasted only a few weeks. The Eyrie had been inaccessible for months with no known end in sight. She had a feeling sickness had little to do with it. Had Lady Lysa refused to fall in line behind King Aemon and he sanctioned her? But Lord Yohn Royce was a steadfast, honest, and intelligent man who would never fall at a king's feet. She rather doubted that loyalty to Ned Stark after what King Aerys had done to his brother would have been enough to give his hand in friendship to the king. He must have done something else to win him over, but what?

Margaery felt like she was on the cusp of understanding a great discovery, but it was frustratingly out of her grasp.

Then there was the incident with the healer. Margaery had met Healer David when he had accompanied Lord Jaime. He was brusque, a bit like her grandmother, but more practical and had a restless energy that needed funneled into work. She had occasionally escorted women and children to his clinic. She found it greatly admirable and in another life when she wasn't a lady of a noble house, she would've been interested in joining his outfit to help the people. But now his face had been blown off and, by all accounts, he was clinging to life by a thread. His apprentice, Julian, had sewed together what he could and left a patchwork of skin and thread, or so she'd heard. Only his group the Shepherds were allowed to visit and Lord Jaime enforced it by having a guard at his door. Was the incident really as innocent as it appeared or was it like King Robert and Lord Royce?

It had also been made known that Cersei Lannister was being starved by order of the king. Margaery didn't believe it for a moment. King Aemon could be cold, but she felt he lacked the guile to do something so heinous. Yet whispers were growing that he had illegally stolen the throne. His lack of the famous Targaryen features put doubt in his claims and that Cersei had lied about the parentage of her children under threat of death by the Starks. It was enough to make Margaery snort with laughter. Lord Stark was kindly, if a little grim and sad. Robb, himself, was not unlike his dire wolf; full of excitement and vigor, but with little else on his mind except hunting and fighting. The Starks were, by far, the least adept players of the game Margaery had ever encountered.

The flying rumors made it clear to Margaery: someone was laying the groundwork for a coup. It would put the Starks in a precarious position. Like a deer smelling smoke, Margaery felt a heightened sense of alarm and she was ready to put everything she had into the game. If she was certain of one thing, it was that her grandmother did not deign to join for a mere social call this time.

"How is that Stark boy treating you?" Her grandmother was pinning Margaery with a look that she only usually saw when she was interested in the information.

"Like a perfectly handsome knight," Margaery replied and her smile was genuine. "If things continue the way they are, you should expect an announcement that I am with child in a matter of months."

"Hmm...I suppose that's something."

"You don't seem too thrilled," Margaery replied, but she kept the smile on as she picked up a cup and stirred her tea.

"That you are fertile pleases me. Really, there's little point to declaring a baby until it has crowned."

"Grandmother!" Margaery often wondered if the outrageousness of her grandmother's words were a test to her composure. She was determined not to crack.

Her grandmother's lips quirked into a small smile. "You're sure you're happy? There is a way out. Just say the word."

You have never tested me like this, Margaery thought as she felt her eyes widen slightly in alarm. She cocked her head as though it would give her a better read, but her grandmother remained inscrutable. "Why would I want that? I have a young, handsome man who is destined to be lord paramount of the largest territory in Westeros. As I just told you, we've already consummated the marriage."

"That your maidenhood is broken is of little consequence. Nothing that a little moon tea and the boundless power of the Reach can't fix."

Margaery felt her heart thudding against her ribs and it took everything in her to keep the pleasant expression on her face. She took a sip of the tea she'd been holding to ground herself. She breathed in deeply and centered herself, feeling a practiced calm fall over her, but still her blood rushed through her veins. "I am surprised you would make such a suggestion."

"You were supposed to be queen, my sweet. Maybe you still can be."

So there is a coup, Margaery thought and was on the cusp of swooning. A chill ran through her body and her skin pimpled in the sultry warm day in King's Landing. But then who would be the king? Her mind immediately fell on Prince Joffrey. A new rumor claimed he was truly legitimate, but his last known whereabouts were in Winterfell. Had he been sprung from there? In his father's absence, Robb was taking care of his family affairs. He shared every letter with her and none of them had hinted at any sort of unrest. She was glad that he was willing to involve her and she didn't have to resort to underhanded means to participate. The last thing she had any desire for was being a lady wife who floated ignorantly through the world.

Maybe it isn't him, but through him? There was only one remaining side of the family that was free to do anything: the Lannisters. Jaime Lannister would never—she stopped herself short. Had she misjudged him? So much of what she'd heard about him rang true; dashingly handsome, even with the bear claw scars, arrogant, self-assured, but menacing. He wasn't afraid to intimidate. She had seen a kind and courteous side from him, primarily in regards to Lady Brienne. He was unmistakably smitten with her, but he hesitated to make a move for obvious reasons. She was far too low status to be considered for a position like Lady Lannister. Was he just playing Lady Brienne?

Her gut instinct said no. No man who arranged her marriage to Robb Stark and then swatted a fine match like Lady Alysanne would bother toying with a lowly, homely woman like her. Maybe...maybe. She was on the verge of making a connection, but what? She hoped it would come to her later.

That still left the coup. King Aemon Targaryen made Lord Jaime Lannister his Hand. He charged Lord Jaime with bringing his father into the fold and negotiating the alliance with her family. She hadn't seen the negotiation, but Willas had described it to her later; Jaime had been steadfast on the terms Aemon had given him. There had been no hesitation with arranging her marriage to Robb Stark and when she'd escorted him to the room, she thought he entertained the same thoughts of swatting her like he had Lady Alysanne. She didn't think he regretted blatantly turning the both of them down.

And then there was her brother. Lord Jaime had made a separate promise apart from the treaty that Ser Loras Tyrell would be delivered back to her family untouched. This was the Kingslayer who hadn't hesitated to drive his sword into the back of his king. She remembered asking Willas: "Do you think he'll do it?"

Willas had thought about it for a moment, tapping a quill absentmindedly against his cheek, and then he nodded. "I do think he will do it. He has something to prove."

"What?"

"That he can be trusted."

And then Lord Jaime had delivered their brother as promised, with not a hair out of place. He couldn't salvage Loras' reputation, but then he hadn't promised that he would. She felt for Loras. He was no longer allowed to train and spent his days pacing the family's apartments like a cat, hissing and spitting at anyone who offered him comfort. Lord Renly had departed just a few days prior for the Wall; Loras would never see his lover again. It made Margaery's heart ache. It was not fair that his love should be forbidden and that he should suffer such excoriation. For once, her father had put his foot down and would hear none of it. It appeared that Loras would be confined to the apartments or their palace until father finally passed.

"Grandmother, I find that intriguing, but I must insist that you be careful with whatever you're planning. Lord Jaime gave us back Loras. He has shown us honesty. Do you really think he would betray King Aemon?" Margaery spoke so quietly, she wasn't entirely sure her grandmother had heard everything over Butters bellowing song.

As usual, her grandmother never missed a word. "Every man has a price."

"But that price differs between men. It may not be what you think," Margaery replied, Brienne's face floated before her eyes and she felt her mouth firm into a line. That was the piece she was missing: Lady Brienne was Lord Jaime's price for his loyalty. And she had a feeling King Aemon was the only one willing to grant that price.

But why her? She had spoken with Lady Brienne once when she had intended to understand her appeal to Lord Jaime. It was obvious that he held her in high esteem in large part for her fighting skills, but had that been all? Lady Brienne had never left her island her whole life until she answered Renly's call. Lord Jaime had never met her. Was it pure coincidence that he found his love in her? But then what had kept Lord Jaime loyal to King Aemon? The promise of a match? Or, no, it was for a match of his choosing? That had to be it.

Her grandmother smiled and nodded. "Well, as they say, there's more than one way to skin a cat. So tell me, what else are you doing with your time besides being on your back?"

Margaery sighed, but she was grateful to be steered back into less turbulent topics.

After the tea party, she returned to the Stark apartments. Lady Sansa parted with her claiming she needed a bath before dinner. Margaery barely paid her any attention and knocked on her rooms with Robb and then stepped in. He had just finished pulling on his trousers and she could see his hair was damp from a bath.

"My Lady!" He grinned at her and strode over to plant a kiss on her lips. She felt her heart warm and had to keep herself from sinking into his eyes. He was a truly good man and she was grateful to have made such a great match, even if it fell short of her initial ambitions. The North was an oyster ripe for the picking and she looked forward to the challenge of bringing it up to par with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. "How was your day?" He asked.

"Wonderful. The tea party was a great success. I could not have asked for a more perfect day."

"Good! I was tempted to pass by all you lovely ladies, but I was afraid I might get dragged into sewing."

"You know me better than that."

"You won't, but Sansa would!"

Margaery chuckled and dropped her eyes. She had to plan her next words carefully. "Such a positive event is lovely amidst all of this gloom. First the old king dies and then Lord Royce. That healer gets hurt. I've heard rumors that Cersei is being starved by order of King Aemon."

Robb scoffed. "Jon would do no such thing. I wouldn't be surprised if those rumors were backwards. You pay them no mind, my lady. Jon is not that cruel."

"I know he isn't. He is a good and kindly king. I think the realm is in better hands with him at the helm. But...do you wonder...?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but remained silent.

"What about Lord Jaime Lannister?"

"What about him?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Do you think he means well? It seems odd that King Aemon would have such a rogue like him as Hand."

Robb was quiet and his good mood had evaporated. He nodded and said, "It does seem odd. I thought so when he was first appointed. I thought it was strictly political. We needed the Westerlands might after all, but...I don't think it was that political. I don't know Lord Jaime myself, but...he saved my life. He was the one who took the bear's paw instead of me. I owe him a debt and the first thing I did was disparage him after… after… well, you know." He sighed. "I don't feel like I've quite lived that down."

"You trust him then?"

He seemed to ponder and nodded again. "Yes, I do. It has been nearly a year and he has not made one false move or said one false word against my cousin. They seemed to have an understanding. I don't understand it, but I don't need to. If Jon trusts him, then so do I."

Margaery smiled. "I think you and I are in agreement." She stepped closer and embraced him.

"Do you think we have time for a fling in the bed?" He whispered into her ear.

She laughed and playfully shoved him away. "I think my grandmother might kill me if we were late to dinner because of that."

"She doesn't have to know."

"Trust me, she always knows."