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Time had lost all meaning. There was only darkness. And pain. Unending. Throbbing. Pain. The pain of the blows he'd received in the throne room that fateful day. The pain of the gashes the blunted weapons had left upon his flesh. And the pain in his heart he felt for his failure. For there was no other word he could use to describe what happened. He failed. He, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had failed spectacularly.
Groaning with effort, Ned forced himself into a seated position and stared off into the endless abyss that was the Black Cells. Why had he not acted faster? Why had he not realized that Robert was the key to their survival until Nyra reminded him of the fact? Why was he…always such a fool?
Hearing latches clatter accompanied by the clinking of chains, Ned turned his head and saw something he had not seen in… Gods, he didn't know how long now. A low light that just barely outlined the door of his cell. Hearing keys jingle, Ned held up a hand to shield his eyes the best he could as the door was opening, the light of a single torch spilling into his cell and near blinding him as it chased the darkness away.
"Leave us," he heard a voice say, a voice he recognized.
Lowering his hand, Ned didn't try and keep the wolf's blood in check as he glared in hatred at the man across from him. "Baelish."
Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin…Cat's friend, stood just across from him with a smile on his face. Two guards standing silently behind him as Petyr took the torch from one of the guards and lowered it towards Ned's face. "Good, it seems like it has worn off enough for us to talk properly now."
"Worn off?" Ned growled. He would've strangled the man had he the power to do so. But, with his arms chained and his body still suffering from the beating he'd received, it was all he could do to stay conscious.
"Indeed," Baelish smiled, which made him look like the weasel many claimed him to be. "You see, as much good as you think you've done over the years, you have made numerous enemies. Enemies that I have meticulously gathered with one purpose. The end of House Stark. One such group are the Maesters that managed to survive your purge of the Citadel years ago. Amongst there were several great minds who have come up with a way to deal with yourself, as well as the sorcerer."
Still smiling, Baelish pulled out a small vial of dark liquid and held it before him. "This is a mixture of several things that I cannot name. But that doesn't matter. What does is the fact that this little potion addles the mind, leaving one unable to focus. And because they cannot focus properly, they cannot use your strange magic. While you may not be as powerful as the Sorcerer or your spawn, you have displayed several instances of using magic. So, you have worked as quite a decent test subject for the Maesters to refine this little potion. Ensuring that it will be enough to level the field against the Sorcerer and your spawn."
Ned made to lunge at the man, but his wounds along with time in the Black Cells had dulled his muscles to the point where he was nowhere near as fast as he once was. And because of that, Baelish was easily able to move back to avoid his strike. The two guards took a step forward, but Baelish held up his hand to stop them. "I see you still have quite a bit of fight left in you. I'll have to tell the Maesters of this. They assured me that you would be unable to move so well for some time after ceasing taking the potions. They will have to adjust the amount I believe."
Growling, Ned forced himself upright. A feat that was far more strenuous than he cared to admit. "What is your game, Baelish? Who do you truly serve?"
Baelish just laughed. "Have you not figured it out yet, Stark? I knew you were dimwitted, but I never realized you were this bad. I don't 'serve' anyone. I am my own man. As for my goals…I have only one. Though that has now changed."
Motioning towards the two men, one produced a stool for Baelish to sit upon. "You see, Stark…All my life, there has been only one thing that I have cared about. One thing I wanted. Catelyn. We were inseparable as children while we grew up together. She was everything to me. And I knew I was everything to her. Then, just as I gained the courage to approach her father about what we both desired… He informed us that he had sold her to your fool of a brother."
"So, you challenged my brother for her hand," Ned said, still wanting nothing more than to strangle the man before him.
Baelish pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes. Not my smartest idea by far. But I was young and foolish. Time has taught me that there is more than one way to skin a wolf. And as the years went by, I was surprised to discover that I was not the only one who wanted the wolves removed." Smiling Baelish leaned back. "It's amazing what one can find when they are in charge of overseeing the flow of coin throughout the Seven Kingdoms. And the Maesters, despite their cunning, did not have infinite coin to spend on their plot. But once I saw where their coin was going, I reached out to them and offered my support for your removal."
Ned's eyes widened. "Nox's wedding… You had a hand in it!"
"Of course I did," Baelish spat. "Despite years of planning, I was no closer to bringing House Stark down than I was when I challenged your brother for Catelyn's hand. The Maesters had a good plan, a scapegoat to take the blame, and the means to deal with loose ends. Of course I aided them."
Ned wanted to laugh. "You say you loved Catelyn… Yet you are responsible for her death just as much as those Maesters."
It was a testament to just how weakened Ned was that he was unable to react at all as Baelish stood up and took his stool in hand before bringing it down on his head. "No!" Baelish shouted, the sounds of the stool shattering against Ned's body echoing throughout the cell nearly as loud as his yell. "You! You are responsible for her death! You and Corbray! I sent him there specifically to make sure no harm came to her! And even if he had failed, you should have given your life to protect her! But you didn't! She still died! Because you failed her!"
Groaning, Ned spat out a wad of blood from his mouth as he glared at the fuming Baelish. "Are you truly so blind to think that she would go to you after what you did to me? To her children?"
Baelish scoffed. "She would never have known. But it matters not. Corbray failed. As did you. Cat died while the rest of you lived. And the only repercussions you and the Sorcerer suffered for your failures was the death of two children." Throwing aside what remained of the broken stool, Baelish fiddled with his cuffs. "With Cat gone, I lost the one thing I wanted. So, I vowed that, in honor of her memory, I would destroy House Stark, the Sorcerer, and all of the North. And that has been my one driving force…until recently."
Smirking, Baelish knelt so they were nearly eye to eye. "Sansa… She truly is her mother reborn and more. She…She has changed my plans. First, I planned on simply using the idiot King to wipe out the North. Then once you all had killed one another, I alone would be there to stand at the top of the pile of bodies. But now? Now that has changed. I won't be alone. Sansa will be by my side. But don't worry, you'll live just long enough to watch the two of us wed. After all, what lady doesn't want her father at her wedding to the King? And then, and only then, when I have taken the last thing you cherish, will I allow you to die, Stark."
The wolf's blood howled, and Ned would not be denied. Wounds, aches, fatigue be damned, he lunged for Baelish. Only this time the slippery weasel was not fast enough to escape Ned's fist as it connected solidly with his face, leveling the bastard out in the small cell.
His small victory was short lived as the two guards immediately descended upon him with clubs, striking his head, arms, chest, and legs. Wherever they could find purchase, they struck. Again and again, the clubs beat at him until his vision started to fade, and darkness threatened to overtake him.
"Stop. That is enough for now."
Had he the power to do so, he would've spat in Baelish's face. But all he could muster was to glare at the wretched man through bloodstained eyes. "Send for the Silent Sisters," he heard Baelish say as the man turned his back on him and walked away. "I don't want my future 'goodfather' to die before he can witness his daughter's wedding after all."
The Silent Sister walked with her veiled eyes firmly fixated on the tile floor of the Red Keep. Beside her were five others. Two other Silent Sisters and two guards wearing leather armor and full helms just in case their charges became unruly. The two gold cloaks that were leading them turned and started descending into the depths of the Red Keep, the tile floor replaced with stone as the light began to fade as they walked deeper and deeper into the part of the Red Keep that everyone ever hoped to never step foot in.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the Silent Sister almost had to strain her eyes to try and see in the dim light provided by the few torches as the darkness around them almost seemed to be trying to destroy all light. 'The Black Cells indeed. I had never thought to step foot again in this accursed place.'
One of the gold cloaks raised his fist and pounded on the solid wooden door barring their path. "Hey, turnkey! Get off your ass and the door already. Got the Silent Sisters here to treat the fuckers down here."
There was grumbling on the other side, accompanied by the clinking of keys before the door slowly opened. On the other side was a bare-chested man who looked as if he had not seen a proper bath in at least a month eating away at an apple. "Bout damn time," the turnkey belched before jerking his head. "Dis way. Lord Baelish's men did a number on one of em, need dat one alive. The rest don't matter. Just make sure they ain't dead."
Keeping her head down, the Silent Sister and her followers trailed after the turnkey deeper into the Black Cells as the two gold cloaks seemed content to stay near the entrance. 'Good,' she thought as the turnkey stopped at a seemingly random cell and opening it. Peering in, the Silent Sister nearly broke her silence at the sight within. Within was a single man, beaten and bloodied to the point of nearly being unrecognizable. His clothes, what few were left, were torn and soiled with blood, sweat and gods only knew what else.
"The Warden of the fucking North," the turnkey spat. "Fuckin traitor. Can't wait to see what the King does with him. Heard he's getting pretty creative with his executin heretics. But they want this one alive for a bit longer apparently. So, heal him up and then check that the others down here are still breathin."
The Sister said not a word as she walked into the cell, her two fellow sisters following her. Going to her knees, she gently moved the Warden's hair out of his face. Blood was covering most of his face and was dried in his hair. With her two guards setting up the torches, the three Sisters set to work. First, they cut away what few remnants of his clothes were left before washing away the dried blood as best they could with only damp cloth. The Warden's eyes flickered open briefly, his steel-grey eyes staring unseeing into the distance as he mumbled incoherently from the pain and exhaustion.
"Fuck, how long will this shit take?" the turnkey grumbled as the Sisters began bandaging the wounds as best they could given the circumstances. The Sister said not a word as they continued to work. "Right…'Silent Sisters'," the turnkey grumbled. "Well, I have to shit. Check the other cells to see if any of these fucks are dead yet. If they are, I'll open the cells when I get back."
Leaving them, the Sister listened carefully as his steps faded into the distance. Once she was convinced that they were alone she met the eyes with one of the guards and nodded. The guard didn't say a word, merely slipped out of the cell seeking out his target. Within moments, she heard a door being opened and someone trying to say something before the condemned man's words ended in silence. The door out in the hall then shut again as the guard moved back towards the entrance.
She heard not a word of what was said as she kept treating the injured Warden, but soon enough the turnkey marched angrily down the hall, passed their open cell and towards another. The rattling of keys and the grinding of the door opening against stone was soon followed by curses. "Shit, forgot this fucker was even down here," the turnkey growled. "Get him out of here before he starts to stink."
The turnkey almost ran away from them, shouting not to bother him again until they were done. Alone once more, the Sister shared a quick glance with either Sister at her side. Without a word, they began moving quickly, divesting the Warden of all of his clothes as their guard dragged in the corpse from the other cell. Working quickly, the two guards stripped the corpse down to his small clothes. As they were doing that, the Sister pulled out a small vial from within her robes. Taking the Warden's head in her lap, she tilted his head back and opened his mouth. Uncapping the vial, she quickly poured the liquid inside down his open mouth before holding his mouth shut.
He struggled for but a moment before the contents of the vial took hold and his movement ceased and his breath slowed as his skin grew pale. Placing her fingers to his throat, she let out a sigh of relief as she felt the slow beat of his heart. Lowering his head, she watched as one of her fellow Sisters pulled two small pins out of her hair and began undoing the shackles around the Warden's wrists and ankles. The moment he was free, they immediately set upon the two men, switching their clothes so that the now dead prisoner was dressed in the clothes of the Warden, and the Warden was wearing the dead man's clothes.
With the clothes changed, the Sister who'd unlocked the shackles replaced them onto the corpse as the other Sister tied a large piece of cloth over the Warden's face. A common way to treat the dead, and one that would provide them with the cover that they needed.
Saying a quiet prayer to the Seven, the old gods, and whoever else might be listening, the Sister got to her feet as one of her guards hoisted the now limp Warden over his shoulder. Violet eyes met old pale blue eyes as the Sister shared a look with the guard who was carrying Eddard Stark. Giving one another a nod of reassurance, the group quietly left the cell, making sure to shut the door securely behind them. The ruse would not last long. A day, perhaps two if they were lucky. But that was all they needed.
Passing by the turnkey, the Silent Sisters and their guards said not a word to the gold cloaks or the turnkey as they were let out of the cells. And none looked twice at the 'dead' man they were carrying out. 'Do not run,' the Sister urged herself. Forcing herself to walk normally as she led her small group out of the Black Cells and back up into the Red Keep proper. 'Do not draw attention. You are a Silent Sister. Nothing more.'
Either through blind luck or divine intervention, the Sister didn't care which at this point, they managed to make their way through the Red Keep and out into the courtyard where their cart waited for them. Climbing up into the cart, her guards deposited the limp body into the back with them before quickly making their way up to the driver's seat and urging their horses onwards. They were stopped just once as they reached the gate leading out of the Red Keep. But after just a single glance at the three Silent Sisters and 'corpse' in the back of the cart, the gold cloaks on guard let them pass through the gates without issue.
It was only when the gold cloaks and walls of the Red Keep were obscured from view did the cart divert away from the road that would lead them to the Sept of Baelor. Taking them instead down towards the docks. Sharing a look, the Sister nodded at the other two with her. Together they began divesting their Septa habits, revealing far sea faring clothes instead.
Throwing her habit out the back of the cart, the Voice stared down at the covered face of Ned Stark. 'Hold on, Ned…We're almost free.'
Walking slowly through the gilded halls of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell, the Rose of Highgarden, watched on as the numerous courtyards of Highgarden and the lands around their keep bustled with activity. Smiths plied their trade day and night. Weavers and seamstresses turned away from dress or simply clothing to more robust jerkins and leather covers. Men drilled in the yard day and night preparing themselves. The realm had been thrown into war. And the Reach had no choice but to answer the call. 'Though we will not answer in the way most believe.' Margaery mused as she continued her slow walk through Highgarden, thinking back on to how they came to this point.
'Robert Baratheon dead. Though considering his lavish lifestyle I suppose many are surprised that he even survived this long. Joffrey being crowned King…and Lord Eddard Stark being accused of treason against Joffrey. A laughable notion if there ever was one. Everyone knows that Lord Stark not only despised the game of thrones, but that he had already passed on the chance to be King years ago when the Targaryen's dynasty met its end. But regardless, the people now 'know' that Lord Eddard is a traitor. And that Joffrey has declared a war on the North, and the religion of the old gods as well. The idiocy. Not even Aegon the Conqueror demanded the cessation of the worship of the old gods when he forced the North to yield.'
But Joffrey's stupidity would lead to House Tyrell's ascension. 'Renly is but a sennight away. A fortnight should he be delayed. And once he arrives, we shell wed, bringing the Reach and the Stormlands under his banner. The North will join with us the moment Renly declares himself as King and condemns this 'Exalted March'. And Sansa's betrothal to Willias will only solidify the alliance. And with the North will also come the Dornish, through Jon Stark's betrothal to Arianne. And the Riverlands and the Vale should join our ranks as well considering they are kin to the Starks. The Reach, Stormlands, Dorne, the North, the Riverlands and the Vale…against such odds the Lannisters will have no choice but to renounce their claim to the Iron Throne should they wish to survive what is to come.'
As she thought on the future, she slowly came to the realization that this 'war' would be the easiest part. It would be putting the realm back together after the war that would be an issue. Assembling a proper Small Council would be key. Perhaps Stannis as Hand of the King and reinstating him as Lord of Storm's End would help ease the inevitable tension that was sure to arise between the two brothers. Master of Ships would go to one of the Redwynes, however there was also the concern of giving House Redwyne too much control of the sea. Something to discuss. Master of Laws would undoubtably be given to someone of the North. During her time in the North, she'd come to greatly respect the northerner's sense of judgment and fair play under the law. Lord Eddard would be a prime candidate, should he survive his captivity. But there was a chance that he would turn it down, so she needed to be prepared for that eventuality. Perhaps ask him for a list of candidates should he turn the position down? And, of course, Master of the Arcane would go to Lord Nox. As much respect as she had for the man, she could acknowledge that he was an unknown. And he was someone that she would much rather have closer to her so that she could keep an eye on him.
Walking nearby one of the many gardens littered throughout the keep, Margaery was pulled from her thoughts of the future as she saw her handmaiden Mira sitting quietly and alone amongst the garden. Her heart leapt at the sight of her friend. She was from the North. The very land that was now being persecuted by the South…and here she was in the South. Her family's liege lord was imprisoned by the would-be-King. And her family was no doubt marching to war to defend themselves. She couldn't fathom what her friend was feeling right now. And truth be told, she selfishly never wanted to find herself in the position Mira now found herself in.
Putting plans for the future aside, Margaery made her way out into the open air and towards her friend. It was a testament to just how much the current situation was weighing on Mira that the northern girl didn't even realize Margaery was there until she reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"My lady," Mira stuttered, her hands quickly wiping away the tears that Margaery hadn't even noticed were pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Forgive me. Recent events have…distracted me greatly and I've been neg—"
"Mira," Margaery cut in sharply. "There is nothing to forgive. If you weren't distracted by recent events, then I would be concerned."
Mira smiled, and while the smile did not reach her friend's eyes, Margaery was glad to see it. Gathering her dress, Margaery sat down next to Mira, all the while holding the girl's hand in her own. The two didn't say anything as they sat together enjoying a slight moment of peace together. A peace that was ended all too soon as the steady beating of armored boots against stone reached their ears. Turning her head, she saw two of her family's guards entering the garden. "My Lady Margaery," one of the guards intoned, bowing his head respectfully. "Your Lord father has requested your presence immediately. Lady Mira's presence has been requested as well."
Nodding, Margaery got to her feet while pulling Mira to her own. Giving her handmaiden a moment to compose herself, Margaery waited until she got a nod from her friend before turning and following the guards out of the garden. Though as she walked, she became slightly confused as the two guards led her not to the main hall, but instead towards one of the small meeting rooms that were typically reserved for intimate family gatherings. The ones that were meant to be out of the eyes of the smallfolk.
Entering the small hall, she was further surprised to find that she was the last of her family to arrive. Her father, mother, brothers, and grandmother were all in the hall waiting for her. "Well, now we're all here, Mace," her grandmother sighed as the guards shut the doors behind her. "So, what is this grand announcement you have to make?"
Her father glared at her grandmother, something which surprised Margaery. She knew that her grandmother could be, well, overbearing at the best of times. But her father never once showed any disdain for her. The look disappeared as he turned towards her, his face shifting into one of glee. "I brought you all here to announce that I have finalized an important decision for our family. Margaery shall wed and become the next queen of Westeros!"
Margaery felt confused. This was not some grand announcement. This was something that they already knew. "Of course she is, you dolt," grandmother sighed. "Once Loras arrives with Renly, we can have the ceremony and crown Margaery."
Her father blinked, then shook his head. "No. We will be traveling to King's Landing and she will be wed and crowned in the Sept of Baelor as is only proper for one of her future standing."
"That could take some time, father," Willias interjected. "And with the war against the North, it would be best to tie Margaery to the throne as quickly as possible to ensure our standing."
"I agree as well, father," Margaery added, agreeing with her brother. "I am aware that there may be some…challenges in marrying Renly. But I will ensure I do my duty to our House and the crown after we are wed."
At this, her father gave her a queer look. "Renly? No, no, my dear daughter. I will not have the Rose of House Tyrell wasted on Renly. You will marry his grace, King Joffrey Baratheon, the Blessed, First of His Name."
Margaery couldn't believe her ears. She was struck silent, unable and unwilling to comprehend just what her father had said. And she wasn't the only one. Her brothers were just blinking. And her grandmother was staring at her father with shock. The only one who seemed even slightly pleased with the announcement was her mother.
"Gods, Mace," her grandmother sighed angrily. "If I wanted to hear a dumb joke, I would get a proper fool."
The Lord of Highgarden's face contorted. "Enough, mother!" he shouted, surprising all of them with the anger in his voice. "I am the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South! Not you however much you might wish to pretend that you are! Margaery will marry King Joffrey and become his Queen. And through her House Tyrell will finally have control of the Iron Throne."
Margaery was still unable to form a proper response. Mercifully, her eldest brother was not as tongue tied. "Father…Joffrey has declared a holy war against the North, and the Starks and Sorcerer in particular. By aligning with Joffrey, you are forcing the Reach into this war as well. A war, honestly father, I do not believe we can win."
Her father nodded. "That he has. And that reminds me. Guards!"
The doors to the chambers were thrown open as half a dozen heavily armed guardsmen charged in, blades drawn. And pointing towards Myra Forrester. "Take this heathen witch to the dungeons, now."
Mira's eyes went wide in fright as the men grabbed her and began dragging her out of the hall. Her brothers overcame their shock before she could and took but a single step towards her to intervene before her father shouted at them to stop. Margaery was powerless, something she was wholly unused too, as she watched her closest friend and confidant dragged out of the room and to where only the gods knew.
"Father," Willias growled. "What is the meaning of this? You would –"
"Ensure House Tyrell not only maintains our proper place as Wardens of the South and Great Lords of the Reach, but also as the future royalty," her father stated firmly. "Tell me, sons, daughter…mother. How many of our bannermen will continue to follow us should we go against the Faith? You, mother, never fail to remind me of my failures regarding Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion. The High Septon and the Starry Sept have given their support to King Joffrey's Exalted March against the heathens of the North. Half of our bannermen are ready to march on the heathens based on that fact alone! Many others have lost sons, brothers, or fathers when the North came down and butchered the Maesters and are eager for vengeance. Should we not march against the North, our own bannermen would rebel against us and not only would we lose our place as Wardens of the South and Lords of the Reach, but our family would go the way of the Gardener's before us."
Her father's reasoning was…not misplaced, much to her chagrin and shock. House Tyrell's position was unfortunately precarious. Which was one of the reasons why they needed a royal marriage, outside of wanting a Tyrell on the Iron Throne. But still, they could have worked through any religious discontent. They didn't need to go to this extreme.
"Father… Have you lost what little sense you had left?" Garlan asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. And it was only then, as Margaery stared into the hard eyes of her brother that she remembered. Garlen had a son. A son born to a woman of the North. A son who was being raised in the faith of the old gods.
Their father's eyes hardened. "No, son, I have not. In fact, I have more sense now than ever. For I have…been blessed by the Seven themselves! The very night before I received Tywin Lannister's offer for Margaery's hand the Seven blessed me with two dreams of the future. One in which we followed the plan to marry Margaery to Renly. I had to watch as our family was destroyed by our own bannermen. I had to watch as each of you died. As Margaery and your mother were raped and brutalized before being discarded like cheap whores. The second, I watched as Margaery married King Joffrey and gave birth to the next generation of royalty. A generation where House Tyrell was held above all other Houses in Westeros in recognition of us being the cause for the downfall of the heathen old gods and the treacherous sorcerer and his ilk. Then the next morning I received Tywin's missive…and I knew what course we had to take. For one does not reject visions granted to them by the Seven so easily."
"And it is not just the throne we will win by siding with King Joffrey," their father continued, a greedy smile crossing his face. "Lord Tywin has assured me that Willias's marriage to Sansa Stark will be honored. And with her brothers either being forced into exile or meeting their ends, that means that while the firstborn son shall be the heir of Highgarden, the second born son will have a claim to Winterfell. House Tyrell will control the throne, the Reach, and the North!"
The plan…obscenely enough, was not a bad one. It would give House Tyrell more power and control than ever before. But there was a problem with it. One that her brother Garlan was more than happy to point out. "Sure, that all sounds grand. But, father, there is one significant aspect that you are conveniently forgetting about. For us to follow this path, we would have to directly confront a Northern force that is stronger than ever. And we would have to confront the Sorcerer himself on the field of battle. Neither of which is something one should seek out if they wish to live for long."
Their father merely brushed off the threat as if it meant nothing. "The sorcerer means nothing when up against the righteous cause of the Seven-Who-Are-One. As for the North, we shall take our time marching to King's Landing and will not commit our forces to the field until Margaery is Queen. By the time that happens, the North and Tywin will have bled themselves dry against one another. And the Reach will be able to move in with our fresh men and eliminate the Northern threat and take the credit for the end of that heretical faith."
Hearing a sigh, all eyes turned to their grandmother, who was tiredly rubbing at her eyes. "Gods, Mace. I swear the wetnurse must have dropped you on your head as a child or was drinking wine as she fed you."
Her father's face went red, but surprisingly he didn't back down. Something that surprised everyone, most of all her grandmother. "You are not the Lord of Highgarden, nor the Warden of the South, mother. Much as you seem to claim and think you are. I am. I will decide my daughter's future, and the future of the Reach. Not you. Aligning with King Joffrey will give Margaery the crown without a fight. From what I hear, the boy king is easily controlled, meaning it will not be the Lions or the Stags who control the Iron Throne, but rather us. And no matter how powerful the Sorcerer might think he is, he is still just one man. One man against the strength of the south backed by the power of the Faith of the Seven. Even should he prove resilient to defeat on the battlefield…there are other options. His wife, who is still in the south. Or a more direct method can be pursued. Regardless, the decision has been made and I will hear no more on the matter. Now, I suggest you all return to your rooms and prepare yourselves for our journey to King's Landing and Margaery's upcoming wedding to the King. For once Renly arrives, we will set out."
"And what of Renly, father?" Garlan asked pointedly. "He is coming here expecting to find allies in his bid for the throne."
Again, her father was dismissive. "He is a traitor. But one who might still serve a purpose. We will ensure that he is not given guest rights to not offend the gods. But then he will be taken into our care and given a choice. Renounce his bid for King and swear his allegiance to the true King. Or be brought before King Joffrey in chains as a wedding present and a show of House Tyrell's commitment to his cause and the cause of the gods."
"And what of Sansa?" Willias growled, truly growled like a beast ready to attack. A sound so surprising from her normally calm and composed brother that she had to give herself a slight shake to make sure she was still looking at her brother. "Do you truly think she will consent to becoming the next Lady of Highgarden? To be my wife when it was our family that was responsible for the fall of her family, her magic, and her gods?"
"Her feelings are irrelevant on the matter," her father replied dismissively. "If the Stark family line truly matters to her, then she will realize that marriage to you will be her only hope in preserving the Stark line. Now I will speak no more on this matter. All of you need to retire and begin packing."
"Father," Margaery called out tentatively. Honestly, she had never seen her father this assertive before and it scared her slightly. "What of Mira?"
Her father hesitated only slightly before sighing and shaking his head. "Best you forget her, daughter. You are to be Queen to King Joffrey the Blessed. You cannot be seen to have a lady-in-waiting that is a Northern heathen, let alone as a friend. She will be given the opportunity to repent her sinful ways. That is all I can offer you. Her fate is in her hands now and you best forget her." And with that, her father left with her mother on his arm.
Now alone, her brothers and grandmother were all left staring at the doors he'd just left through, still trying to come to terms with what had just transpired. Her grandmother was able to sum up all their thoughts on the matter with a simple word. "Fuck."
Her grandmother was never one to curb her tongue. But she still rarely resorted to such foul language. "I think we can use stronger words than that, grandmother," Garlan muttered. She could see the anger bubbling just beneath her brother's face. No doubt his mind focused solely and only on his paramour and son in the North. "Though I don't think any have been thought up yet."
Her grandmother didn't say anything as she paced a few times around the room. "There might be a means for us to salvage this mess," she said after a long pause. "But we will have to move swiftly and quietly."
"Salvage this mess?" Garlan scoffed, shaking his head. "How in the hells are we supposed to salvage making enemies of the most powerful man, and arguably the most powerful family, in all of the known world, grandmother?"
"Firstly, we need a few leal men that you trust implicitly to follow your orders Willias, and yours alone. Can you find such men?"
Willias turned his gaze towards the ceiling for a moment before nodding. "Yes. There are a few that traveled north of the Wall, who know what we are about to face that I could call upon."
"Then do so," her grandmother commanded. "Next will be difficult, but we must free Mira from wherever your father has her held and place her into these men's hands. They will then move to intercept Renly and divert him back to the Stormlands. Aiding him in avoiding a potential trap, even one of our own House's making, will force him to be indebted to us. A debt we will need to make use of soon. We will then travel to King's Landing and Margaery will take stock of the King. We will exert what influence we can over this foolish boy-King and convince him to end this farce of a war and bring the North to the peace table. Numerous concessions will need to be made for this slight against them. But in the end we will have peace in the realm once again, and it will be House Tyrell who will be known for ending this violence not through the strength of our arms, but rather through our strength of voice."
Willias frowned thoughtfully, "I doubt it will be that easy, grandmother."
Their grandmother scoffed. "Of course it won't. But this is the only course we have available to us that will avoid direct confrontation with the North and the Sorcerer. Let them bleed the Westerlands, Crownlands, and Riverlands dry. The loss of life is unfortunate. But, in the end, it will aid in strengthening our position. As much as it irks me to say, your oaf of a father is right in saying that he is the Lord of the Reach. It is his words that our vassals will follow, no matter how foolish they are."
"And what of the Faith?" Garlan asked. "They have regained a taste of power, and they won't be likely to give it back so freely."
Huffing, her grandmother nodded. "Indeed. There is a reason why people say the crown and the Faith are the two pillars that hold up society. Two pillars. Not one and the same. History has shown time and time again that the Faith cannot be trusted to hold power over the laws of men. And if they cannot accept the peace we offer with the North, then we will use our reforged Kingdom to remind the Faith of their place. With blood, if need be."
"And what guarantee do we have that the Northerners will even be willing to meet with us at the peace table to begin with, grandmother?" Willias questioned.
"That is why Mira will be vital to our success." Grandmother answered simply.
"Grandmother," she said slowly. "What of…Joffrey? What if I cannot influence him?"
Her grandmother tsked. "You underestimate yourself, Margaery. You are the rose of House Tyrell. You have beauty that could make even the Maiden envious and a mind as sharp as my own. You can ensnare this boy. And if for some reason his addled brain is not susceptible to your charms… Well, you just leave him to me. I will handle him."