A/N: You guys are the best, seriously. I don't deserve you all. Thanks for still reading my little tale. 3
"You summoned me, my lady?" Sansa said as she stepped into Margaery's tent. It was far too lovely a thing to expect traveling with soldiers, with cushions on every surface and fabrics draping from the tent walls.
"Yes, dear girl." Margaery stepped closer, holding Sansa's hands. "I've heard so much about the Rose in the North and thought we could talk together, just us girls. What do you say?"
Even just meeting Margaery, already knowing exactly how charming she was, Sansa found herself blushing. "That's a lovely idea. But my lady, you've made that title up. No one calls me that."
Stepping closer, Margaery wrinkled her nose mischievously. "Well, they should. And it's Margaery, please. There's no need to stand on formality. Sit, make yourself at home."
Sansa stared down at the cushions, unsure what to do.
Margaery laughed. "It's the Dornish style! Much easier than lugging great, useless pieces of furniture across hillsides." She reclined against the cushions, looking entirely at ease. Sansa tried to copy her but it felt so odd leaning on her arm.
"Now," Margaery said, leaning closer like she was sharing a confidence. "You've been at King's Landing, but you've also been in a great, dirty war camp. What's it been like? I've always wondered. Renly never got to fight any battles."
Sansa didn't even have to fake her smile. Margaery had guessed why the Starks were here, might even have guessed about Robb – and she was showing interest. "I haven't been there for any battles, either. It is very dirty, especially compared to here." Margaery laughed at that and Sansa continued. "Mostly, it was wonderful, seeing all the men from home. It felt like they'd come to greet me."
Margaery's kind eyes held all the sympathy in the world. "I'm sure, child, especially after being away from home for so long. Is it strange, seeing your brother leading men?"
Sansa had to fight to hide her excitement at her mention of Robb. "I thought it would be. Robb's so young, you know. He's your age. But they all respect him and follow him so naturally. I think that was the shocking part, really. That it wasn't strange."
With a smile that could have hidden any number of emotions, Margaery gestured to a servant. "Lady Sansa and I will be taking our supper in here." With a bow, the servant scurried off.
"I talked to one of my cousins," Margaery said, once the servant had left. "She once knew a man you might be familiar with, down in King's Landing. Ser Dontos Hollard?" Margaery barely flicked her eyes to Sansa as she refilled her wine glass, subtly watching her reaction. "I've heard he's the King's new jester."
Sansa nodded, unsure if Margaery knew of Sansa's involvement. "I did. A poor knight, really. Is he doing well?"
Margaery hummed vaguely as she took a sip of wine. "I assume so. He's alive, isn't he? Thanks to you."
Sansa didn't know what to say.
"How long will the rest of them be alive, do you think?" Margaery asked, swirling her wine glass. "With your brother pressing in on one side and Stannis on the other?"
Longer than you, if Cersei has her way. "I couldn't know," Sansa replied. "Wars are so unpredictable, and–"
"Theon says you sit on Robb's war council," Margaery cut her off.
Sansa tried to hide her shock. Theon said? Since when had Margaery talked to him? And why? She didn't trust Margaery around him, not for an instant. She'd have her claws in him as soon as breathing.
"He said Robb listens to you, heeds your advice," Margaery continued. "Tell me. What do you think will happen to the Lannisters?"
"I'm just a girl," Sansa gave a shaky smile. She wasn't half so scared of Baelish as she was of Margaery. "I don't know anything, really."
Margaery leaned closer. "So am I," she whispered. "We'll keep it among us girls, then, shall we?"
Revealing anything was a risk. Margaery could be honestly asking, truly considering abandoning her betrothal to the Lannisters. Or she could be the Lannister's greatest asset, ferreting out the Stark plans through Robb's sister. There was no way to know.
"I don't think we'll get our revenge," Sansa said, choosing her words with precision. "Not directly. I don't think any man from the North will get to cut off Joffrey's head. But it will fall before we march home. And he won't be the only Lannister to lose it."
"His younger brother?" Margaery asked, with an unreadable look. "I've heard he's a sweet little thing."
"He is," Sansa replied. "With his mother's claws in him. Cersei would rather see him dead than allow anyone else to hold sway."
The servant came back in carrying plates of lamb dripped in succulent sauces, the vegetables piled high. Talk ceased as they both dug in, though Sansa with more alacrity. She'd been living on the road and in a war camp for the past month. The Tyrells' food was to die for.
"And how long do you think it will be?" Margaery asked after the servant had left. "Before you march home?"
There it was – Margaery's ambition. She'd have Robb march eastward, first, to besiege King's Landing.
The Starks would never be able to take it. Robb would march eastward and die. But Sansa couldn't speak against it, not without losing the Tyrells and the support her family so desperately needed.
"Who can say?" Sansa smiled. "Wars take such an awfully long time."
Margaery smiled back. "They do, indeed. Perhaps I'll get to see a battle, after all."
Though from which side, Sansa had no idea.
. . .
"Theon!" Sansa hissed at him as he passed, hidden among the shadows of the tents, herself.
He stopped, curious, and stepped behind the tent. "Sansa?"
"Shh!" Grabbing his arm, she pulled him further back, out of the firelight. "What did Margaery say to you?"
A cocky smirk flirted with his mouth. "Why? Are you jealous?"
Sansa closed her eyes, praying to the gods for patience. "Just– What did she say, Theon? She's cleverer than she lets on."
"Oh, she lets on plenty," Theon replied. Sansa didn't like his smile. Finally, he continued. "Wanted to know about you, mostly. Asked about Robb, for the rest."
Her heart pounded in her ears. This was deadly serious. "And what did you say?"
His smirk returned. "About whom? You or Robb?"
"Both, Theon!" Sansa snapped.
"Alright, alright, no need to get tetchy," he replied. "I told her you were more obnoxious than a little sister, so troublesome that I had to–"
"Theon!" Sansa glared at him.
But Theon only smiled. "I said you gave good advice. That the only ones who didn't listen to you were fools. Was I wrong?"
That was… surprisingly flattering. But it didn't account for all of what Margaery had said. "You told her I sit on Robb's war council."
"I told her Robb wasn't a fool," Theon replied.
"What else did you tell her about Robb?"
Theon laughed. "What all you noble Starks kept leaving out, apparently."
Sansa waited in annoyance for him to explain, not about to ask again.
Theon leaned closer. "The most important thing of all. That he's very, very…" His face split into a grin. "Handsome. The prettiest man in all the North."
Oh. That wasn't so bad, then. "Nothing else?"
He shrugged. "Your mother had already said 'kind' and 'honorable' enough that just hearing the words made me want to heave. I said that he was fun. That I couldn't wait until the war was over and we could go drinking together again." Theon grinned, completely self-satisfied. "How did I do, my lady? Did I pass?"
Merciful heavens, had he ever passed. "Thank you, Theon. That may have been invaluable."
"Of course," he replied, with a shrug. "I've always talked Robb up to any girl he's interested in. Just think how great it'll be when the King in the North returns the favor. I'll…" Abruptly remembering who he was talking to, he trailed off in a cough. "Did you need something else?"
Robb did owe him. Sansa would make sure that favor was repaid… to herself. "Yes, actually." Her voice dropped even quieter. "I need to get a message to Stannis as quickly as we can manage. I've no more than a vague idea of when he'll attack the Blackwater."
Theon immediately caught the seriousness of the matter. The Tyrells hated Stannis. "Send a raven?"
Sansa shook her head. "Too easily intercepted and too unbelievable. I need to speak with him in person but there's no way he'd treat with the fourteen-year-old sister of a rebel." She waited, worrying her lip.
"So what's your plan?" Theon said.
"He has an advisor he trusts, Ser Davos Seaworth," Sansa said. "A reasonable man."
"And you think he'd treat with a fourteen-year-old girl?" Theon looked skeptical but not half so much as her words warranted.
Sansa shook her head. "He'd treat with you."
Theon stopped, wide-eyed, and Sansa continued on.
"It isn't much we'd be asking for," she explained. "Robb doesn't even have to know. It doesn't matter if Stannis doesn't agree to independence for the North; we need this."
"And what is it we need?" Theon said.
"We need to mine dragonglass from his island of Dragonstone," Sansa replied. "And we need to help him win the Battle of the Blackwater. He should be amenable to that."
"You need me to leave now?" Theon said. "I think the Tyrells will notice when the Stark party of three goes down to two."
Sansa's heart leapt in her chest. Theon hadn't protested leaving solely on her word, to carry her bizarre message, hadn't protested even the slightest bit. She'd be grateful to him forever.
"Not now," Sansa agreed. "We can't risk the Tyrells noticing. I think we may yet have some time."
Theon nodded. "Tell me when time's running out. I'll do my best to get away before then."
"Alright," Sansa said. "Now, you need to be clear on the details before you go talking to Davos…"
. . .
"I've had the most wonderful idea," Margaery said as they broke their fast the next morning. Around the table sat the three Tyrells, Sansa, Catelyn, Theon, and Baelish. "Lady Catelyn keeps talking so enthusiastically about the Stark army and all the victories they've been winning. I've decided I'd like to see them for myself."
Sansa couldn't breathe. This was wonderful news, better than she could have hoped for–
"But the Tyrell army is still on the march for the Capital," Margaery continued. "It'd be a shame to divert them for a trifling fascination of mine. I was wondering…" She looked mischievously toward Sansa and Catelyn, inviting them to share her confidence. "What if we swapped?"
"Swapped, my lady?" Catelyn replied. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning."
"Well," Margaery continued, with a wink at Sansa. "If you stayed here with my family, Lady Catelyn, then my brother and I could continue back to your camp with your daughter and Theon. You'd keep ten of your men with you and we'd take ten men from the Reach with us. That way, all of us would be safe and the rest of our party might never even know I was missing. Wouldn't that be delightful?"
"It would, it would! Delightful indeed," Mace Tyrell chimed in.
Catelyn would be a prisoner ensuring the Tyrell's safety, though Margaery would never put it in so crude of terms. Sansa was intrigued. It was a cleverer plan than she would have suggested, herself.
Catelyn's smile bore all the grace of someone trying to refuse. "My lady, it is a fine idea, but I am a mother. I need to get home to my children, not continue playing at war."
"Of course, Lady Stark," Margaery replied. "I could always visit the Stark camp with you and leave Sansa with my family, but I assumed she had been separated from her family for too long, already. And besides," She smiled over at Sansa. "your daughter and I were becoming such good friends! I'd hate to leave her side."
Catelyn hesitated, looking at her daughter, then at Theon.
"I'll keep her safe, Lady Stark," Theon replied to the unasked question. "You can count on me."
"As will I," Loras said. "Knights of the Realm aren't just for show, you know."
"And then King Robb can keep all of us safe," Margaery added. "While I see what an independent North truly looks like."
Excitement ran through Sansa's veins thicker than her blood. King Robb.
"We couldn't let you in the main camp," Theon said reluctantly. "We've a war going on and the enemy–"
"Yes, I know," Margaery replied. "But surely we could camp close by, could we not?"
Camp near enough to the Starks to meet Robb, Margaery clearly meant. "I think that's a splendid idea," Sansa said, watching her mother carefully. "I would so love getting to know Margaery better. I have so few friends outside of the North."
But Catelyn's gaze was fixed on the only person at their table who hadn't spoken: Baelish. "And what do you plan to do, Lord Baelish? Remain here like a specter haunting me?"
Baelish spread his hands wide. "I serve at the Tyrells' convenience. I could always accompany Margaery and leave you here in peace."
Immediately, all her anger at him for betraying Ned rushed forth in full force. "You will not go within ten leagues of Robb–!"
"He will not, my lady," Margaery said calmly. "My father is perfectly happy to continue hosting him here, if it pleases you."
Catelyn looked away, pulling herself under control. Finally she gave a tear-filled nod. "Be quick about it, then. The sooner you can be off, the sooner I can be back in Winterfell with my sons."