The Good, the Bad, and the Surprisingly Competent - Tommen SI(rework) Chapter 45: Turning the Page, an a song of ice and fire fanfic

Chapter 45: Turning the Page (Retcon)

The horn was bigger than I had expected.

Onyx-black and made from the bone of what must have been a truly enormous dragon; it was banded with Valyrian steel and red gold, studded with strange Valyrian glyphs that I had to remember to get the Grandmaester to take a look at, its surface host to an unsettlingly reflective sheen. The whole thing was some odd six feet long from mouthpiece to spout, and doubtless capable of creating a bone-meltingly intense wail; though whether that wail could tame dragons was more doubtful.

If nothing else, it certainly looked the part.

"What is that?" Tyrion asked as he settled his papers onto the desk. He'd been hard at work, dismantling Baelish's web.

I shrugged, feeling cryptic. "A trinket or a tool, depending on who you ask."

"I'm asking you," he replied, eyes narrowing as he observed the thing. It must have seemed a strange addition to my chambers.

"Consider it a bit of both, then," I answered. "Onto business."

Tyrion nodded as he hopped into his chair, his feet dangling off the edge. "Our expenses - discounting one-off or unique items - have fallen below our incomes. Our total spending still far exceeds collected taxes, but we have a healthy enough reserve to manage it."

"The main items?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"The biggest by far has to be the grain. The Reachlords may have cut their prices at Lord Mace's behest, but not enough to avoid making a dent in our coffers. Mercifully, most the grain in the current shipment's already been bought, so we don't have to do much more business with them for a little while. Next comes the Iron Bank. The costs of servicing our debt and the added charge." Tyrion shot me a look.

"The Faceless Men, you mean," I supplied.

"Yes," he nodded, shooting me a side-eyed look. "We've done well in dealing with our other debts. Our debts to the Faith have almost been completely paid off, thanks in no small part to the High Septon's generosity." I smiled. "Repayments to House Lannister have been reduced. Then there's the city itself. Rebuilding the gates, removing and disposing of the wildfire, building granaries, purging the gold cloaks, building scorpions for the city walls - all costly measures in their own right. And your wider ambitions as well. Expanding the ports, rebuilding the royal fleet, repairing the major trade roads into and out of the capital, expanding the newly-reformed gold cloaks to patrol the Kingsroad against bandits, and all the other myriad things you seem to want to do."

"Where are we with our reserves?" I asked.

"Of the two million House Tyrell so generously gifted us, I would say we have a little less than one-and-a-half million left in our coffers."

I let a low whistle slip through my lips. "At that rate I'll beggar the realm faster than my father. I'm spending almost as much coin per day as he did."

"And having far less fun, too," Tyrion japed.

I couldn't help but snort. "That too," I agreed. "Though for you I reckon that might soon change. Once Baelish is dealt with his brothels will be yours for the taking."

"Mine?" Tyrion asked, a lone brow quirked. "Not the crown's?"

"Gods, no," I said, putting on an air of offence. "I'll take everything else worth half a groat to fill the crown's coffers, just not the brothels. All those whores, in need of instruction and management..." I shook my head. "The crown could never be seen to be indulging in such shameful flesh-peddling."

"Ah," Tyrion said, as he caught my meaning. "But the crown's lecherous uncle could. All while paying some elevated tax, I presume."

I couldn't help the grin on my face. "In any case, what would be your assessment?"

Tyrion quirked a lone brow. "Of what, nephew?"

"Of my reign thus far."

Tyrion scratched his beard a moment in thought. He knew better than to flatter - I had little tolerance for such things in my inner circle. "Some measures are working better than others," he finally decided. "I don't know how much worth your grain shipments will be in staving off famine. Given the seasons there are risks some of the seeds won't take or will be stolen or the yields may not be as we hope - though I am more hopeful for the livestock we are sending to the war-stricken areas. Yet the measure has managed to draw people away from the cities. Kings Landing reeks less today than it did a few months ago. It's less decrepit, less overfilled. Safer, too. Less robberies, less rapes, less hunger. The grain has also worked to curry favour with the lords. The Stormlords and Riverlords and Reachlords all like you more for it. And I imagine the Northerners must be looking down on them with envy."

"All in all a good showing, then?"

Tyrion shrugged. "You need not worry, I think. You're better than your predecessors, in any case."

"You damn me with faint praise, I say. Who wouldn't be better than Joffrey?"

Tyrion snorted impudently.

I shook my head in mock exasperation. "You can go, then. Good work so far."

I called in the guards, and sent for my wife. Though I had been lucky, and the rumour-mill of court had been quiet on any mention of Arianne, there were whispers about the king and queen fighting. Murmurs of weakness. A chink in the regnal armour. Troubling to some. Unacceptable to others. Yet inevitable, as I refused to allow her to grace my bed. No matter. If all went well, I would have a way to fold the rumours into a satisfying truth, to cement my authority. Some new gossip to overwhelm all the rest.

Margaery entered, looking appropriately contrite, her head bowed. I gestured for her to sit, and she claimed a chair. She stayed that way till the sound of the door closing came and I had confirmed that the guard had left us alone - at which point she relaxed into her seat and her frown turned upside down.

"How did I do?" she asked.

"Very well, Margaery. Very well. You could have put the finest mummers of Braavos to shame!" I let my tone turn suggestive, teasing: "Had I not known better, I would have honestly thought you... drunk."

Margaery blushed prettily. "It was nothing, Your Grace. Had it not been for your show of outrage, I think the princess might well have developed suspicions."

I could only shrug at that. "In any case, it gives me what I need."

Margaery frowned. "Are you really going to expel the princess from court? I understand rebuking her father, but might it not be wiser to keep her close?"

"She's too much trouble," was my reply. "With Myrcella, my ties to Dorne are secure. But the longer the princess stays here, the more havoc she can wreak - and I cannot really stop her. Thus, I would rather she work her wiles elsewhere. Not that I intend to rid myself of her immediately, of course. That would set too many tongues wagging! Yet you know as well as I do how easy it was to bring her to cause offence to a king. A few weeks around a queen was all it took."

"In fairness," Margaery argued, "we did bait her."

"In fairness," I countered, "the little cock-tease has been flaunting herself the moment she arrived. Trying to sow chaos. A pleasant distraction, perhaps - but a distraction all the same. A lesser man might well have fallen for it."

"A lesser man might have," she agreed, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a knowing half-smile. "Yet you were not distracted, were you?"

Of course not. After the shock of revelation had passed, Margaery had redoubled her efforts to involve herself in my work. Checking for whatever paths my dreams had laid before me. In a sense it was a relief. My head was a swimming ball of secrets, lies, and half-finished plots. The lack of sleep and injury had not helped matters. Yet as it became clear I was spiralling, having something resembling a confidant - even if I could not completely trust her - was useful. Someone to share the burden with. It was at her suggestion that my regular circadian rhythm had been restored - with ample assistance from some of the Grandmaester's dreamwine, of course.

That first night's sleep had been dreamless, almost eerily so, but it had been restful, and my head felt clearer, calmer than it had in weeks. The subsequent nights had also been better, if not quite so restful. Doubtless, a lack of Bloodraven's voice in my head had only helped matters, as had the fact that my injuries were close to healing. In spite myself, I almost felt in a cheerful mood. Some of the stresses of power had retreated enough to allow me to relax - if only for the moment.

Yet still the knowledge of impending disaster remained - the truth of which I struggled to both discern and divulge, even as it dominated every conscious decision I made. And even as I worked to avert it, I also worked to divert my attentions to other things. Brooding accomplished little. I was doing what I could. And though everything was moving frustratingly slowly, things were moving. Or so I had convinced myself.

I just need to be more patient. More distracted.

"Well, perhaps a little," I acknowledged. "Even I will confess the princess is pretty. But a snake with a pretty pattern on its back is no less poisonous than one without. The gall! Prince Doran thought he could slip one by me, eh?"

"A mistake he'll pay dearly for, I'm sure."

"Oh, certainly. But something tells me the concessions we planned to extract simply won't suffice. Arianne has her part of the blame to bear. She's too outrageous, too unsubtle. Hells, she's been all but shoving her teats into my face since the moment she arrived! I get the feeling Doran ought to have disciplined her more as a child."

Margaery quirked a lone brow, bemused. "And you mean to make up for this?" she guessed.

"I have always wondered what it would be like to have two women," I confessed. "I am my father's son, after all. And I saw how eager you were with her, when I arrived. That offer you made... I haven't been able to put it out of my mind."

Margaery cocked her head in thought, her voice taking on a playful lilt. "How do I know she won't steal you away?"

I snorted. "What was it you said, after Joffrey was buried? When we become married I become yours..."

"Forever," she finished for me.

I allowed the playfulness to drop for a moment in favour of a touch more earnest approach. "Our marriage is ours. So long as our final loyalties are to one another, then what does it matter if we choose to invite the odd outsider?" I shrugged. "Consider it even, if you must. You got to play with the princess - at my request, I'll grant. But you enjoyed it all the same. So why shouldn't I? I tire of being tempted. We've both been good. We deserve a little fun now and then, no?"

"The princess is rather fun," Margaery conceded. "When I was little, I stumbled across Loras with one his lovers. The sight stuck with me, the thought of another woman... It has always intrigued me, I'll admit. Yet there are still risks."

"Of course," I agreed. "But I don't plan on siring a bastard - you can be certain I'll take precautions. And, in any case, this affair will not last long. Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two - enough time to bend her a little more to my will - and then she's gone. And if you're uncomfortable, you only need to say the word and it'll stop. I intend to invite another to our bed, not to stray from it."

Now it was Margaery's turn to snort. "Most kings have kept mistresses. Most lords visit brothels and whores without a second thought. Even Jaehaerys the Conciliator strayed from the Good Queen Alyssane's bed from time to time. I knew - and expected - as much when I wed you. And though you have held up valiantly till now, it was inevitable that some girl or another would catch your eye. But how many wives can say it took a princess - that no lesser woman would suffice?"

"Not many, I'd wager. Truly, my wife is no ordinary woman."

Margaery nodded proudly. "Nor is my husband any ordinary man."

I gazed at her, observing the way she held herself. Till now, she had been mostly sweet, pliant. Playing very much into her innocent look. Yet this was not the first time that I was getting hints of Olenna lurking beneath it all. The same shrewdness lingered in her eyes. In her mouth, I suspected, was hidden a similarly witty tongue. And though she had not yet adopted the blatant cynicism that was her grandmother's mark, it seemed she had long ago shed her naivety.

I had always known Margaery was a clever girl, but this was new. I could already see her, hunched and wrinkled in fifty years time, sat knitting on some terrace in the keep as she watched the world below do her bidding. I couldn't help but laugh at the image. Margaery shot me a confused look.

"Ever full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Only a few, Your Grace. And only good ones, I hope."

I smiled. "Oh, the best. Now you sit there and look chastened. After so much effort I don't want the princess to see through our ploy."

And with that, I again called in the guards. Arianne would be awaiting my summons, I knew. She was, after all, privy to what she believed the true cause of my weeklong estrangement from Margaery. But I was still curious. She had kept her distance, hadn't used the time to spread any rumours. Had she realised her mistake, or was she soon to saunter into this room with the same overconfident expression plastered onto her face?

The answer arrived before me in short order, with a brief introduction from Ser Loras and a shallow curtsy. With a single finger I granted her a seat. Arianne lowered herself down into a confident posture, clad in even more confident attire, but there was an undeniable air of caution about her. Sensible for anyone, but unusual for one as typically careless as her. My refusal to so much as acknowledge her existence in the past week must have helped make room for the seeds of doubt in her mind.

"What you did was unacceptable," I began, allowing my previous mirth to morph into cold iron.

Arianne did not respond, merely meeting my gaze and waiting. Trying to appear confident.

I leaned back in my seat and sized her up, irritated by her apparent impertinence. "You will no longer attend small council meetings," I declared. "Assuming I don't dispose of your seat entirely, I'll have one of your cousins take your place. And soon enough, you'll be gone too. Back to Sunspear you'll slink with your tail tucked between your legs, like the bitter disappointment Doran always knew you to be."

Arianne's confidence began melting away, aghast.

"With Quentyn overseas, rallying the Golden Company to his side..." I clicked my tongue, playing up the false fears I knew still lingered in her mind. "Whatever concerns you may have had about your inheritance, princess..." I allowed myself to trail off.

"It was a bold plan, princess," I continued. "You knew I would never accept the subtle approach. You knew you needed to surprise me, to do something to lower my resistance and render me vulnerable to your charms. And what better than the sight of two willing women wrapped in passionate embrace, beckoning for a third to join? Not even Ned Stark could resist that, surely. Yet you overplayed your hand. With my sister in your father's hands, you know I can't arrest you. But that doesn't mean I can't ruin you." I stroked my chin as though in thought. "Let's see, I can't tell the truth about your dismissal - that would hardly reflect well on me, now would it? But all the best lies have a grain of truth, don't they?" I let a slow grin split my lips. "You tried to seduce Tywin Lannister, tried to win him over into supporting your claim to Sunspear, and failed. And thus, you were banished."

A look of horror crossed her face.

"I wonder how the lords of Dorne would react to the news of you trying to fuck the man who they deem guilty for killing your aunt? Or perhaps you succeeded in taking him to bed, but failed to win his affections? Who knows? I can only guess."

"I'll deny it," she immediately replied. "I'll tell the truth."

I shrugged. "And you are free to do so. Not that it'll help your case, of course. Your reputation is well-known throughout Dorne. Your refusal to be wed in spite your age certainly hasn't helped. When did you lose your maidenhead - thirteen, fourteen? To the Bastard of Godsgrace, of all people. And you haven't stopped since."

"They're more likely to believe me than you, the son of the Usurper," she spat, her eyes angry.

"I am a Baratheon, yes. I am that Baratheon who, out of his own sense of honour, helped your uncle slay the Mountain. Helped your uncle get justice for the senseless killing of his sister. In light of that, I think you'll find my word holds a good deal of water with your people. Even still, princess, some may choose to take your side. But not enough. And others would be all too eager to see the back of you. The Yronwoods, for one. And a great many others besides. All they need is an excuse. All of whom would doubtless find a great deal of support in the Iron Throne, should they require it."

"You would plunge a whole kingdom into civil war over this?" Arianne asked, anger giving way to incredulity.

"I could," I said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "Not that it would be necessary. Given sufficient pressure, your father could be convinced to set you aside in favour of your brother for fear of bloodshed. You and I both know he already has his doubts about you. But I am as capable of being kind as I am of being cruel. That you will leave my counsel, and my city, is not in question. But whether your retreat will be graceless or graceful is your choice." I withdrew from my desk a scrap of parchment I had prepared for this moment. "This is a letter, addressed to Prince Doran. With this one letter, I guarantee your succession."

"...How?" she asked, her gaze locked on the letter, eyes gleaming with interest.

I tutted and shook my head. "That is the wrong question to ask, Princess."

Arianne's stance stiffened. "What do you want?"

"I am a man of my word, princess. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep," I said. "Do you remember what you said, girl?"

Arianne swallowed, repeating her own words in a flat tone, speaking as though her tongue were coated with ash. "You can punish me another way, if you'd like."

I smiled. "You should congratulate yourself, Arianne. Your ploy worked."

"And if I refuse?" she asked. "You'll rape me?"

"Perish the thought, princess," I said, feigning offence. "I am not one for such things. No, I'll just send you home."

Arianne's look turned bitter as she slowly deflated in her seat. "What a wilful foolish girl I must seem to you, playing at the game of thrones like a drunkard rolling dice."

"Take this for a learning opportunity, then." I stood from my seat and rounded my desk, settling myself on it's edge and cupping her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw down to her chin, tilting her eyes up to meet mine. In spite myself, I felt a pang of pity for her. "And don't worry overmuch. Now that you know better than to displease me, better than to take such foolish risks, you won't go far wrong. In enough time, I'm certain you'll make a fine Princess of Dorne."

"So long as I play the whore for you," she sulked.

"As you were all too eager to do just a few days ago, I might remind you. The most noble whore in the world. A princess. A fitting paramour for a king."

Arianne licked her lips. "What about your honour? Your duty?"

I smiled, reached down, and kissed her. She offered no resistance. It was a fleeting kiss, but a promising one. "As far as I'm concerned, princess, you are my duty for the next few weeks. Dispensing justice is one of my burdens, after all." I cocked my head as I let my hand fall away. "Besides, I'm not merely securing the affections of a simple Dornish girl, but rather a princess. One who will doubtless serve me as a sensible, loyal vassal once she claims her rights. For she knows that what I can give away today I can most certainly take back tomorrow."

Arianne snorted and sighed, quietly conceding the point.

"You can go now," I said, returning to my original place and settling down in my seat with aplomb. "I'll see you tonight, in my chambers. Make sure you've taken some Moon Tea. Ask the Grandmaester if you have none. You'll need it."

She nodded as she lifted herself from her seat. And then she was gone. Margaery looked at me. "Why didn't you tell me...?"

"You didn't truly believe that I'd have her deposed?"

"Well... no. But why promise to guarantee her succession? Wouldn't holding her in suspense would grant you even more sway?"

"Mere punishment without the promise of redemption breeds resentment. And though I probably could, I don't really want to plunge Dorne into civil war. It would make far too much work for me. No. Better to display my power with a false show of kindness than a true show of cruelty. It'll help to win her compliance, to impress upon her that she is beneath me. Smallfolk don't show mercy or generosity to their lords, now do they? They can't. Only the powerful can afford such graces. Besides, this way it's more fun for the both of us."

"And the letter?"

"What about it?"

"How is it going to guarantee her succession?"

I smirked. "A clever trick, that. Arianne's inheritance was never in any serious doubt. But the princess doesn't know that. All the letter was supposed to do was to get Doran to tell his daughter as much. To tell her the truth."

"I see."

"It's nothing, Your Grace."

"It's everything. You've shown yourself to be reliable - to be trustworthy. And coming from me, that is high praise indeed. Our marriage may have been one of political convenience - a union more between houses than people - but that doesn't mean there is no place for passion between us. For lust. For love."

Her brows slowly crept up her forehead at my words, features shifting ever-so-slightly in emotion.

I arose from my seat, rounded my desk to face her. Without words I pulled her into a kiss. "I know I shouldn't," I told her as I spun her around, pressing her back against my desk. Margaery yelped at the abruptness of my movements. "But there's just something about you I can't resist." I pushed some papers aside, hauled my wife up onto the freshly-exposed wooden surface, lifted her skirts and spread her legs; tracing little patterns as I inched up her thigh, fingers sinking into her heat.

Margaery gasped, grinned, pulled me closer.

"Is that so?" she asked, urging me on between kisses.

"It is," I asserted. "You think I find the princess enticing? She's nothing compared to you."

My lips drifted from hers down her chin and to her neck, my spare hand tugging at her bodice to free her breasts. Her hands mussed my hair, fingers working. "Oh?" she breathed, voice catching in her throat, shivering slightly.

"Don't just take my word for it. Here, let me prove it to you..."

This rewrite is perhaps not the most elegant - and definitely not my best work. But though I will probably come back later to touch up the more clunky prose, the major story changes made are here to stay. The original, in retrospect, was a chapter rushed out with improper thought. The draft plan for that chapter was intended to kick-start a Kings Landing arc that, in hindsight, feels like pointless padding, and should have been cut on revision, but wasn't. And though I can't promise to never make such an error again (I am very much still an amateur, prone to stupid mistakes) I can try and be more prudent with my character-work in future. Thanks.

Chapter 45: Turning the Page (Original)

The horn was bigger than I had expected.

Onyx-black and made from the bone of what much have been a truly enormous dragon; it was banded with Valyrian steel and red gold, studded with strange Valyrian glyphs that I had to remember to get the Grandmaester to take a look at, its surface host to an unsettlingly reflective sheen. The whole thing was some odd six feet long from mouthpiece to spout, and doubtless capable of creating a bone-meltingly intense wail; though whether that wail could tame dragons was more doubtful.

If nothing else, it certainly looked the part.

"What is that?" Tyrion asked as he settled his papers onto the desk. He'd been hard at work, dismantling Baelish's web.

I shrugged, feeling cryptic. "A trinket or a tool, depending on who you ask."

"I'm asking you," he replied, eyes narrowing as he observed the thing. It must have seemed a strange addition to my chambers.

"Consider it a bit of both, then," I answered. "Onto business."

"The main items?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"The Faceless Men, you mean," I supplied.

"Where are we with our reserves?" I asked.

"Of the two million House Tyrell so generously gifted us, I would say we have a a little less than one-and-a-half million left in our coffers."

I let a low whistle slip through my lips. "At that rate I'll beggar the realm faster than my father. I'm spending almost as much coin per day as he did."

"And having far less fun, too," Tyrion japed.

I couldn't help but snort. "That too," I agreed. "Though for you I reckon that might soon change. Once Baelish is dealt with his brothels will be yours for the taking."

"Mine?" Tyrion asked, a lone brow quirked. "Not the crown's?"

"Ah," Tyrion said, as he caught my meaning. "But the crown's lecherous uncle could. All while paying some elevated tax, I presume."

I couldn't help the grin on my face. "In any case, what would be your assessment?"

Tyrion quirked a lone brow. "Of what, nephew?"

"Of my reign thus far."

"All in all a good showing, then?"

Tyrion shrugged. "You need not worry, I think. You're better than your predecessors, in any case."

"You damn me with faint praise, I say. Who wouldn't be better than Joffrey?"

Tyrion snorted impudently.

I shook my head in mock exasperation. "You can go, then. Good work so far."

Tyrion nodded as he gathered up his things and made to leave, waddling out the door. I leaned back in my seat once he was gone, contemplative. The big issue remained. My wife and the princess. Even as I remembered the incident, I could scarcely believe my passivity. Yet it was for the best. I had been sleep-deprived, emotional, angry. Prone to making rash decisions bound to backfire spectacularly. As royalty, this was more a political than personal issue. The loyalty of the Reach, and the availability of its bounty, depended on my marriage. And if that bond broke, then there was every chance the web of alliances I had worked so hard to build could be cut apart. And that might well cost me my life. I needed in this case to put my own feelings aside.

Not that my feelings were all negative.

Still, the incident did bear a little fruit. Lacking for sleep, wallowing in my own exhaustion, I finally set my pride aside and opted to go to the Grandmaester asking after some dreamwine. That night's sleep had been dreamless, almost eerily so, but it had been restful, and my head felt clearer, calmer than it had in weeks. The subsequent nights had also been better, if not quite so restful. Doubtless, a lack of Bloodraven's voice in my head had only helped matters, as had the fact that my injuries were close to healing. In spite myself, I almost felt in a cheerful mood.

Almost.

I called in the guards, and sent for my wife. Enough waiting. I had to confront this head-on. Though I had been lucky, and the rumour-mill of court had been quiet on any mention of Arianne, there were whispers about the king and queen fighting. Murmurs of weakness. A chink in the regnal armour. Troubling. Unacceptable. Yet inevitable, as I refused to allow her to grace my bed. The excuse of allowing my injuries from the yard to fully heal hadn't quite worked. Or rather, it had gone awry. I needed a way to fold the rumours into a satisfying truth, something to cement my authority. Some new gossip to overwhelm all the rest.

Hell, how was it that Cersei wasn't the biggest of my troubles?

Margaery entered, looking appropriately contrite, her head bowed. I gestured for her to sit, and she claimed a chair. I eyed her up and down, still puzzled by it. "Care to explain yourself?"

"Your Grace," she began, "I... The only way I could explain it was to say I'd had a moment of weakness. The sight of you bleeding from the eyes is still seared into my brain. It shook me. And the wine had not helped matters. And so when Arianne appeared, offering comfort that quickly turned into something else, I found myself less resistant than usual."

I felt my look turn sour. "That's... disappointing." Somehow, I had expected more method to her madness. Yet if her dalliance with Arianne had been part of a larger plot, why should she confess to it now? Better to keep her secrets and play the helpless maiden.

"I know, Your Grace. Yet I must remind you that whatever temptations you may have felt around the princess... were far more fleeting. You found yourself away from her, away from me most of the time, busy with the work of the realm. She focused her attentions on me. And the princess can be... insistent."

"And eventually, you succumbed."

Margaery nodded. "When I was little, I stumbled across Loras with one his lovers. The sight stuck with me, the thought of another woman..." She shook her head. "I can only apologise. I lack your strength of will. I failed you."

"Why'd you let her get that close in the first place?" I asked. "If you felt the temptations too?"

"Arianne extended an arm of friendship," Margaery said. "I'd hardly wish to offend the Dornish sensibilities. To make an enemy of an ally. To endanger Myrcella. And... I trust you know your mother's attitudes towards me?" I nodded. "The princess's seat on the small council gave me cause enough to keep her close."

"You wanted to build an alliance against the Lannisters," I finished for her. At Olenna's behest, perhaps? Or was I just being paranoid?

"Against your mother, Your Grace. Not the Lannisters at large. Just the one not too fond of me. And just to show her I could hold my own, that I was a worthy woman to be your wife. I hold no ill will to her, I swear it."

I sighed. "You don't need to swear anything. My mother can be a tetchy sort. I reckon I'll never have a wife she won't hate to some extent. That much I can understand. But what about the offer? To share?"

Margaery blushed slightly. "When you arrived, Your Grace, I suddenly came to my senses. It was like you'd said, I'd broken my vows."

I nodded in understanding. "You never thought you'd be caught. But you were. And knowing my father, you hoped to blunt my anger."

"I panicked. I know you're not him."

"Yes," I agreed.

"I pray you can forgive me," she said, her eyes meeting mine. I didn't know quite what to think, how to square the image of a politically savvy woman with that of an emotional teenager thrust into an unfamiliar and dangerous world. How to decide which one she was? She could be telling me the truth, making an honest appeal to her husband, or else a half-truth, attempting to extract some secret concession. If nothing else, it was a testament to her skill that I couldn't tell.

"What was it you said, after Joffrey was buried? When we become married I become yours..."

"Forever," she finished for me.

"You're in luck," I finally said after an intentionally long moment. "I'm in a forgiving mood. But I'm not in the habit of offering something for nothing."

"Anything, Your Grace."

I studied her face, her wide, bright eyes; the curve of her brow and the crease in her forehead when she frowned; the minute twitches of her nose; the way she set her hands in her lap and the stiff formality of her posture. Apprehension intermingled with a certain self-assuredness. "That offer... I haven't been able to put it out of my mind."

Margaery seemed troubled by my words, perhaps a tad disappointed. "Your Grace?"

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have two women," I pressed. "I am my father's son, after all."

Margaery chewed her lip, either genuinely uncertain or else feigning it expertly. "The princess?"

I nodded. "The princess."

Margaery cocked her head in thought, seemingly warming to the notion. "What of our vows?" she asked. "As you said when you caught us?"

I dismissed her objection with a careless wave of my hand. "I don't much mind if you want to bring beautiful women - and only women, mind you - to our bed. So long as you bring them to me first. Of course, it's true enough that some vows are not so easily broken. But where an old bridge has been burned a new bridge might be built, I say. Our marriage is ours. So long as our final loyalties are to one another, then what does it matter if we choose to invite the odd outsider? Consider it recompense, if you must. You got to play with the princess. So why shouldn't I?"

"That seems just," she agreed, though I could tell some reluctance remained. Her voice took on an almost playful lilt. "Yet how do I know she won't steal you away?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "She's been all but shoving her teats in my face from the moment she set foot in the keep. If I'd intended on running away with her, I'd have done it already." I shrugged. "She's too much trouble for me. Too outrageous. Altogether too Dornish. Her father ought to have disciplined her more as a child."

Margaery's expression was almost devious. "I'm sure you'll make up for it."

And with that, I called in the guards and sent for the princess. Arianne would be awaiting the call. She was, after all, privy to the true cause of my weeklong estrangement with Margaery. But I was still curious. She had kept her distance, hadn't used the time to spread any rumours. Had she realised her mistake, or was she soon to saunter into this room with the same overconfident expression plastered onto her face?

"What you did was unacceptable," I began, allowing my previous mirth to morph into cold iron.

Arianne did not respond, merely meeting my gaze and waiting. Trying to appear confident.

Arianne's confidence began melting away, aghast.

"Your Grace," she croaked, bewildered, seemingly unable to believe what she was witnessing. Beside her Margaery sat quiet, the briefest flash of confusion crossing her features before the corners of her lips quirked up into the slightest hint of a smile as she nodded along to my words. She may well have played along with my request in an effort to win back my favour, but in all likelihood she was happy to hear of the princess's departure.

A look of horror crossed her face.

"I'll deny it," she immediately replied. "I'll tell the truth."

"They're more likely to believe me than you, the son of the Usurper," she spat, her eyes angry.

"You would plunge a whole kingdom into civil war over this?" Arianne asked, anger giving way to incredulity.

"...How?" she asked, her gaze locked on the letter, eyes gleaming with interest.

I tutted and shook my head. "That is the wrong question to ask, Princess."

Arianne's stance stiffened. "What do you want?"

"I am a man of my word, princess. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep," I said. "Do you remember what you said, girl?"

Arianne swallowed, repeating her own words in a flat tone, speaking as though her tongue were coated with ash. "You can punish me another way, if you'd like."

I smiled. "You should congratulate yourself, Arianne. Your ploy worked."

"And if I refuse?" she asked. "You'll rape me?"

"Perish the thought, princess," I said, feigning offence. "I am not one for such things. No, I'll just send you home."

Arianne's look turned bitter as she slowly deflated in her seat. "What a wilful foolish girl I must seem to you, playing at the game of thrones like a drunkard rolling dice."

"So long as I play the whore for you," she sulked.

"As you were all too eager to do just a few days ago, I might remind you. The most noble whore in the world. A princess. A fitting paramour for a king."

Arianne licked her lips. "What about your honour? Your duty?"

Arianne snorted and sighed, quietly conceding the point.

She nodded as she lifted herself from her seat. And then she was gone. Margaery looked at me. "Why didn't you tell me...?"

"Did you really think after all she did that I'd allow her to stay?" I asked. "Given the risk she represents?"

"Well... no. But why promise to guarantee her succession?"

"And the letter?"

"What about it?"

"How is it going to guarantee her succession?"

"I see."

Silence hung awkwardly in the air for a long moment. Margaery slowly lifted herself from her seat, awaiting my permission to leave. I looked at the sheaf of parchments piled high on my desk, then back at her. "You know," I said, "it strikes me now that we don't know each other very well. Ever since I wed you I've always been distracted by something. Some urgent matter in need of attending to. Some new nightmare to mull over. And most of what time I do spend with you that isn't in our bed is in public. Where you are my queen more than my wife, and our true feelings and thoughts are rarely free to be heard."

"You are only doing your duty," she assured me, rather tepidly.

"Consider our lives a book, Margaery. This is an opportunity to turn the page. To leave this ugliness behind. So, sit. You already know a great deal of me, though I would wager not as much as you think. Yet it is clear to me that I know even less of you. Tell me something of yourself I don't know. Anything."

Margaery shot me a strange look, her eyes drifting down to the clutter of my desk. "Truly?"

"Truly. My work can wait a few moments."

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P.S. Will probably be subject to a rewrite or edits in the future