Lord Baelish hadn't received an invitation to the wedding breakfast, much to Arya's relief. Finishing Dannon's remaining duties just after the hour of the Nightingale, she then retired to Littlefinger's brothel for a few hours of much-needed sleep.
Upon awakening, Arya bathed and dressed in Littlefinger's finest attire. Jon had already collected the walnut box containing the goblets from the jewellers, a work of art in itself. The box was adorned with an inlaid image, likely oak or poplar, gleaming with a golden hue depicting the golden Lannister lion clasping the golden Tyrell rose.
Arya had witnessed many sketches and designs commemorating the wedding in recent days, but nothing compared to this craftsmanship. She couldn't help but wonder if Jon had conceived the idea himself. Was there a side of her she had yet to discover? Did Sansa know of his talents? As intrigued as she was, it was too late to inquire. Jon was likely navigating Blackwater Bay, perhaps nearing Driftmark. She made a mental note to ask him about it when they next crossed paths, assuming she remembered.
With meticulous care and gloved hands to avoid leaving fingerprints, Arya removed the goblets from the box. Utilising a small bone tool shaped like a spatula, she applied a tiny dollop of sugar syrup halfway down the stem of each goblet. There it met a large, flat garnet of the deepest reds. With miniature tongs, she then selected a disc of amethyst-coloured poison, a modified version of the Tears of Lys designed to react only with red wine.
With methodical precision, Arya positioned the poison disc into the first goblet. Pressing it down with the opposite end of the spatula to ensure it adhered inside the stem. Satisfied with her work, she repeated the process with the second goblet. Once both were prepared, she returned them to the box, which she sealed, ready to be presented as the wedding gift for the King and Queen.
Arrangements were made for a litter to transport her to the Red Keep, where all gifts were to be submitted before the ceremony at the Sept of Baelor. Arya gave herself one last check in the mirror before departing, eager to embrace the day ahead.
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Standing in the hot and humid Sept of Baelor, Arya fought the urge to yawn. The three stolen hours of rest had done little to sharpen her focus amid the monotony of the ceremony. The High Septon's crown, adorned with crystal and spun gold, seemed to shimmer with every movement, nearly hypnotic in its allure.
Arya had to admit that Joffrey and Margaery appeared regal as they exchanged vows, framed by the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother.
Margaery, looked resplendent in an ivory silk gown adorned with Myrish lace. Drawing attention with her skirts adorned in floral patterns crafted from sea pearls. Around her shoulders, she wore a Tyrell maiden's cloak, its cloth-of-gold roses sewn onto green velvet.
To Arya's dismay, the king cut an almost equally splendid figure. His doublet, a dusky rose, peeked out from beneath a cloak of deep crimson velvet, displaying his stag and lion sigils. Atop his golden hair sat the crown of the realm.
Scanning the room, Arya noted the unfamiliar faces among the attendees, all dressed in their finest, hoping to suck up to the Lannisters for some selfish gain. A gathering like this was always a splendid opportunity to strike a deal. Whether it be a marriage, favours, or financial. Royal weddings were worth their weight in the gold which the Lannisters shit out of their arses.
The familiar ones were absent, like Sansa in Queenscrown, and Varys in the North. Remembering the reason for Brienne's absence, a lump formed in Arya's throat as she recalled the tall woman who had captured Jaime Lannister's heart. This time, he remained whole, with no Brienne to bring him to his senses.
The Lannisters were all too familiar to Arya, but when it came to the Tyrells, she found herself at a loss. In her previous life, she had only encountered four of them. Distinguishing between Margaery's brothers, Willas and Garlan, proved a challenge. She knew one of them bore a limp, though Arya couldn't recall which. She hoped someone would provide a clue later. The woman standing beside Mace Tyrell was likely Lady Alerie, Margaery's mother. Beyond them, the representatives of House Tyrell and the Reach remained a mystery.
For now, the only other people Arya could identify with confidence were Pycelle, Oberyn, and Ellaria.
Arya's focus returned to the ceremony as the seven vows were exchanged, blessings invoked, and promises made. With the wedding song sung and challenges unanswered, it was time for the cloak exchange.
Mace Tyrell removed his daughter's maiden cloak, while Joffrey accepted the bride's cloak from Tommen. Draping Margaery in the crimson-and-gold cloak, he leaned in to fasten it, symbolising her transition from her father's protection to her husband's. A Lady transformed into a Queen, for a short while.
Amidst this, Arya noticed Ser Loras and Ser Meryn Trant leading the procession from the sept in their white scale armour and snowy cloaks. Arya remembered Ser Meryn's malevolence and his predilection for young girls. reminding Arya of another potential target for her list. Her roster of names starting once more amidst her current tenure in King's Landing.
Prince Tommen preceded the King and Queen, scattering rose petals from a basket. Following them were Queen Cersei and Lord Tyrell, then Lady Alerie, walking arm-in-arm with Lord Tywin. The Queen of Thorns shuffled after, supported by Kevan Lannister on one side and her cane on the other. A Tyrell brother accompanied by a woman, likely his wife, followed, and last, Tyrion made his way along, unaccompanied.
"With this kiss, I pledge my love!" Joffrey proclaimed, echoed by Margaery as he drew her close for a kiss. The High Septon declared them one flesh, one heart, one soul, joining Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister with Margaery of House Tyrell.
Outside, the people of King's Landing cheered for their King and Queen, their affection for Margaery overriding any lingering grievances against Joffrey.
Atop the steps of the marble plaza, surrounded by Kingsguard, Joffrey and Margaery received the congratulations of the crowd. Amidst the throng, Arya kissed Margaery's fingers, wished her every happiness, and reminded her to avoid the red wine to prevent staining her beautiful dress. Margaery responded with a wink and a smile before moving on.
Once outside in the open air, Tyrion made a beeline for Littlefinger. "Lord Tyrion, a beautiful day for a beautiful wedding. What do you say?" Arya asked.
"I feared we'd never escape," Tyrion quipped, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "It was long, I'll say that much. I need to return to the castle for a piss," he added crudely, rubbing his nose.
Arya then realised that Tyrion was very drunk, even by his standards. She realised how easily Tyrion had become a scapegoat for Joffrey's death.
Arya was still contemplating whether to save Tyrion, taking him north, and allowing him to sober up. He might prove useful to them, though not in his current state. Yet, she postponed such decisions, including those regarding the other Lannisters. Lord Tywin in particular. For now, it was time to head to the wedding feast. She would address those matters on the morrow.
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Arya reclined in her litter, the gentle sway of its movement lulling her into a contemplative state. Her gaze fixated on the world outside through the lattice windows, basking in the sun's comforting warmth that filtered through the curtains. Memories of the mummers' performance in Braavos, depicting the infamous purple wedding, danced through her mind, stark against the backdrop of reality. It was a stark contrast to witness the event unfold in person, realising the gravity of it all.
And amidst her reflections, Arya couldn't help but ponder Sansa's plight, alone in this unforgiving city, surrounded by enemies. Sansa was right, courtesy was as much a form of defence as was a sword. Arya knew she wouldn't have survived here in the capital.
Upon her arrival at the Red Keep, Arya was ushered into one of the smaller chambers. There, a set of fresh garments awaited her, alongside her gift for the King and Queen, arranged upon a desk. A soft smile graced her lips as she beheld the walnut box, a vessel of intrigue and potential. Though suspicion may be cast upon the goblet as the bearer of poison, Arya couldn't dismiss the notion that many hands had touched them, leaving room for speculation on the culprit's identity.
A rap on the door interrupted her reverie, heralding the arrival of Podrick, dispatched by Tyrion to summon her to the impending feast.
"I shall join the festivities in a few minutes," she assured the squire with a nod, acknowledging his presence.
"I've been tasked with presenting your gift to Their Majesties," Podrick informed her.
Arya retrieved the walnut box from her quarters, handing it over to Podrick with a cautionary note about the fragility of its contents.
"Exercise care," she advised, watching as he vanished down the corridor with her offering in tow.
As Arya prepared to depart, the distant sounds of Margaery and Joffrey's laughter reached her ears, as they enjoyed a moment together. Arya was impressed by Margaery's mummery skills. Indeed, Margaery had a way of enthralling Joffrey, weaving her charms around him with finesse that Arya couldn't help but admire.
As Arya made her way to the throne room, the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread and succulent meats enveloped her senses. Tonight promised an extravaganza of music, revelry, and opulence, a grand display orchestrated to showcase the might and prosperity of Highgarden and Casterly Rock, serving as a stark reminder to any who dared oppose Joffrey's reign. Little did they know, the evening held an unexpected twist, as Arya expected the spectacle of Joffrey's demise with a sinister delight.
Although Arya wasn't seated at the high table of honour, which was reserved for family, her placement ensured proximity to Tyrion, affording her a vantage point to observe and eavesdrop on the proceedings. But before the formalities began, she resolved to mingle among the guests, her keen eyes scanning the throng in search of Tyrion and Pod, hoping they would aid in identifying the individuals they encountered.
Outside in the sun-drenched yard, Arya spotted Tyrion basking in the warm afternoon air, surrounded by fellow attendees. Arya approached him with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for dispatching your squire to ensure my punctuality, and to deliver my wedding gift to the King and Queen," she acknowledged.
"It was no trouble at all, Lord Baelish," Tyrion replied with a weary sigh. "I simply couldn't bear the thought of enduring this affair without engaging company," he lamented, his shoulders sagging.
Arya arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Ah, but, Lord Tyrion, the crowd is teeming with intriguing characters, if one knows where to look," she remarked, a hint of mischief in her tone.
Tyrion emitted a derisive snort. "Indeed, they are all fascinating when they come seeking favours, but the moment their needs are met, they transform into tedious bores," he retorted, his cynicism palpable.
Arya noted Tyrion's inebriation rendered him ill-suited for the wedding festivities. Sansa had confided in Arya about Tyrion's drunken state at their nuptials, where he had been so inebriated that he couldn't consummate their marriage, instead succumbing to unconsciousness. However, Sansa had been reticent about details concerning Joffrey's wedding. Apologising on Tyrion's behalf provided Arya with a convenient excuse to deflect any probing inquiries.
Unbeknownst to Tyrion, he led Arya through the bustling yard, facilitating introductions with his characteristic charm. Among those presented was Lord Gyles, a female member of House Tyrell, whose name escaped Arya's recollection.
The next person Tyrion introduced Arya to was Jalabhar Xho, who was a flamboyant figure she remembered from her previous sojourn in King's Landing. Jalabhar Xho, was an exiled prince from the Summer Isles, possessing a vibrant personality that left a lasting impression.
Next was Ser Lancel Lannister, escorted by Ser Kevan, making a rare appearance, his gaunt visage betraying the toll of past trials. Lancel appeared wan and frail, a mere shadow of his former self. The desperate change in him reminded Arya of Reek, the version of Theon after Ramsay had finished with him. Fortunately, that wouldn't happen in this life. Arya pondered upon what happened to Ser Lancel. He more than likely ended up in the Sept of Baelor when it was blown up by wildfire, Arya surmised.
As Tyrion excused himself, citing a need to take another piss, Arya found herself in the company of Lady Olenna, resplendent in a gown of cloth-of-gold.
"Lord Baelish, I trust you're faring well," the venerable Lady greeted Arya with a scrutinising gaze.
"Indeed, Lady Olenna, I am in splendid spirits, especially after such a magnificent ceremony," Arya replied, her tone tinged with saccharine sweetness.
Olenna's expression shifted, her sharp gaze scanning the vicinity. "I should hope so, considering the expense," she remarked before inquiring, "And where might that handsome young man be? Lord Whiteshark, was it?"
Arya let the misidentification slide, opting not to correct Lady Olenna, for she was sure Olenna had pronounced it wrong on purpose. "He departed yesterday. His lady wife suffered a fall down a flight of stairs, prompting his swift return to White Harbor," Arya fabricated, weaving a tale of concern.
"Are her injuries serious?" Olenna inquired with a glimmer of anticipation, much to Arya's disdain.
Arya shook her head, feigning concern. "Fortune favoured her, only minor bruising, I hear," she lied. "However, being newly-weds devoted to each other, he would rush to her side at a mere stubbed toe," Arya added with an eye roll. "And how do you find the capital, Lady Olenna?" she asked, keeping up the ruse of only having spoken a little since Littlefinger's return.
"It stinks of shit," Lady Olenna complained. "I depart for Highgarden in two days. I've had my fill of this odorous city, thank you. Though I'll miss my dear Margaery and her companions, it's time for me to return to clean air and my bed. When will you be journeying back to Essos, Lord Baelish?"
"Within the fortnight, although I hope it to be sooner. I have matters to attend to before my departure," Arya replied, noticing the guests beginning to file into the throne room, signalling the start of the feast. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Olenna, I believe it is time for the banquet."
"Would you accompany me inside?" Lady Olenna requested, accepting Arya's offered arm. "I've heard there are seventy-seven courses planned. Quite excessive, wouldn't you agree, my lord? I doubt I'll manage more than a few bites myself." She grinned at Arya. "Now, where have my guardsmen disappeared to? Left, Right, where are you? Come, assist me to the dais."
As dusk approached, the throne room blazed with illumination, torches casting flickering light from every sconce. Pages adorned in royal livery guided lords and ladies down the grand central aisle, while heralds proclaimed their names and titles with pomp. The gallery above teemed with musicians of diverse talents—drummers, pipers, fiddlers, and players of strings, horns, and skins.
Littlefinger's announcement came later in the procession, his house's insignificance dictating his place rather than his considerable influence. Arya navigated to her seat, finding herself next to a pretty young woman from an obscure house, whose name still eluded her. Just as Arya braced herself for a tedious conversation, the entrance of the King and his new Queen diverted attention.
Pages heralded their arrival, scattering rose petals before Joffrey and Margaery, who made their grand entrance astride matching white chargers. Both had changed attire for the feast. Joffrey donned striped black-and-crimson breeches, paired with a cloth-of-gold doublet featuring black satin sleeves adorned with onyx studs.
Margaery wore a gown of pale green samite, its tight-laced bodice stressing her shoulders and hinting at the curve of her breasts. Soft brown curls cascaded down her back, almost reaching her waist, crowned by a slim band of gold. Despite her shy and sweet smile, Arya saw through the façade, recognizing it as a well-crafted deception without needing her Faceless Man training to do so.
The Kingsguard guided the remaining members of the royal family onto the dais beneath the imposing Iron Throne. The high table, adorned for the occasion, boasted long silk streamers in the hues of Baratheon gold, Lannister crimson, and Tyrell green.
Cersei enveloped Margaery in an embrace, bestowing kisses upon her cheeks with an air of familiarity that belied their future animosity. There was no hint that one day Cersei would orchestrate Margaery's demise in the very location where the King and Queen were wed. Lord Tywin greeted his good-granddaughter with similar warmth, as did Lancel and Ser Kevan. Joffrey received kisses from Mace Tyrell and his two new brothers-in-law, Loras and Garlan, of whom Arya still struggled to differentiate.
With the king and queen seated, the High Septon led the assembly in prayer, shorter than the one during the ceremony, lest Arya succumbed to boredom.
"Let the cups be filled!" Joffrey declared once the prayers concluded. His cupbearer poured dark Arbor red into the ornate golden wedding chalice, a gift from Lord Tyrell that morning. The vessel was so weighty that Joffrey required both hands to lift it. "To my queen!" he proclaimed, raising the overflowing cup in tribute to Margaery.
"Margaery!" echoed the crowd in unison. "Margaery! Margaery! To the queen!" With the resounding clink of a thousand cups, the wedding feast began in earnest.
Arya scrutinized the wedding table, relieved to spot her goblets set aside for later use, most likely chosen by the Queen herself. A small smile of satisfaction graced her lips as she reviewed the plan: Margaery would sip only Arbor Gold from the poisoned chalice, while Joffrey would indulge in either Arbor Red or Dornish red, both of which were available to avoid offence to the Dornish contingent. If all went as intended, her scheme would unfold before the planned evening execution—albeit with a different Baratheon meeting his demise.
As the feast progressed and the food was served, Arya kept a close watch on Tyrion Lannister, marvelling at his ability to imbibe with no limit. How he maintained his faculties, was beyond Arya's comprehension.
The first dish arrived: a creamy soup of mushrooms and buttered snails presented in gilded bowls. Arya, having foregone breakfast, welcomed the sustenance but reminded herself to exercise restraint, taking only a few bites, for eating it all could arouse suspicion. With one course down, there remained seventy-six more to navigate.
Seventy-seven dishes seemed excessive to Arya, especially considering the plight of starving children in the city and men who would resort to violence for a mere crust of bread. This extravagant display hadn't been depicted in the mummers' play, and Sansa had neglected to mention it. Perhaps because the notion of seventy-seven courses had seemed beyond belief.
"Lord Baelish, aren't you hungry?" inquired the lady seated beside Arya, whose name eluded her memory.
"In truth, my lady, I am famished," Arya replied with a polite smile. "But I possess a modest appetite, and I fear that by the seventh course, let alone the seventy-seventh, I would be too full to continue if I indulged in every dish presented."
The lady, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment at her voraciousness, quickly agreed. "Of course, my lord," she murmured before redirecting her attention to the man on her other side, much to Arya's relief.
Arya observed the room, noting Margaery's sweet smile as she and Joffrey shared wine from the golden seven-sided wedding chalice. Ellaria Sand sat among the Dornish contingent, positioned by Cersei at their table just below the dais. Ellaria appeared to be enjoying herself, engrossed in conversation with the Red Viper. Arya expected the day when she could meet him as her true self, eager to discuss their mutual interests, and the downfall of the Lannisters being the most important. And today marked the beginning of that alliance.
Arya took a sip of Arbor Gold and savoured it, for today would be a good day. She was crossing her number one name off her list.