Chapter Text
Growing Strong
It was the glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly, peering up at the balcony to see a sight that was as beautiful as it was melancholy. A young woman stood with her hands pressed against the stone railing, gazing down at the court with a sadness that Petyr felt weighed heavily in his chest. He found that he could not pull his gaze away, that turning away would be a sin in the eyes of the Seven. Her skin was pale and her fiery red hair was styled in braids but a few loose strands framed her face, a face that appeared to know horrific misery.
Petyr wondered what had befallen such a lovely creature that would cause her such pain? It had been so long since he felt the desire to reach out and touch something that appeared so equally pure and dark all at once. The noise of the court blurred and blended in the background, deafening until Petyr could not hear it. It would seem that the woman could not either, for she just continued to stare in the direction of the Iron Throne. She did not look at him, but why would she? For Petyr had never set eyes on her before and she did not know him.
“Uncle.”
Who is she? Petyr thought to himself, watching as the woman stepped away from the balcony, trying to fall back into the shadows. His brow creased, watching as the darkness covered her and it was not the whispers of the crowd that pulled his attention away nor the sound of hooves entering the throne room. It was only the movement of the horse and the passing of Lord Tywin that Petyr entered his gaze.
He wanted to scowl but he held his expression like a stone. He had met Lord Tywin on several occasions in the past, especially during the negotiations in the recent weeks but he never found that he admired the man. Twyin was ambitious, intelligent and hard to fool. Petyr had to keep his schemes small, simple and unseen, especially given Lores’s folly with falling in with Renly once the walls of the royal family started to crack. That was a disature he unweaved but could have been avoided if he had known of the plot beforehand. He supposed there was a reason he was not told of it beforehand.
King Joffrey began to speak in an arrogant tone that sent shivers down Petyr’s spine as he introduced Tywin, the bravado only fitting that of a Lannister. He remembered the boy he had been before growing into his maturity, a terror who claimed the Red Keep as a twisted playground for his own desire. His father, or at least the man presumed to be his father, was a man of equal debauchery but at least one who wasn’t cruel. Whores and drink were nothing in comparison to physical pain.
“Uncle Petyr.”
Perhaps it was good you left King’s Landing when you did, Petyr. For someone murdered Jon Arryn and his wife.
Petyr’s gaze turned to Cersei, the Queen Mother who sat proudly beside her son. He was not one to be taken unguarded and surprised. The plot had been hatched and ready, a replacement ready to take Cersei’s place when the bells tolled. Jon and Lysa Arryn were found dead at their dinner table, poisoned. While Petyr was not above getting his hands dirty, taking a life if need be but this he had not planned. This was not him.
Petyr was not above murder, something he learned from his mother but certainly not this murder.
“Uncle Petyr!”
It was not that he enjoyed Jon Arryn’s company and he certainly did not enjoy that wife of his, but, he was the only other person, besides Stannis, who knew. The scheme that hatched in Petyr’s brain was not honorable, so he never confided in King Robert’s hand but he watched. Lurked in shadows, simply watching and waiting for something to happen, willing to step in and forever be helpful. He just never expected it to be Jon Arryn's death. When Stannis fled, the writing was on the wall and Petyr said he needed to return home, claiming his mother was ill and the family needed him. Distraught in his grief, King Robert cared little for what the Master of Coin did and so Petyr left King’s Landing behind.
Only to return to the game once again.
“Uncle Petyr!” A sharp tug pulled his gaze to his niece, peering into the brown eyes that she inherited from her mother. Her expression was serene but he knew her well enough to see the annoyance and irritation flashing behind those brilliant eyes. It was little surprise that she was the favorite of the family, for even he was scheming in a way that would benefit her. “Pay attention.”
“Hush.” Petyr snapped, tuning out the king as he provided Tywin with the pin that would make him Hand of the King. She narrowed her eyes at him but he turned away, peering at the Iron Throne and Joffrey’s cold gaze. Yet, it was Cersei that his eyes drew back to, the happiness written plainly on her face.
She never was as clever as she thought she was. Easily read if he was honest.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Tywin replied in a formal yet deadly tone and a small bow of his head. The horse turned, moving away from the throne and it took more energy for Petyr to not smirk at the absurdity of it all. His eyes glanced up at the balcony again, noting that the woman was still standing away in the back, almost as though she hoped to never be seen again.
“Lord Petyr Tyrell, please step forward.” Petyr’s eyes snapped away from the balcony and not even having to think, he moved to kneel in front of the throne, his knee pressing against the hard marble of the floor. “For your good service and ingenuity of uniting the houses of Lannister and Tyrell I declare that you should be granted the castle of Harrenhal and all its intended lands and incomes, to be inherited by your sons and grandsons from this day forward.”
I have no use for Harrenhal, a cursed place that Tywin made his playground. Petyr thought but refrained from speaking such thoughts. Memories of the cold and dark place he stayed in, staring at Tywin at across a table and wielding whatever deals he could make. Perhaps it would have some use in time but not something he wanted. Instead, he smiled and nodded, hoping to appear gracious at such kindness he knew was being fed through him by his grandfather.
“You honor me beyond words, Your Grace.” Petyr stood and gave a small bow. “I’ll have to gather some sons and grandsons.”
The court chuckled and he even saw a slight upturn of Joffrey’s lips. He was pleased and that is all Petyr wanted at the moment. If Joffrey was pleased then his schemes could possibly be met. Unable to help himself, Petyr’s eyes flickered upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman with red hair.
“And your nephew? Sir Lores Tyrell.” Petyr stood back, watching as Lores moved forward and knelt down before the King, the sound of his armor echoed as took the place Petyr had been moments before. “Your house has come to our aid. The whole realm is in your debt, no more so than I.” Joffrey paused and Petyr felt his heart race and his chest tighten but he did not move. “Your uncle and my grandfather have come to an interesting agreement. Is that not so?”
“Yes. My sister Margaery, her husband was taken before..” Lores stalled and in the back of his mind, Petyr cursed him. He was such a boy in many ways that reminded him of his father when they were young. “She is still innocent.” Petyr peered at his niece, watching as she tried to appear bashful and shy, a look he knew was one perfected and used upon more men than he could name. Innocent was something Margaery was not. “If you would do us the honor of joining our houses.”
“Is this something you would want, Lady Margaery?” Joffrey asked and Margaery tilted her head upward, stepping forward with grace and elegance. Yet, it was Cersei’s turn of head that he noticed. She turned to peer up at the balcony, seemingly watching as the beautiful woman stepped out of the shadows again.
“With all my heart, Your Grace.” Margeary spoke but Petyr could not look away from the woman, noting how her gaze met Cersei’s. There was a familiarity there, but not one of equal respect. Watching as the woman leaned forward, he noted the flicker of hope spread across her features and suddenly, Petyr’s question was answered. He knew precisely who she was.
“....It would be an honor to return your love but I am promised to another.” The way her body stilled and the hope falling away from her delicate features. Petyr felt that the weight of anguish consumed him again. He looked back over at Cersei, her shoulders relaxing and the mask she wore when she wanted to be the Queen she never really was slid into place. She had been told of this moment, something that pleased Petyr greatly. “A king must keep his word.”
“Your Grace, in the judgment of your small counsel, it would not be wise for you to marry the daughter of a man beheaded for treason.” Gazing from the throne back to the balcony, he watched as the woman appeared frozen, unsure of the fate that was playing out before her. “A girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your counselors beg you to set Sansa Stark aside.”
Sansa Stark.
The name suited her. It was beautiful and light, but heavy and old. He had heard of the engagement, sitting in the solar his brother never used at Highgarden. He found little surprise in it, for King Robert had been old friends with her father. What had surprised him was not King Robert’s death or Renly fleeing in the aftermath but instead the beheading and treason of Ned Stark. Something he knew could work in his favor if the right pieces were moved correctly on the board. He could still see Catelyn Stark's tears streaming down her face when he met her for the first time at Renly’s camp, descending upon it to scold Lores and Maragery for their folly in following a boy who was not in line to be king. Once again, cleaning up a mess Mace had made, a foolish plan executed through his children.
The crowd cried, begging for Sansa to be pushed away and for Margaery to be his bride. This should have pleased Petyr, for it was exactly what he wanted. Margaery would be queen and the family name would be one step closer to royalty. Yet, there was a twinge of dismay that pulsed through him, for Sansa was hated and that bothered him. He knew her not, but he did not like the furious tone in which the crowd spoke of her. The moment faded when Joffrey agreed, breaking his engagement with Sansa and claiming Margaery as his bride. It was something so near to checkmate in this never ending game of thrones but he refrained from celebrating just yet.
And then he saw it.
Sansa smiled.
*
Laughter bubbled in the back of her throat. Her limbs felt weak and her heart pounded in her chest. She reached down and gathered the pink fabric of her dress, pulled it from the ground and pushed onward. The adrenaline coursed through her as she weaved through the halls of the Red Keep, her guards forever trailing behind her. Yet, she did not mind. If anything, it was a relief because she felt as though she could finally see the light at the end of a very dark and weaving tunnel.
Perhaps I will see Robb again? Mother?
Suddenly the smile slipped from her lips and she stopped, gazing down the hall of the castle and scolding herself. She knew better. It was foolish to hope for such things. She may no longer be Joffrey’s bride but as long as Robb raged his war against the throne, she would forever be a Lannister prisoner, dressed and toyed with. She wondered how long it would be before Joffrey grew bored of his new bride and returned to his torment of her.
Even if Robb was to surrender, Sansa knew that the Lannisters would never set her free. She would forever be a little bird trapped in a cage, watching the world go by. In that moment, the only thing that was keeping her sane was the knowledge that she would never be Joffrey’s bride and that was enough to allow her to sleep at night.
“Lady Stark.” An unfamiliar voice called out, causing her to look over her shoulder. Approaching her was a man she had never seen before. He was lean and thin, about her height with black hair that was graying on the side. His clothing was made of fine fabric, the wealth embroidered in small flowers that weaved throughout his long coat. Sansa spotted a mockingbird pin that was fastened at his neck and a smile upon his lips that did not reach his eyes. “I wanted to offer my condolences. I’m Lord Petyr Tyrell.”
“Lord Tyrell.” Sansa greeted in a low tone, placing her well worn smile on her lips but her bravery faltered when he gazed into her eyes. It was almost as though he could see through her, pierce through the layer of stone she had built around herself and refused to let go of. With one snap of his finger, Sansa was fearful that her last moment of defiance could come crashing down.
“How are you?”
“As well I can be.” Sansa replied, hesitantly and unsure. There was something about him that made her feel off kilter. He was kind but then, so had Joffrey at first, and Cersei. There was so little she found that she could trust that the only thing she felt she could do, was lie. “They are right. I am not good enough for him.”
“You shouldn’t say that.” Petyr replied, his smile falling into something a bit more gentle but there was a spark in his eye, almost as though he could see something in her. He reached out and placed his hand on her upper back, the gentle touch of a guide, and guided her towards the balcony again. “Look around you. We are all liars here and we are all better than you. If you want to survive, you’ll need to learn to be more convincing.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Sansa whispered, the fear pooling in the pit of her stomach. Petyr did not answer at first, almost as though he did not know the reason himself. Instead, he gazed at her with open curiosity. In the months that she had been trapped in the Red Keep, she had learned many things. Reading people was one of them. She knew Joffrey’s moods, from when he was pleased to when he was angry. Even Cersei became telling, Sansa being able to reply to what she wanted to hear in order to keep herself safe. Yet, this man before her was an anomaly, a riddle she could not solve just yet.
“I don’t know.” Petyr finally admitted, tilting his head to the side and looking away from her. “I met your mother recently.” He confessed and Sansa sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide and she felt her heart stop. Her mother. Sansa would give anything to be able to see her mother again and here was a stranger, a man she never laid eyes on before telling her that he had seen her. “She was anxious to learn of you and your sister. Unfortunately, I had nothing to tell her but I can least tell you something . She is as well as she can be given the circumstances. ”
“Thank you.” Sansa whispered, unsure of what else to say. Petyr simply nodded his head and turned to look back out onto the crowd. “Arya isn’t here. I don’t know-” Petyr held up his hand and shook his head. He brought his fingers to his ears and Sansa watched as his eyes traveled to his left. Sansa spotted a child, one in rags and covered in soot passing them, a servant that had not been there a moment before. “Right. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Lord Tyrell.”
“And you, Lady Stark.” Petyr gave a small bow of his head and turned to walk past Sansa, the cool silk of his sash brushing against her shoulder as he did. She watched him walk away, noting that the servant had paused, appearing to be cleaning something off the floor. Her eyes were facing downwards and appearing to not even notice her but she learned very quickly that those who blend in the background also have ears.
One of Cersei’s little spies most likely, Sansa thought but knew better than to say aloud. Pulling her eyes away from the girl, Sansa moved in the opposite direction from Petyr. She picked up the skirt of her dress and moved quickly, hoping to return to her chambers before Joffrey spotted her and remembered that he had a toy to torment.
As she passed, she noticed the whispers and the odd gaze but she had grown used to them since her father’s execution. In truth, the mixture of pity and loathing she received fell into the background and morphed into something she did not notice anymore. Once upon a time she had wanted to be loved but now, it was easier to hide behind the hatred and the pity because at least then she didn’t have to pretend.
She had to be loyal.
But that did not mean she had to be happy.
When she reached the tower that her chambers were in, Sansa shut the door quickly and bolted it tightly. She turned around and pressed her back to the wood and closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes closed, the weight she had been feeling seemingly lifted from her and the relief was all consuming. She was tired and knew that if she continued to lean against the door, she would sink to the floor. Instead, she walked around to her bed and laid on her back, caring little if her hair was ruined or her dress wrinkled. If she was lucky, neither Joffrey nor Cersei would demand her attention and she could be left alone for a few hours.
He saw my mother. The thought echoed in her mind, trying as she might to conjure up a picture of her mother’s face but was falling short. It had been so long since she last saw her that she could not even remember what she looked like. Her father, however, that memory was burned into her mind. She would always remember what he looked like.
What his head looked like sitting upon a spike.
Sansa snapped her eyes open and focused on the ceiling, trying to push the memory from her mind. Her heart began to race and her breathing quickened. Her fingers curled into the blanket on her bed and her entire body felt as though it was on edge, the urge to flee coursing through her veins. She tried to force herself to think of something positive, something good. Nothing came. Fear was the only constant companion she had as she wondered how long it would before her head was placed upon a spike.
I’m going to die here.
All thoughts flew out the window when a laugh floated up through the window. It was unfamiliar and buoyant. Sansa sat up and slid from the bed, her legs shaky and her body aching as she walked. She did not lean too close to the window, not wanting to be seen but close enough to peer out into the gardens that her window faced.
At first it was just the beautiful flowers and long swirling pathways that she saw. If there was any beauty in the Red Keep it was their gardens. Roses bloomed and it almost made the air smell pleasant. Ivy stretched high along the stone walls and benches rested along the pathways. It did not take her long to spot the source of the laughter. Margaery Tyrell strolled along the pathways with her arm in Joffrey’s, appearing happy and light in her new engagement.
You’re not engaged any longer Sansa. The thought plunged to the forefront of her mind and that moment of happiness came back. She was no longer betrothed to Joffrey and therefore, no longer bound to him. That was possibly the happiest thought she conjured in the last few months. If she could find a way to flee the Red Keep and King’s Landing all together, then maybe she can find home again.
Peering down at Joffrey and Margaery, Petyr’s face came to mind. He had been so kind to her, telling her of her mother, knowing that it would bring some form of comfort. It was strange how kind he was being. Sansa assumed that there was something that he would want from her, for everyone wants something. There was no kindness without a price. That was a lesson she learned in a very brutal way.
Margaery laughed again, pulling away from Joffrey and heading towards a rose bush, her chestnut curls flowing behind her. Sansa watched as she plucked a rose from the vine and brought it to her nose. Joffrey did not move but Sansa could see the small tilt of his head as he watched Margaery. After a moment, Margaery smiled brightly and handed him the rose. Joffrey plucked it from her and smelled it. She could see the gentle man he could be if he chose it, the one that hid the monster beneath and the one that had fooled Sansa so quickly.
She is playing him. Sansa could see it. Lady Margaery was weaving a clever tale to lure him in. Sansa learned that with time, Joffrey would become cruel and unforgiving, most likely scaring Margaery’s perfect skin with similar bruises that covered Sansa’s. For now he would be kind, much like he had been to her on the King’s Road when they had left Winterfell. Now he had cast her aside for someone else.
“Better her than I.”
*
Petyr watched the flicker of the flames and the wax dropping from the candle. A quirrell twirled between his fingers as the royal ledgers were opened before him. Yet the numbers blurred into nothing and he closed the book. Little work would be getting done and the man who had replaced him during his absence was a fool, a Lannister man he was certain of. It would take time to fix or perhaps he wouldn’t. Petyr was unsure of his next move in regards to the debt of the Seven Kingdoms. With Robert and Cersei on the throne, it was one thing to weave complex loans with the Iron Bank and dwindle the royal finances but with a Tyrell Queen, the matter changed completely.
Then there was Sansa. He had not planned for her, not really. He had known that she was a prisoner of the Lannisters, having come to King’s Landing not long after he left, returning to Highgarden in order to plot his next move in the upcoming war. Petyr was a man who thrived and advanced in chaos, for the Tyrell name had been tainted until he fixed the blunder Mace had created nearly two decades ago when Petyr had been just a boy, yet even then he was unweaving Mace’s tangled web.
Lady Sansa could be no older than seventeen, roughly Margaery’s age. Everything he had heard in the wind that blew from King’s Landing was that she was an empty-headed and naive child but yet that is not what he saw in the few moments they spoke. She had taken the labels that had been given to her, wearing them like a shield and allowing the world to think her a fool. Fools are rarely threats and if the Lannisters thought she was harmless then she could survive.
She is far more clever than she lets anyone believe. For that, she is smarter than them all.
A sharp knock pulled Petyr from his thoughts. He bid the visitor to enter and Margaery slipped in, closing the door behind her with a wide smile on her lips. While he liked Lores well enough, still remembering the day Mace held his son for the first time, Margaery had always been his favorite of the two. She was quick, sharp and could make any man bend to her will. She would make the perfect queen and would solidify the Tyrell name as royalty.
“Well?” Petyr asked, watching as Margaery crossed the chamber towards the cart that held his wine. She sat two glasses on the tray and poured from the decanter, the deep red liquid appearing nearly black in the darkness of the room. Candles could only do so much after the sun had set. Margaery handed him a glass which he took happily from her hand. “Speak Margaery, do not hold an old man in suspense.”
“Twenty-nine is not old uncle Petyr.” She told him, rolling her eyes as she curled up in the chair across from his desk. She took a long sip of her wine before beginning to speak. “I have him eating out of my hand. For now. He seemed to be enthralled but I’m still new. Men like him are fickle and I’ll have to work to keep his attention, at least until I give him a son.”
“Men like him are dangerous, not fickle.” Petyr corrected, drinking his own wine and causing Margaery to peer at him with questions in her eyes. “You’ve heard the stories and I’ve told you that he can be cruel. It will be hard to control him and there will be times that you will fail in that regard. Always ensure that you are safe even if that means cutting his throat after he beds you. Joffrey is not like the men of the Reach but I know you will do well.”
“I’ll be fine, but either way, I’ll be queen.” Margaery replied and Petyr could see the hint of desire that reflected in her eyes. The same look she had when he arrived at Renly’s camp. She married a man who would only give her a paper marriage simply because she wanted a crown. Yet, Renly was never going to be king and with Joffrey, Petyr could easily hand her the throne.
“And Lores? Where is he?”
“He left early for his chambers.” Petyr nodded, refusing to comment because he knew the words would not be kind, yet it appeared that he did not need to for Margaery gave a long sigh and sat her glass down upon his desk. “He loved Renly. He is grieving.”
“Be that as it may, he cannot let the Lannisters see that pain. They will not hesitate to kill us all.” Petyr told her and stood from his seat. He walked around his desk and knelt down in front of her. “We are the Tyrells. We are strong and cunning. We do not fight battles with swords but instead with words. Joffrey may be King but you will be his Queen and if you have his ear, then we will rule the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Grandmother says that we are all idiotic fools.” Margaery replied and the corners of her lips turned upward, amusement playing on her features. Petyr could not help but let a small chuckle slip. “She is not going to be pleased about this. You know how she is when family matters are involved. She will make her way here to scold us all. You know she will. She will not like us involved with the Lannisters, throne or not.”
“You let me handle my mother when she arrives.” Petyr told her, not bothering to correct her because he knew it to be true. His mother was a force of nature and if she deemed her presence was necessary, she would come. It amazed Petyr that she allowed Margaery and Lores to be involved with Renly’s rebellion scheme for she most certainly would have seen it as a mistake waiting to happen.
Perhaps I should fault my brother, Warden of the South with little brains. He never listened to Mother when he should have.
“She was not too pleased when we left Highgarden.” Margaery mused, answering all of Petyr’s questions in one sentence. “At least Renly was easy but Grandmother had him pegged from the second she met him. Granted neither he nor Lores were discreet but Father did not care.”
“You mean he did not notice.” Petyr corrected and Margaery nodded, causing him to know that Mace had blinded himself with the thought of his daughter holding the title of queen. It was such tunnel vision that made Petyr work tirelessly to keep Mace from accidentally killing himself. “There is no need to worry about Renly now. He is dead. Lores may mourn him but he best do so in private and away from prying eyes. You, my dear, focus on Joffrey.”
“Of course.” Margaery agreed, causing Petyr to smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. He pulled away and sat back down behind his desk, watching as Margaery finished her wine. “Do you really think he will? Hurt me, I mean.”
“You’ll be Queen, Margaery and with that comes power. Is that not what you want?” Petyr told her, leaning forward and resting his elbow against the desk. “But if he lays one hand on you, tell me and he will never do it again.” He held Margaery’s gaze, neither looking away. He meant every word and at the end of it, he knew that no one would look twice at him. He was nothing more than a second son and one who was always helpful and everyone's friend. Margaery nodded, understanding the meaning behind his words. She sat her glass down upon his desk, standing from her chair and making her way towards the door. “Margaery, I have one other thing I need from you.”
“Yes?”
“Lady Sansa.” She turned to face him, confusion written in her expression. He knew that Margaery would not have given the girl much thought, at least not yet. Their paths would cross eventually, and there were so many ways such a meeting could go. Sansa did not appear to be jealous, given her pleased and almost desperate happiness he spotted in her when they spoke but the common factor between the two women would be Joffrey, which could potentially be a problem. “I want you to get to know her. Befriend her.”
“What are you plotting?” Margaery asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. Petyr thought back on Sansa, having memorized her expression when they spoke and the spark of something wheeling behind her blue eyes captivated him. There was something there that he could not look away from. It was curious, certainly, and worth taking an interest in. “Uncle?”
“Nothing concrete yet.” Petyr replied but he could see that Margeary did not fully believe him. He let out a long breath and leaned back into his chair. “She is a prisoner of the Lannisters and clearly unhappy living under Joffrey’s thumb. Her brother is actively fighting the crown to get her and her sister back. She is the Key to the North. If we can get her to trust us, if we can make her happy, she will be far more loyal to us than those who killed her father.”
And misery does not suit her. She is far too beautiful for that. Petyr thought but refrained from speaking aloud. If his niece knew such thoughts plagued him, she would weave a scheme of her own and that was something he wanted to avoid. Margaery was a Tyrell through and through and that was something that Petyr knew could be dangerous.
“I see.” Margaery replied slowly but Petyr could still read the questions in her eyes, as though she did not believe him. In truth, he was not sure why he wanted his family to get close to the girl. All the reasons he listed were valid ones but he could not get those ice blue eyes out of his mind. “I will give it a few days and then approach her. Let the dust settle a bit in case she is upset about the broken engagement.”
“Waiting a few days is a wise idea but she is not upset about it.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” Margaery peered at him through narrowed eyes, never one who enjoyed being left in the dark. Her hand was still gripping the knob but she made no move to turn it, almost as though she was waiting for her uncle’s confession, one that would not come for he had let on too much already. “Goodnight Margaery.”
“Goodnight Uncle Petyr.”
*
The days came and went, the waves continued to crash against the side of the Red Keep. Sansa found that she was left alone for the most part when she felt brave enough to leave her chambers. The pitying looks that followed her have changed, almost as though they no longer viewed her as a traitor but instead the prisoner she was. Yet, Sansa continued to hold her mask in place, refusing to break and bend for the court.
While they all looked, none of them approached her. The only company she had were her own thoughts and the guards that never stopped trailing her. They never spoke to her but just followed her at a distance, allowing her to wander into the Godswood where she spent the majority of her time. There was no weirwood tree but instead a great oak that was covered in smokeberry vines and red dragon’s breath weaved throughout the roots. Day after day she knelt before it and prayed to the old gods, ones she no longer believed in but ones that felt safer than those of the Seven.
With her hands clasped together and her eyes closed, she heard the approaching footsteps but she did not look up. Whomever it was, whoever decided to come and torment her, it no longer mattered. There was no safe haven or reprieve from Joffrey’s reach. He could find her anywhere and while she knew he never stepped foot within the Godswood, that did not mean he would not start if it meant he could find a fresh way to harm her.
“Lady Sansa.” It was not Joffrey, for the voice was gentle but commanding. Sansa opened her eyes and lifted her head to see Lady Margaery peering at her. She wore an elegant blue dress with the golden rose embroidered around the bodice, her brown hair curled and hanging down around her waist. “Please leave us. I would like a word with her in private.” The guards did not move. “Unless you would like to give me your names and I inform the king himself of your disobedience.”
She stepped between them and made her way towards Sansa, the guards quickly moving through the trees until Sansa could no longer see them. It was strange to her, to see such power achieved so quickly. There was a commanding presence to Margaery that Sansa almost envied. Once upon a time, she would have wanted that power, to be able to command the guards in such a way. Now, all she wanted was to be left alone, to flee from King’s Landing and to never see Joffrey again.
“Tell me, what did you pray for?” Margaery asked, holding out her hand and beckoning her forward. Sansa did not think and reached for Margaery as though it was a command. She could not help it nor turn away, it was as though Sansa was a moth and Margaery the flame. It wasn’t until their hands touched and Margaery linked their arms together that Sansa realized she had moved at all.
“I cannot tell you that.” I cannot say I prayed for the death of the man you plan to marry. She thought as Margaery pulled her through the trees of the Godwood. The air seemed brighter and warmer than before, the day had pressed on but Sansa almost wondered if it was because of something else entirely. It was almost as though with Margaery, the air she breathed seemed better and then Sansa pitied her, for such a person should not be bound to a monster like Joffrey.
Give it time, you will want him dead too.
“Come now! I’ll tell you what I prayed for in the Sept this morning. Lets see, a quick end to the war, a short winter, the health of my family. All boring things really.” Margaery smiled but there was something behind her eyes that made Sansa question what it was that the future queen wanted from her. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Instead I’ll just have to guess what it is that you would want.”
There was laughter in her tone that was inviting and kind, just as it had been the first time she heard it through her window. It was the kind of laugh that made Sansa relax and smile. Margaery seemed sweet, much like her uncle had been when she had met him days before. No matter what Queen Cersei thought, Sansa was smart enough to know that there were no coincidences, especially in a place such as King’s Landing.
“Is that why you sought me out? To find out what I want?” Sansa asked as they left the series of trees and made their way towards the gardens. One thing she missed about Winterfell, among everything else, was the fact that she could go beyond the walls of the castle, as long as she had the proper guard and protection. Here, in the Red Keep, she would be foolish to try and venture into the city to see the markets and shops. Memories of the mob that attacked them flashed before her eyes, being held down and her dress torn. Sansa pushed the thoughts away, focusing on Margaery.
“Yes…” Margaery answered but trailed off slightly, tilting her head to the side and peering at Sansa. “And no. I sought you out to ensure that there is no distrust or unhappiness between us.” She stopped, causing Sansa to halt as well. Margaery reached down and grabbed her hands, peering at her with a confused and curious expression. “I do want you to be happy. I do but I’m worried that there will be some animosity between us.”
“Why-”
“Because of Joffrey.” Margaery cut her off and Sansa felt her insides freeze, the cold feeling unwelcome and terrifying. Gripping both her hands tightly, Margaery gave her a gentle smile. “I know it must have been a shock being set aside and the heartbreak of it-”
“There is no heartbreak.” Sansa replied quickly, silently cursing herself for the slip. She was better than that, holding her tongue and keeping her emotions to herself had become second nature to her after being at court for so long. “What I mean to say is that you’re much better suited for him. Much like I told your uncle, I’m not good enough for him.”
“You spoke to my uncle?” Margarey seemed taken aback, her tone dropping slightly and held something of curiosity to it. She seemed surprised if not a bit weary. Sansa wondered why speaking to Lord Petyr would have taken Margaery off guard. Slowly, Sansa nodded and watched as the sly smile spread across her lips as though she had discovered some secret. “He did not mention that.” She looped her arms through Sansa’s and began leading her back down the pathway through the gardens. “Well, I’m sure that whatever Uncle Petyr told you, it was wise indeed for he is rarely ever wrong.”
“He was kind.”
“Really?” The laughter in Margaery’s tone took Sansa aback, almost as though the other woman was surprised at the thought of Lord Petyr’s kindness. Doubt played in her mind then, wondering if the kindness he had shown her was false. It would not surprise her if his intentions were less than genuine, for it seemed to be the theme of those who lingered in King’s Landing. “Well, you must tell me everything he has said because if he was kind to you then that means he likes you and my uncle hardly likes anyone.”
“It was nothing really.” Sansa stated, trying to appease her but it was obvious that Margaery was not going to let the subject go so easily. She gave a long sigh and shook her head. “Much like you, he wanted to ensure that I was alright after my engagement to King Joffrey was broken. He mentioned that he met my mother, assuring me that she was alright.”
“Yes. Your mother was at Renly’s camp. She was kind.” Sansa felt her heart twist, her mother’s voice singing soft lullabies from the Riverlands in the back of her mind, songs she had once vowed to sing to her own children one day. Now, she wondered if she would ever allow her children to listen to songs at all, for they are filled with nothing but lies. “I was sorry for her loss, and yours. I cannot even imagine.”
“No. You cannot.”
A silence lingered between them then and Sansa wondered if she was too harsh, if she had ruined whatever it was that Margaery was trying to achieve. However, when she chanced upon a glance at her, Sansa noted that she did not seem angry or upset, but then she wondered if Margaery was simply good at hiding her true emotions behind the petals of her golden rose.
“When I was a girl, my mother caught a cold that she could not shake. It took awhile but she eventually died in her sleep.” Her voice grew soft, almost as though she was reliving the memory, lost in her own thoughts. “I had crawled into bed with her, hoping to listen to her breath a little but before I knew it, she wasn’t breathing at all. I remember screaming but in hindsight, I suppose it was peaceful in terms of deaths go.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” Sansa began, apologizing as she had grown accustomed to doing but Margaery squeezed her arm and smiled at her, telling her that there was no need to apologize. “How did you manage after? The grief is overwhelming and you would have been young at the time. How did you heal?”
“Time and my family were there for me to lean on. Lores and I grew closer, of course.” Margaery sighed, looking out into the garden. She reached out and touched freshly bloomed roses that were growing on their thorns. There was beauty in the flowers, Sansa supposed, but she wondered if Margaery loved them the way Sansa loved the snow. “My father was distraught and my grandmother took the reigns of the family, keeping Lores and myself both sane and out of trouble. Well, she tried anyway but us Tyrells can find ourselves in a bit of trouble when left unattended.”
“And your uncle?”
“My uncle?” That coy smile was back on Margaery’s lips and even though they had just met, Sansa could see the wheels spinning in her mind and some plot forming in her thoughts. “Well, he spoiled us rotten of course, buying both Lores and myself trinkets and the prettiest of dresses in my case but he was called away not long after.” Sansa appeared confused and Margaery quickly clarified. “To join the small council as Master of Coin. Good with numbers and money, he is. It is like he snaps his fingers and gold dragons appear.”
“Right. Of course.” Sansa said, having forgotten that he had sat upon King Robert’s council, especially since he had not been there when she first arrived at King’s Landing. She wondered what her father would have thought of the man. Would he have liked him? Would he have trusted him? “It must be nice, having such a family to lean on. I have no one anymore.”
“That is not true!” Margaery cried, gripping her arm tighter. Sansa moved to correct her, to remind her that her brother was in open rebellion and her father dead, alongside two of her brothers and her sister missing but the look of determination on Margaery’s face made her pause. “You have me now. If you’re ever feeling sad or happy or anything at all, tell me. I will be more than happy to be that shoulder to lean on because I have a feeling that you and I are going to be great friends.”
*
Up in the Red Keep, Petyr peered down into the gardens, watching as Margaery led Sansa further and further into the weeds. He could not hear them but he could hear his niece’s laughter echo into the air. Margaery’s laugh had always been infectious, ever since she was a little girl but Petyr wondered what it would be like to hear Sansa’s laugh. She was beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way and he wondered how much that beauty would grow once she was happy, the memory of her smile the day in the throne room haunted him.
But there was more to her than simply beauty. Petyr could see intelligence lingering behind those cold eyes that most did not see. Sansa was far more than just an interesting name attached to an ordinary girl. Most would only see her claim while Petyr saw so much more than that, and he could not wait to unravel everything that she presented.
The sound of hinges creaking and the door opening pulled Petyr from his thoughts. He turned slowly, peering at his visitor, cocking his eyebrow at the lack of surprise. Seeing the bald man in a flowing purple robe was not surprising. At some point he was going to cross paths with Varys and it almost surprised him that it had taken this long for the spy-master to approach him.
“I have to admit, I was weary that I would never see you again.” Varys stated, sitting down in a comfortable chair by Petyr’s desk. The latter rolled his eyes and stepped away from the window. He sat down across from Varys, peering at the man with obvious questions in his eyes. “Although, I suppose if one had family, they would want to attend to them in their time of need. How is the Queen of Thorns doing by the way? Her health is all sorted?”
“Far better than yours if she ever hears you call her by such a name.”
“Ahh yes, that wit you have must have been inherited from somewhere.” Varys drawled, tilting his head to the side. “Although, she must not have been that ill if you found the time to go galavanting across Westeros, wielding deals with the likes of Tywin Lannister and returning to court in order to place your niece on the throne.”
“My my, your little birds have been busy.” Petyr replied, yet finding not an ounce of surprise. Varys had always been a wild card in the deck and he knew that he had eyes all across Westeros, and even some in Essos. He was dangerous and if he proved to be too much of a complication, Petyr wondered just how he would see that he was removed from the equation completely. If he dared try, Petyr would only assume Varys would know of it beforehand. “And yet, here I sit with my niece engaged to the King. If you wanted to stop it, you would have.”
“True. If I thought your move to advance your position to much of a risk to the realm, I could have prevented it, however, I find that the marriage between King Joffrey and Lady Margaery a far better solution than that of Lady Sansa.” Petyr did not reply, but instead allowed Varys to continue on with his musings, knowing that the man would only tell him what he deemed prudent for Petyr to hear. “Although, it is a bit surprising to have a Tyrell sit on the throne at all, when once upon a time none of you were welcome at court. Then you were appointed Master of Coin years ago and I am still surprised by it.”
“That is an old story and an old grievance that died with King Robert’s short attention span.” Petyr added, waving off the veiled insult to his family name. “If our late king had been so concerned with trusting me due to my brother’s folly, he never would have listened to Jon Arryn and gave me the position.”
“Your brother held siege to Storm's End during the rebellion with both Stannis and Renly inside of it. An attack on the Baratheon family should have had the order for the entire Tyrell line exterminated and yet, here you sit.”
“As do you.” Petyr countered, almost missing the back and forth he had with Varys. There were little brains at court with the exception of the spy master. “Did you not side with the Mad King during the entire war? I may have been young but I recall hearing that you never once betrayed him, whispering in his ear and feeding his paranoia. If there should have been anyone King Robert and now King Joffrey should be weary of, it's you, not my family.”
“I serve the realm, no matter who is king.” There was an edge in his voice but his expression did not shift an ounce. Instead, he simply stood and peered at Petyr with those knowing eyes that made him question whether or not the man was even human. “There was a rumor I heard once, long ago after Jaime Lannister shoved his sword through King Aerys’s back. While Lord Mace Tyrell led the fleet to Storm’s End, the order to simply surround it and cut off supply to the castle was given from Highgarden. Not to strike but to starve them out but leaving them untouched in case the king were to fall.”
“Perhaps that is true but I was just a boy then, so I cannot say.”
“Clever boys turn into dangerous men.” Petyr had nothing to say in reply to that. Instead, he watched Varys move towards the door, his train of his silk robes trailing after him. He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “It is good to have you back at court Lord Petyr, for you do make things interstersing but it will be curious to see how things play out when your mother arrives.”