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Sansa felt like she was jumping at shadows, waiting for the sword to fall.
(She closed her eyes and sent away the image of her Father’s last moments, focusing on trying to imagine the Highgarden Margaery had told her of, flowers of every shade and clever mazes. She had claimed that they could grow anything there- perhaps she could see if they could grow a weirwood tree. She could pose it as a challenge, a little bit of home however far away she was, like Mother’s sept.)
Despite this, she was settling down with a book of poetry she had found in one of the abandoned rooms she’d taken to hiding in when she heard Joffrey or one of the other Lannisters, trying to puzzle out the messy script someone had written in the margins.
“There you are,” said Alla Tyrell, smiling brightly at Sansa and bouncing in excitement. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?” Sansa asked, setting down the book. She would have to ask Margaery or Leonette if Highgarden had books on Rhonyish poetry- the master who translated the works and the person who left the very witty jests Sansa could mostly puzzle out seemed to be taking a very different view of them, and it made her head spin.
“The Imp has been arrested,” Alla hissed. “Lord Lannister has taken ill to his rooms, and we are wondering if the Imp is to blame.”
Sansa frowned at that, worrying her lip and trying to figure it out. “It needn’t be, I think,” she said after a few moments. “Lord Tyrion has been kind, but he is also very rude and he and His Grace never can speak civilly. His Grace may have decided that Lord Tyrion can no longer go unpunished.”
Alla thought about that. “That is more boring, though.”
Sansa sighed and stood up, tucking the book into the pocket tied to her petticoat. “The truth is always more boring or horrible than we would like.”
“Not always,” Alla said with a wink, making Sansa smile a bit. “Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette are going to travel to Highgarden before the wedding, have you heard? Apparently Lord Willas wants to discuss some issues with Brightwater Keep. Margaery is asking the king if you can accompany Lady Leonette, as she is tutoring you in some of the more appropriate lady-like arts.”
The wedding wasn’t too far off, she told herself firmly. But to go early?
“I would be honored if Lady Leonette wishes me to accompany her to Highgarden,” Sansa said, keeping her voice even. She is not sure how much Alla, Elinor, or Leonette truly know about Joffery, and she is careful not to show as much of her relief as possible.
Lady Margaery swears she is capable of keeping herself safe, and handling Joffrey. And Margaery is older, and much more clever. It is entirely possible she has not overestimated herself.
Though she deeply suspects that Ser Loras, Lady Margaery, and Joffrey in one room will be as foolish as what would have happened if Arya was still here, Sansa has no choice but to trust Margaery.
~
So it is with a whispered “Be careful” in Lady Margaery’s ear that she left for Highgarden with Lady Leonette and Sansa could not stop looking over her shoulder, worrying that Lannister guardsmen would come to meet them and drag her back.
“Lord Tywin is on the mend,” Lady Leonette told her at one point, only her husband within earshot. “Not quite well enough to leave his bed, but enough even His Grace will think twice before shaming himself, my goodsister, and you. Especially after His Grace granted you leave personally.”
Sansa looked at Leonette, normally so merry, and the solemn cast to her face. If only Sansa was not so unused to being on horseback so long. It made her tired and sore, and difficult to hide her fears. “I hope you are right,” she said, hoping Leonette does not think she wants Joffery to fetch her back.
As if she can read her concerns, Leonette adds, “I know you would not seek to supplant Margaery, dearheart.” She frowns and fusses with the light cloak of dappled green she wears, one that matches the canopy trees along the Rose road. “It was… commonly spoken of in court, the treatment you received at Joffrey’s hands. There were few who wanted to tell the Tyrells, you see, but servants gossip.”
Sansa burns in shame at that, in fear that Lord Willas will look at her and see a scarred little girl, that he will pity her.
“You survived,” Leonette added, tugging at Sansa’s sleeve. “I think that commands its own sort of respect, though none of us wish you had suffered so at all. I certainly know my goodbrother will not think any less of you for it.”
And while Margaery and her grandmother were the ones who arranged her escape, Leonette would always be her favorite.
When she learns that Lord Tywin’s illness, the one that enabled her to escape to Highgarden, was caused by Leonette and a carefully measure of crushed seeds, she was certain.
~
Highgarden was lovely, and if it did not have Winterfell’s strong walls, those had… well, the complexity and riot of vines and bushes provided their own, clever sort of protection.
Lord Willas was waiting in a garden not far off from the stables, she was told, and she nearly fell off her horse from exhaustion and uncooperative muscles. It was pleasantly warm here, still, with autumn closing in.
Of course, of course, he was there when she clumsily dismounted, watching them all with a quiet sort of amusement. His eyes were the same as Margaery’s, wide and almost golden, like a cat who wanted to convince those about it that of course it had nothing to do with those feathers on the ground.
Sansa curtsied, knowing it to be as rough and jerky as Arya’s had been, so long ago. “My lord,” she smiled up at him. He was tall, and built somewhere between Loras and Garlan, she decided, which was possibly for the best. Ser Loras was wonderful, of course, but in her worries over what was happening in King’s Landing she decided that he would make a very uncomfortable sort of husband, if not in the same way as Joffrey.
“My lady,” he tilted his head. “Lady Margaery mentioned that you became good friends while at Court, and you were concerned for her safety given the hostility.”
That seemed to be a safe way to put it, Sansa thought. Were there Lannister spies here, as well?
“She is well, then?” Sansa asked, trying not to let the worry that the thought of Lannister spies caused her to show. She needed to make her love her, and if she appeared to be a mouse frightened at everything...
Margaery seemed to think she would be a good match for Willas, she reminded herself. Genuinely so, to take a such risk on her. And Leonette and Garlan said the same, even Loras seemed to agree, laughing about the book of poetry she had tucked into her satchel. (It was the one she had found when she was told she was going to Highgarden, which seemed a sign. Also, she still felt she was missing some great jape on the note writer’s part.)
“Quite well, my sister swears that all details of her wedding are well in hand,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his face. He did indeed have a cane, something that looked to be made of wood and gold, and was quite prettily made, though the loose cast to his hose seemed to hide a brace.
He had no trouble navigating the stables to walk her, though, and chattered cheerily at her, making a promise to tell her the story of Garth Greenhands one day soon, and asking questions of the North and King’s Landing. Leonette had taken her husband away with a bright smile, and the other retainers had drifted away, leaving them alone.
“I haven’t been there since I was a child, actually,” he mused. “After the Rebellion, you see, my father wasn’t very well liked. Not only did he support the Targaryens- I suspect he had hopes of earning the Princess as future Lady of the Reach, actually.” He shook his head. “Poor girl. But not only did he do that, he had the temerity to lay siege at Storm’s End and nearly kill the King’s brothers. Not a recipe to make a king happy, for all that Robert was apparently good at turning friends into enemies.” He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose he had want to do so. But either way, in his attempts to make amends with the Reach, he married his brother to a lady of a house that attempts to undermine our authority, and Renly mostly squired Loras through chance and Jon Arryn.”
Sansa nodded. “He was very… energetic,” she managed after a moment. “And my father loved him dearly, though I have heard tell that Lord Stannis was not so fond.” She worried at her lip. “I do not think I have heard the Queen speak well of him, either.”
Willas nodded. “Truly? Well, I suppose her ego suffered a blow when she kept falling short of other women,” he murmured.
Sansa looked up at him curiously. “My Lord?”
He shook his head. “I keep correspondence with a number of lords, and… well, the stories you will hear.” His grin turned roguish at that. “I do hope you have a good memory for names and family trees.”
“I do, my lord,” she smiled, eager to prove her worth. “I was reckoned better than my brothers, and Mother said I was better than her at that age. Your sister commented on it, actually…”
He grinned. “And considering how much Margaery likes to gossip while seeming above it, I consider that a remarkable recommendation.”
That startled a laugh out of her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “She is very kind,” Sansa said, trying to make up for her misstep. “And made life much pleasanter for me when she arrived, though she had no need.”
He nodded. “She is kind- it is her redeeming virtue. She is also a manipulative little vixen at times, and occasionally it can be tiring.” He made a comical face, as if pondering something. “Though she is more polite about it than Grandmother.”
“She is very… direct at times,” Sansa said, remembering her error in speaking with Ser Loras.
“Ah, you are going to be very welcome here, little peacemaker,” he said wryly. “Perhaps my friends may now be able to make visits rather than sending their ravens to brave Highgarden.”
She shook her head, smiling a bit at his foolishness. “That would be wonderful my lord, and I look forward to meeting your friends.”
“I would hope we can be friends, Lady Sansa,” he said. “You are far younger than me, after all.”
Sansa tilted her head. “That is true, my lord, but of my prospects, you are by far the least frightening.” She remembered Leonette’s wry list and Garlan’s observations. “Also, I do believe you might be the youngest save two.”
He frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. “Save two?”
“Queen Cersei apparently suggested to see if the Dornish would be willing to have me betrothed to Prince Trystane and release Myrcella,” she frowned at that. “Though Lord Tywin refused it. And I was told they may have no love for me, though I was not entirely sure why. I suspect it was my Aunt.”
Willas hummed, thinking it over. “The incident with Ashara Dayne probably wouldn’t help, either. Which I will explain later- you are tired, after all, and the story is a sad one. I cannot say anyone is truly to be blamed, though… but I doubt Oberyn and his family would hold that against you, not with your experiences. May I enquire about the other suitor who is apparently less frightening than me?”
“Lancel Lannister,” she said, trying not to show her venom. “He was apparently too ill, though, and it was thought I’d be a childless widow most likely.”
He nodded, chestnut curls flopping into his eyes. “I see. Well, I understand.“ He stilled to try and tuck the curls back, leaning heavily on his cane with the unoccupied hand. Sansa thought he was doing it for effect, rather than serious need. He did seem to be actively trying to make her feel more comfortable, and his sense of humor reminded her of Ser Garlan and Lady Margaery when she was trying to be wicked. “Well, I am not a Lannister, I can swear, and I think all and sundry know our alliance with them is for safety’s sake- the Reach cannot take on all challengers and expect to survive the winter unscathed.” He winced. “Or without the Florents burning people to keep warm.”
Sansa started at that. “What?”
He smiled. “Oh, you have been kept innocent of all that. We will be having a great deal of conversations over the coming months.”