The Unbound
Chapter 06: Feasting
– Margaery Tyrell –
Sitting next to Myrcella, she waited patiently for the man of the hour to make his appearance at the feast. Orys was fashionably late, but he was the crown prince, and it was his right to keep them waiting. King Robert and Queen Cersei were here anyway, making Orys' lateness more tolerable. The food was admittedly very good, but there were some of the best chefs in the Seven Kingdoms currently in King's Landing for the upcoming grand wedding and tournament.
Some had been hired for the events, and others came seeking to gain patronage by impressing any of the countless nobles who would be attending both events. Already, plenty of nobles had found their way to King's Landing, eager to curry favour with their future King.
It seemed like minor nobles from each of the kingdoms had arrived already, though many of the big players had not yet arrived. Her eyes lingered on Lord Stark, wondering why the Northern lord had been chosen to be the Hand of the King. He looked incredibly uncomfortable as he was approached by other nobles and had already made several breaches of decorum. His etiquette might be passable in the North, but his blunt nature and lack of skills in this social dance had already insulted several people.
They weren't the ones to be worried about, though. It was the people who saw his clear inexperience as an opportunity that she was worried about. She was going to be Queen one day; she didn't need an incompetent Hand of the King making her life harder. She knew her Grandmother was one of the people who saw Stark's naivety as an opportunity. Lord Stark was also blatant in his mistrust of Tywin Lannister, something that had not gone unnoticed.
The new Hand of the King's clear mistrust of Queen Cersei and Lord Lannister was already sending waves through the court. He had been hand-picked by the King, and his actions spoke for the King. When the Hand was clear in his suspicion, it made it seem like the King was equally mistrusting.
As the doors opened, one of the servants announced the latest arrival, and her eyes snapped to the handsome young man as he walked into the feast hall. He was well-dressed and well-groomed, wearing an expensive-looking dark brown outfit with elegant detailing, giving the image of an elk's antlers. The golden circlet on his head was more tasteful than she'd expected and fit well with his long brown hair. His outfit was almost dark enough to be black, and black and gold were the colours of House Baratheon. Her own outfit was green and gold, the colours of House Tyrell, but her jewelry was accented with black gemstones.
"His Royal Highness, Orys of House Baratheon, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Heir to the Iron Throne," the servant announced, with Orys scanning the feast before his eyes briefly lingered on her. She gave him a shy smile, even as Myrcella waved at her older brother, and he returned it with a slight nod as he headed to the head table. She was meant to be sitting there as a guest of honour but had decided to stay with Myrcella and Sansa instead. Her grandmother was sitting there, watching Orys approach and greet his father, who gave him a slap on the back.
She was seated close to the head table but too far to hear the conversation between Orys and his father. She didn't miss the scowl that briefly crossed Joffrey's face as Orys sat next to his father. Tommen seemed much happier to see Orys, even laughing as Orys ruffled his hair. In fact, the seating arrangement seemed to be designed to put Joffrey as far from Orys as possible.
"You're staring," Myrcella teased, making Margaery smile as she turned to her new friend. Myrcella should be at the head table as well, but she'd also decided to sit with Sansa. Arya was with them as well, but she seemed bored by the proceedings as she gave Orys a half-hearted wave. Befriending Arya was far harder than getting close to Sansa or Myrcella, as the younger girl seemed outright suspicious of her attempts. She was fairly sure Arya did have feelings for Orys, so she didn't blame the younger girl. She'd have to see how Orys acted around Arya to decide if those feelings were a threat.
"Can you blame me? I've seen a painting of Prince Orys, but it didn't do him justice," Margaery admitted, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Myrcella was a bit of a gossip and clearly devoted to her brother. She should assume that whatever Myrcella heard, Orys would hear quickly enough. In this case, she was telling the truth. Orys really was a handsome young man. She could see the similarities with his father, who was said to be a 'maiden's fantasy' when he was younger.
"You're a lucky woman, Margaery," Sansa agreed, a hint of something in her tone. She wasn't as satisfied with her own betrothal, but given the rumours of what had happened between Orys, Joffrey and Arya on the road, she wasn't surprised. Sansa must feel like she'd gotten the short straw. Still, she didn't seem openly jealous, at least.
She could see Orys speaking to Prince Renly and her grandmother and put her training to use as she tried to work out the Baratheon family dynamic. Orys seemed to get along with everyone but Joffrey, which was a good sign. Queen Cersei seemed to dote on him, and his father was clearly proud of him.
She could see some issues already, however. Prince Stannis gave Prince Renly a disapproving look, making Renly stiffen up and glance toward where her brother was. Her grandmother was probably right that Lord Tywin was the source of the rumours, and it had painted this entire affair in a different light. Prince Renly had been the one to convince King Robert to have Orys marry a Tyrell, so the exposure of his own affair with Loras made it all seem more suspicious.
She'd heard people whispering that the Tyrells had blackmailed Renly, that he was their puppet. She was almost certain that it wasn't true, but people would talk all the same. The rumours had marred both Loras and Renly's reputations, and some had even suggested that her betrothal should be cancelled, but most of those people were Lords with daughters they wanted to see in her place.
Orys had certainly heard the rumours, but he greeted Renly with a one-handed hug and laughed and joked with his uncle. Orys was not stupid or uneducated, so he had to know what he was doing by brushing aside the rumours and showing a clear fondness for Renly.
Despite her best efforts, her gaze kept returning to Orys. This wasn't the best place for a first meeting, not with so many prying eyes and ears, so she was planning on waiting until the feast came to an end before approaching him, but this was the man she'd be spending her entire life with if everything went well. Still, she wasn't alone in this as she once again made eye contact with Orys, his gaze drawn back to their group.
Once again, they shared a smile before they both turned away. She could see the King slapping Orys on the back, laughing loudly as Orys chuckled and turned his attention back to his food. Myrcella might take after her father more than Margaery realised, as Myrcella teased her. The blush on her cheeks wasn't entirely faked, even as she tried to work out the best way to approach Orys.
Despite being the talk of the Red Keep, she still didn't know enough about him to make a proper plan. She'd been trained for this her whole life, and her Grandmother would probably be disappointed at how quickly her training was abandoning her. Of course, Olenna was also busy trading barbs with Tywin by the looks of it. Whoever did the seating was taking a risk by putting those two near each other.
Or maybe they just wanted the pair to focus their energy on each other instead of aiming it at anyone else. She loved her grandmother, maybe more than she did anyone else other than her brother, but she was well aware that her grandmother was… difficult to work with at the best of times.
The seating was also set up to keep the pair away from Orys, and that was certainly by design. Neither could speak to him and have any chance of their words not being heard by the entire table and beyond. Somehow, she didn't think this was by King Robert's design, her eyes lingering on the Queen for a moment. Instantly, Cersei's eyes snapped toward her, seemingly sensing her gaze. Margaery looked away, turning to Sansa and starting up a safe conversation about the North, but not before she saw that look in Cersei's eyes again.
Whatever happened, the two biggest threats from the Baratheon family would be Joffrey and Cersei. Joffrey was easy to understand, his jealousy was apparent and should be manageable… but Cersei?
She'd understand if she thought Cersei believed she wasn't worthy of marrying the Crown Prince. It would give her a way forward to prove that she was a worthy partner for Orys, but she didn't think that was it. No, that wasn't right. Cersei clearly didn't think she was a good partner for Orys, but the Lannister-born woman was always going to fall on Tywin's side of this tug-of-war over the prince. It was simply that there was more than one reason Cersei didn't like her.
But again, why did Cersei look more like a jilted lover than a disapproving mother?
The Queen leaned over to her son, whispering something to him as Orys froze. She wasn't in a position where Margaery could try to read her lips, so she studied Orys' reaction instead. He moved on quickly, but whatever she said seemed to shock him, and he was careful not to look at his mother as he took a drink. Cersei simply looked smug, having gotten the reaction she wanted.
– Orys Baratheon –
I make sure not to look toward Cersei as she walks away, seemingly to speak to one of the servants who stiffens up and drops what they are doing to give the Queen their full attention. Her dress is form-fitting, and her whisper informing me that she 'didn't have time to replace what she gave me' sends a jolt through me.
Her underwear is still in my room, and the idea that she's gone to the feast with nothing under her dress excites me more than it should. But for her to even hint at that in the middle of a feast with this many nobles in attendance is another thing entirely… Whatever is causing her to act like this, it's making her reckless, and if things keep going, I think it's going to get us both into trouble.
My eyes wander over the feast hall again. Mephala's gift is proving to be worth the pact as I single out several people who have loyalties that I wasn't aware of. I can't say I'm surprised by how many people have golden roses or lions around them, but it's still concerning.
Already, minor nobles have arrived from across the Seven Kingdoms in preparation for the tournament and wedding, but seeing people from the Riverlands or Vale who have loyalties to the Tyrell or Lannisters is worryingly common.
I know that both families are my allies on paper, but it shows just how far the influence of the two richest Houses goes. Renly's roses confirm the rumours, as I can see the binding between him and Loras… but it seems to go both ways.
I don't think Loras is manipulating him or the House Tyrell is blackmailing my uncle. Loras is as loyal to Renly as Renly is to Loras. Lady Olenna worries me because her aura is covered in long-wilted black roses, the flower almost dead but the thorns very much alive. I can tell she was beautiful and charming once, but age has taken away that charm and helped the thorns grow sharper than ever.
My eyes go back to Margaery again as she giggles at something Myrcella said. Her aura is more or less what I expected, with golden roses surrounding her. She has her own thorns, but they're well hidden and don't come out until she needs them. I can see the green stem reaching out and starting to bind Myrcella and Sansa as Margaery charms the pair.
The spectral roses I see in her hair only make her more beautiful. Mother wasn't wrong; Margaery uses her beauty as both a shield and a weapon, but I'd be almost disappointed if she didn't. Myrcella notices my gaze, whispering something to Margaery, who turns to face me as we once again make eye contact. She blushes at my gaze, bowing her head slightly. I simply smile, giving Myrcella a scolding look, which she returns with a smug smile.
I'm glad she's having fun, at least. I don't sense any real deception in Margaery's decision to make friends with Myrcella. She's certainly using Myrcella to get information on me and to better ingratiate herself with her soon-to-be husband by befriending my favourite sibling, but the friendship itself does seem genuine on both sides. Margaery's aura is starting to affect Myrcella's, but the same can be said in reverse. It's less apparent, but Myrcella's softer black and gold aura is leaving a mark on Margaery.
"Eat up, boy. You've barely touched your food," Father laughs, slapping me on the back with a smile. "Too busy ogling your woman like you've never seen a girl before."
"Well, you're eating enough for both of us, Father," I reply, getting another laugh from him as I glance at the plates in front of him. "Trying to put me on the throne faster?"
"I'd slap you on the damn thing tomorrow if I could, but no. You're going to have to wait a little longer, your old man isn't going anywhere in a hurry," Father jokes. "Don't forget I could still knock you around, even with this belly of mine. You know they used to call me the Demon of the Trident?"
"Oh? Maybe you should put your money where your mouth is, old timer," I reply. "Maybe it's time to see if you can even pick up that warhammer of yours anymore. Perhaps you'll be able to burn off some of the feasts."
"Oh? You've grown a pair, brat," Father replies with a dangerous smile, another slap on my back jolting me forward. Despite his size, my father still retains some of his formerly legendary strength. "What'd you think, Ned? Think you can still swing that sword of yours for more than an execution?"
"Oh no, you know I don't do tournaments, your grace," Lord Stark replies instantly, but Father just laughs.
"Come on, it'll be just like old times," Father says, a grin on his face and some wine on his beard as Mother sighs and wipes it up with a roll of her eyes. Lord Stark gives me an unamused look, but it seems I've put the idea in Father's head now. I want to see him live longer, and if pushing him to actually pick up his warhammer instead of just talking about it helps, then so be it. Tournaments can be risky, but keeping him out of too much danger shouldn't be that hard.
He was a great warrior once, and I can still see the vestiges of his strength in him.
"Tell me, Prince Orys, do you truly find my granddaughter so fascinating, or are you simply counting the roses on her dress?" Olenna says, getting my attention as Father continues to push Lord Stark into joining him like the good old days.
"Can you blame me? I've heard far too little about her despite our long engagement. For the past year, all I've had to go on was an out-of-date portrait and second-hand descriptions of my future wife," I reply with a smile. "Though it is a lovely dress."
"Out of date? How bizarre! I'm sure my son sent a more recent one to you while you were in Casterly Rock. He might be an idiot, but even he can arrange a courier," Olenna scoffs, openly insulting the Lord of the Reach without a care for who hears her. Of course, nobody misses the way her eyes move to my Grandfather, who pointedly ignores her. "As for her dress, given your staring, I'd say you're more interested in what it is hiding than the embroidery."
"As I said, I've had nothing but second-hand information to work on. I'm sure you understand my desire to admire every part of my future wife. She lives up to the rumours and surpasses them, the Little Rose of Highgarden indeed," I compliment, but she just grunts in an unladylike fashion.
"Well, I suppose it's better that you do. I'm an old woman and want to see my great-grandchildren before I drop dead," Olenna scoffs, drinking her wine. "Try not to disappoint me."
"I'll be sure to give this task my full attention," I reply dryly. I can't say I've ever really thought about children, but with my marriage coming so soon, it's a natural follow-up. I'm not naive enough not to realise that she wants to make sure there's a Tyrell Prince or Princess just in case anything happens to me or Margaery, though.
Whatever else happens, I seem to have come through this brief exchange with a sliver of respect from the old woman. At the very least, I avoided getting pricked by those thorns of hers. Instead, she turns her attention back to Grandfather, not eager to let the fact that I never got the recent portrait go as she implies he has so little control over his land that her package never arrived. As Grandfather replies, I carefully avoid that conversation. I know better than to get between those two.
I want to speak to Margaery herself, but this isn't the time or place for our first discussion. Too many eyes, watching for any weakness. Countless minor nobles approach me, eager to ingratiate themselves to me now that the Crown Prince is back in King's Landing. Despite my engagement, several introduce me to their daughters and their desire is transparent to me, even without Mephala's boon.
Despite how close it seems, people aren't convinced that this engagement will last. Or maybe it's the marriage itself they expect to fail and are eager to have someone close to them lined up to take Margaery's spot. Nothing is truly sacred in King's Landing, I suppose. I wonder if Father had to deal with the same when he was betrothed to my mother?
Maybe not. He was a new king, a usurper fresh to the throne. I imagine more than a few hedged their bets. But a generation later, the Targaryen are still gone, and the Baratheon-controlled throne is still going strong.
The night goes by without any major incidents despite Uncle Stannis looking like he's a moment away from strangling Tywin and Olenna. I think Father thought he was being funny by putting Stannis between the two.
As people move around, the seating gets shuffled a little as wine loosens the proprieties, and at some point Cersei manages to steal the spot to my right, having moved from my Father's side to mine, placing me in between both of my parents. Again, her lack of caution concerns me as I feel her hand on my leg, gently rubbing up and down my thigh.
Nobody is currently sitting on her other side, but Father is right next to me. He's currently in an animated retelling of some old battle, not paying attention to what she's doing, but she's still stroking my leg in a room with dozens of nobles and many more servants and knights.
She said she wouldn't bring it up again, but actions can speak a lot louder than words. Despite my best efforts, my body does react to her tender ministrations and I have to force myself not to react as her finger brushes against the bulge in my trousers. My hand catches her wrist, moving it away, but she just gives me an amused look, moving on to fixing my circlet and hair. I'm sure it's a coincidence that her fussing forced my head to look straight down into her cleavage.
I need to decide what I'm going to do about her because, at this rate, we're basically bound to get caught. Finishing my plate, I say goodnight to my Father and Cersei, having eaten my fill. Fixing my trousers to hide the result of Cersei's game, I leave the table and approach the small round table where Myrcella, Margaery and a growing collection of noble heiresses have gathered.
"Ladies, pardon the interruption. I was wondering if I could steal away Margaery for a late-night walk in the gardens," I say, giving Margaery a smile as a wave of giggling through the group. It's not all genuine. Jealousy hangs heavy in the air as Margaery smiles up at me and offers me her hand.
"You most certainly can, your highness," Margaery agrees, rising as I take her hand. "We'll talk more tomorrow, Myrcella."
"We absolutely will," Myrcella agrees, her hunger for gossip clear as I roll my eyes and ruffle my little sister's hair, dodging the responding swat as she glowers at me playfully.
There are some drunken jokes and whistles at our expense as I lead Margaery out of the hall despite the 'noble' nature of our guests.
"Oh, Arya? Do me a favour and make sure Myrcella doesn't try to follow us," I ask, making Arya snort and nod. Myrcella's eyes widen briefly before she pouts at her scheming already having fallen apart.
– Arianne Martell –
As they got closer to King's Landing, Arianne smiled. Getting out of Dorne had not been easy with her father's watchful eyes, but her uncle was reliably irresponsible and had been easily convinced to bring her along to the 'biggest noble gathering of the decade'.
Seeing King's Landing in the distance, she reminded herself of why she was doing this. Her father was trying to get rid of her. He intended to pass over her and let Quentyn, the second child, become the ruler of Dorne instead of her. Every single 'suitor' he was willing to introduce her to was elderly and entirely unfitting for her; most wouldn't even be able to impregnate her even if she was willing to allow such an old man between her legs.
She didn't know why her father seemed to hate her so much, but he seemed utterly apathetic to her at best. She told him the day after she let a bastard take her maidenhood, and as he always did with her, he did nothing, uncaring that the princess of Dorne had been deflowered. Each of her rebellions was met with the same apathy, and she had had enough.
If he were so determined to ensure she was never presented with a worthy suitor, someone who she could rely on to claim Dorne, her birthright, when her father inevitably tried to put her little brother on the throne… then she'd find one herself. This tournament and wedding was the talk of the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone worth a damn was going to be there.
She needed support if she was going to claim what was rightfully hers, and this was where she would find it.
Of course, if she could get her hands on the greatest prize of all, it would cause such a stir… the Tyrells hated her family after Uncle Oberyn had crippled their heir, uncaring that it had just been a stroke of bad luck that had truly caused it, and who better for a Princess than a Prince?
All the better if it was a Crown Prince. She'd heard people speak of Margaery's beauty, but they hadn't seen her yet.
— Bonus Scene — Catelyn Stark
It seemed like things went south the moment her husband left the North.
'Went south' wasn't a phrase she enjoyed because she dearly wished this place was more like the South, but things had started to go wrong almost immediately after Ned had left. She wasn't naive, she knew most of the bannermen didn't like or respect her, and despite having been left to handle Winterfell in her husband's stead, few would listen to her.
And that would have been fine in normal circumstances. They'd listen to Robb, as it turned out, and if everything had gone smoothly, she'd simply have needed to handle the management of Winterfell itself, so it wouldn't matter if the other Northern Houses saw her as an outsider.
She'd been upset when Ned had taken Sansa and Arya with him, even if she liked the idea of them getting a taste of Southern hospitality and nobility. Now? She was incredibly thankful her daughters were in King's Landing and far from this place.
She'd never liked Theon Greyjoy. The Iron Islands brat had always been disrespectful to his betters whenever he thought they weren't listening, constantly getting Robb into trouble. She may not like the wildness of the Northern people, but it was a considerable improvement over the 'men' of the Iron Islands. Theon had even dared to comment on her breasts once, making crude comments to the other boys about her body. Ned had made sure he didn't do it again, but she still thought he'd gotten off too lightly.
Perhaps if Ned had disciplined that crude perversion out of the Ironborn, they wouldn't be in this mess.
Theon Greyjoy was dead, and while that fact alone gave her nothing even close to sorrow… Theon had been a hostage. He had been here to keep his father in line after the failed rebellion. She didn't think Balon held any true affection for the son he'd given away as a hostage at the end of his failed rebellion, but that didn't mean a damn thing.
Theon's death gave the Ironborns another chance to cause havoc, and word had already reached the Lord of the Iron Islands of his son's untimely end.
Did it matter that Theon had been found dead in a brothel after sneaking out? Of course not, the Ironborn didn't give a damn how the boy had died, only that he had while under the protection of the Starks. There was no denying that Theon had been murdered, having been found brutalised alongside the whore he'd hired, but Theon was an arrogant fool who had made plenty of enemies by bedding married women and picking fights.
And now, what had likely been a drunken argument that had escalated too far was at risk of engulfing the North. Ironborn ships had already been seen along the coast. They'd been looking for a reason to fight for years, and now they had it. A small fishing village had been raided already, and word said that it was a massacre with no seemingly no survivors. The men were slaughtered, and the women and children were taken.
And because that alone wasn't enough trouble, there was a new… cult growing in the North. The Septa had complained about it to her and Robb several times, but this cult seemingly followed the Old Gods so most of the North saw nothing wrong with it.
The Faith of the Seven was barely accepted this far North, and the Septa had little power to stop the growing worship. She'd seen the followers within Winterfell itself, wearing accessories crafted from elk antlers to show their devotion to this… Hircine.
The Old Gods were said not to have names, and yet Hircine was the name that so many hunters seemed to be speaking of late. Worse still, it seemed to have either spread beyond the wall or have originated with the Wildlings.
A captured Wildling had spoken of Storihbeg, the King of Wolves, an 'aspect of Hircine' that prowled the Northern lands. Word from the Wall spoke of a wolf of impossible size and speed, making Direwolves seem small in comparison, that seemed to be actively trying to be seen by the Night's Watch.
According to Benjen, those who were foolish enough to go out and try to hunt it never returned.
House Mormont had heard whispers of Hrokkibeg, the Mighty Bear. Hircine was never mentioned by name, but some rumours called Hrokkibeg the Aspect of Strength. The Septa agreed that it seemed like the Cult had spread to Bear Island.
And yet, what could she do as the worship of this 'new' Old God spread? As a Southern woman, the Northern men saw her words as worthless when it came to the Gods. And yet, what scared her the most was not an entire House seeming to fall to the cult…
Followers of Hircine wore pieces of their hunts in the form of amulets, and her mind flashed back to the sight of Arya stroking the fox fang amulet she'd grown so attached to. Arya hated jewellery, and yet once that had been given to her, she never once took it off, sleeping and even bathing with the damn thing.
Had this cult already started to target her daughter?
Ned should never have gone South because the North needed him more than ever.
Author's Note: Littlefinger do be little fingering.
Also, the North is just one big free meal for Hircine.
Written: 17/02/2025
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The Advance Chapters
Diamond: The Celestial Professor Ch08, The Warlock Ch08, The Celestial Farmer Ch05, Guide to Necromancy Ch11, The Planeswalker Ch10
Plat: The Celestial Professor Ch07, The Unbound Ch07, The Dungeon Master Ch01, The Dungeon Master, The Celestial Escalation Ch07
Gold: The Celestial Farmer Ch04, The Illusive Mage Ch09, The Game Master Ch11
Basic: Guide to Necromancy Ch10, The Game Master Ch10
The Unbound
Chapter 07: First Meeting
– Margaery Tyrell –
She knew some people might complain about 'impropriety' over her going on a late-night walk with Orys alone, despite how soon they were going to be married, but she was just pleased to get a chance to speak with him alone as they headed to the gardens of the Red Keep.
They were nice, admittedly, though they paled in comparison to Highgarden. This one in particular was a small but undeniably well-maintained and diverse garden reserved for the Royal family. Myrcella had mentioned it, but she had to admit she was mildly impressed as Orys led her to a small bench under the starlight.
"Honestly, I don't know where to begin," Orys finally admitted with a boyish chuckle, making her giggle slightly. "I've heard so much about you, and I won't deny that the talk of your beauty was underselling it, if anything, but I don't know where to begin with this. Most betrothed meet long before their wedding, not merely days."
As he spoke, he sat down on the bench, and she took her place next to him with an understanding smile.
"I feel the same. I know you were raised at Casterly Rock, that you're a wonderful hunter and that you are as handsome as I've heard, but beyond that? I'm as lost as you are," Margaery admitted with a delicate shrug, a small smile touching her lips. "It's why I've been interrogating Myrcella all night, not that she doesn't enjoy a chance to boast of her big brother."
Orys chuckled at that. She knew he'd worked out why she'd approached Myrcella, so it was better to admit it rather than just pretend she was only trying to be Myrcella's friend. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy Myrcella's company, but even Myrcella had worked out that her main intention was to find out more about Orys.
"She seems fond of you," Orys replied, gazing back toward the feast for a moment with a chuckle. Somehow, she knew that Myrcella was currently trying to convince Arya and Sansa to let her sneak away to spy on them. "I'm glad. I missed most of her life, being away at Casterly Rock, but I get the feeling she's more lonely than she'd admit."
Margaery smiled softly at that, taking a chance as she placed her hand on his. He paused, looking down at it before he turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers.
"What are you expecting out of this, Margaery?" Orys finally asked, being more blunt than she expected, as she tilted her head slightly. "Neither of us had much of a choice in this marriage, but what are you hoping for from it?"
Margaery went quiet for a moment, a comfortable silence falling as she looked up at the night sky. Orys didn't rush her for an answer, just relaxing and enjoying the moment. She appreciated the moment to think about her answer.
"My father has always hoped to make me Queen," Margaery finally said, making him turn to her curiously. "Not just for the good of my House, but for my own good. I may not have had the final say, but he wouldn't have arranged this if I wasn't willing. All my life, I've known that my family wanted to put a crown on my head."
Orys didn't respond, simply listening as he could tell she wasn't done even as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. A Tyrell on the throne, or at least married into the royal family, had been their dream for longer than she'd been alive.
"But I've seen so many betrothed couples who can barely stand each other's company," Margaery continued, a frown crossing her face for just a moment. "I don't want that for me. For us. We might not have chosen each other, but I don't want a husband who only spends time with me when he has to, avoiding me for the rest of our lives."
"Any man would find it hard to ignore you, Margaery," Orys complimented, making her smile as she turned to him. She was fairly certain he didn't share his uncle's tastes, given the looks they'd shared through the night, and she certainly didn't mind his praise as he brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
"I'm glad you think so, Orys. Believe me, it's mutual," Margaery admitted, squeezing his hand for a moment. "But while mutual attraction helps, it's not everything. I'm sure you won't mind sharing a bed with me, but I don't want to be a bedwarmer, or the pretty little flower hanging off your arm. If I'm to be Queen, I want it to be more than just a title."
A part of her said this was the wrong way to approach this. Many men didn't like their women to be outspoken, preferring quiet, obedient girls. Maybe it was too soon to say something like this, but Orys didn't seem displeased. His mother was the type of Queen she was discussing, Robert's equal, ruling beside him.
"It's funny. I said something similar to my mother not long before we met. That I didn't want a wife that I'd only spend time with when I was forced to for events and appearances," Orys admitted with a warm chuckle. "I don't want my partner to be someone I merely tolerate, and who tolerates me in turn."
She smiled brighter at that, hearing the genuine tone. He wasn't merely echoing her words to flatter her.
"I didn't pick you, true, but then that was always going to be the reality for me. I'm the Crown Prince, I don't get to marry out of love alone," Orys continued, taking a moment to consider his words as she had. "But that doesn't mean I don't want more than just a political match. I want someone to support me, to cover where I am weak and be there for me through the good and the bad. I want a wife I can truly say I love."
"And do you think you can love me?" Margaery asked, her tone playful as he chuckled again.
"I don't know, but I'm looking forward to finding out. Myrcella seems to like you, so you're off to a good start," Orys teased, nudging her with his shoulder. "Tell me, what is Highgarden like? How do our gardens compare to your legendary home?"
"Would you be offended if I said they paled in comparison? This is a very nice garden, probably the nicest in the Crownlands, and I doubt you'd find any better North of here, but Highgarden is just… majestic," Margaery admitted with a look of pride. "I've heard some people say the Dornish Water Gardens are better than Highgarden, but I just can't believe that there's anywhere in the world as beautiful."
"I won't take offence, I'll simply have to ask that one day, you show me so I can see for myself" Orys suggested, making her beam. "For now, I'll simply have to take your word for it, after all… I've already seen the beauty that grows in the Reach."
As he spoke, he brushed his finger against her cheek, and she decided to take another chance. Leaning up, she captured his lips in a brief kiss, an impish smile on her face as he blinked in shock. It was somewhat improper, despite their future marriage, but she was fairly certain she had a good read on him. His shock faded to amusement, and something deeper in his gaze, as they talked of their pasts, hers in the Reach and his in Casterly Rock.
They didn't kiss again, but a mutual attraction lingered between them, their bodies just a little closer than needed as she felt his warmth keeping her comfortable in the cold of the night. She didn't bring up Queen Cersei or the Queen's clear issue with her, or the rivalry between the Lannister and Tyrell Houses, instead, just focusing on learning more about her future husband as he did the same with her.
– Myrcella Baratheon –
"No."
"I'm a Princess, you can't say no to me," Myrcella tried, getting a bored and highly unimpressed look from Arya, who just stared her down.
"You sound like Joffrey," Arya replied bluntly, making her wince as Sansa looked over to where Joffrey was scowling. It looked like he was just scowling in general instead of being angry because he heard them. "And I can't, but Orys can, and he said to keep you here."
Sansa giggled as Myrcella pouted slightly, disappointed in her friend's unwillingness to spy on Orys. Tommen was nice, but he was so shy and tried to keep his head down, usually because Joffrey would take offence to him getting attention. Joffrey was… Joffrey, and she'd long since realised she didn't like or want to spend time with him. Orys was someone she'd only really heard of, gone when she was too young to really remember him, but as he returned, she quickly found that he was her favourite brother.
But then he'd fallen sick, like she'd heard rumours of him doing when he was a baby. Watching him go so pale, sweating and barely able to stay awake had made her truly panic for the first time. She hated it, even if it was nice to have him resting his head in her lap for the trip.
And then he was better again; more than that, he was stronger than ever. He'd been distant and hesitant when he'd first returned to King's Landing. Like he didn't really know how to talk to his own family, but after he got better, he was so much more confident. He didn't hesitate to tease her, but not cruelly like Joffrey, and was happy to spend time with her.
Sansa seemed jealous of Margaery, but then Joffrey wasn't taking her on late-night walks. Arya merely seemed amused, shutting down her next argument (it would be funny) with no hesitation. People hadn't missed that Orys seemed to favour Arya, which had caused a lot of other noble daughters to try to get into Arya's good graces (much to Arya's confusion and discomfort).
She'd only heard of what happened with Arya's friend from the two, but they both made Orys sound so gallant, like a true Prince from her storybooks. She was glad that he was going to be King, not Joffrey.
But right now, her favourite brother was spending time alone with his beautiful future wife, probably kissing, and she wasn't there to tease them. She had a duty to perform, but Arya was an immovable object, steadfast in the duty Orys had given her.
Pouting slightly, she worked on her next attempt to convince Arya as the night progressed.
– Orys Baratheon –
Waking up, I stretch slightly. It's later than I normally wake up at, but I did have a fairly late night so I'm not that surprised. I suspect mother ordered the servants to let me sleep in as they're normally here by now.
Getting out of bed, I wander over to the window and look out at the city with a small smile. Margaery is impressive. Intelligent, ambitious and undeniably beautiful. Whether she's trustworthy is still to be seen, but she has all the makings of a powerful queen.
The main question is whether her loyalty to her family will become a problem. It's good to be loyal to your house, but I'll have to watch out for her using her new position to benefit the Tyrells to the detriment of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. To her credit, she didn't bring up Loras last night, beyond mentioning him when she was telling me about her family.
That doesn't mean she doesn't plan to, but she's smart enough not to rush things at any rate.
I get dressed and enjoy the chance to dress myself instead of being hounded by servants who think I can't put on my trousers without putting them on backwards and then hanging myself with the belt.
A knock on the door distracts me as I finish putting on my top, calling for them to enter as my mother strolls in with someone trailing behind. Instantly, I pause as I spot her curly black hair and fierce blue eyes. She's dressed like a maid, but I've not seen her around before.
"I see you're finally awake," Cersei lightly scolds as I chuckle.
"I suspect I woke up earlier than father, at least," I retort, getting a wry look from her.
"You'd be wrong there. Your little joke seems to have awoken something in him. He was running off to the training grounds to play with his warhammer right after daybreak. I pity Lord Stark, having to be dragged along on Robert's nostalgia trip," Cersei says with a fond sigh.
"I pity whoever is training with Father more. He's still got some of his old strength, and he's still the King," I say with a shrug. They can't exactly fight back properly while the old man swings his warhammer around like a wildman from the North.
Cersei just laughs at that, stepping aside to let the new girl step forward. She's beautiful, and her outfit is just a little too tight, but it's her face that makes me pause… because she looks like an older Myrcella. Same blue eyes, same facial structure, and that hair… Cersei nods, seeing my suspicion.
"Orys, this is Bella. I've decided that you should have your own servants, given your age," Cersei explains, only adding to my suspicions.
"Just Bella?" I ask, making Bella hesitate.
"Bella Rivers, Your Highness," Bella says, her tone soft and nervous. Rivers, meaning a bastard of the Riverlands.
"And where are you from, Bella Rivers?" I ask, looking at the outline of a stag behind her. One of Father's bastards, surely.
"Stoney Sept, Your Highness," Bella explains, essentially confirming my suspicions. Which is the location where the Battle of the Bells took place, something my father has told me about. I give my mother a questioning look, and she simply nods.
"Mother?" I ask, my tone stern and inquisitive.
"You've more or less worked it out. Bella is your half-sister, from one of your father's indiscretions," Cersei admits. "He was displeased to know what career path she had found herself in, and I suggested bringing her to King's Landing. She hasn't been legitimised, but she has been officially recognised as his daughter."
Not officially a Baratheon, then. Not yet, at any rate.
"Then welcome the Red Keep, Bella. I can't say I didn't suspect I had some more siblings out there, given my father's past reputation, so it's a pleasure to meet you," I say calmly. She's no threat to my rule, and from mother's words I suspect she was a whore before she was brought here. Probably the daughter of one, as well.
I can't say I disagree with Father's displeasure at someone with royal blood selling their body in a brothel.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Bella says, trying to curtsey. It's a good attempt, but something she was clearly trained to do very recently, from her clumsy movement.
"She's still undergoing training to ensure she is adequately trained to serve a prince, but I wanted to introduce you," Cersei explains, making me nod. "Breakfast has been delayed, but you are expected to attend in an hour."
"I'll be there," I confirm, watching her leave, but not before I spot the slight smirk on her lips. What is she up to? She's scheming something with Bella, but I can't quite work out what just from the auras.
"Is there anything you require, Your Highness?" Bella asks, looking a little lost as she scans the room.
"Not right now. It must have been quite the change, leaving Stoney Sept for the Red Keep," I probe, making her nod quickly.
"Ay- I mean, it was, Your Highness. I didn't quite believe the messenger at first, but some of the older whores confirmed that my mother was King Robert's favourite," Bella admits, confirming my suspicion on how she's taken care of herself. "But I know how lucky I am to have this chance. I won't let you, or her Majesty, down, I promise. If you need anything at all, you need only say the word, Your Highness. I'd be honoured to help you, however I can."
So, Mother suggests I get some experience, offers herself, and then brings a former whore to be my maid. A maid who has clearly been told to see to all my needs. A maid who is my half-sister, and indulging in that temptation would… open me up to the idea of bedding Cersei herself.
Is that it? No, that's part of it, but I'm sure she's up to more than that.
"I appreciate that, Bella," I say smoothly, none of my suspicions showing on my face or in my tone. Watching as Bella rushes to make my bed, I do feel my eyes briefly drawn to her curves as she bends over, and I make no effort to hide it as she spots me watching.
For a moment, she pauses before she arches her back just a little move, hips swaying in my direction as she works. I don't mention it, and neither does she, as I prepare for breakfast.
– Later –
"I swear to the Gods, I will raze those fucking islands to the ground. I'll send Balon to the depths myself, laughing as he screams for his squid god to help him," Robert swears, red-faced as he smashes his hand down on the table. Breakfast was… delayed by some news from the North, and Margaery gives me a questioning look as I guide her to follow me into the Small Council chambers. "I told you we should put that fucking squid down, that Balon couldn't be trusted! I told Jon we should just slaughter the iron bastards to the last."
My arrival draws some attention, even distracting my father from his rage for a moment as they look from me to my betrothed by my side. Margarey sinks back, falling behind me slightly at the looks, but they don't question my decision to bring her as two chairs are procured for us. The only one who could would be my father, and he doesn't even look twice at her.
"Father, I've heard from Mother. A new Greyjoy rebellion?" I ask, making him growl and nod.
"We don't know if it's a full rebellion yet, but they are raiding the North in increased numbers after Balon's son died while a hostage of the Starks," Varys explains quietly, getting a look from Lord Stark.
"How could you let this happen, Ned? I told you to keep a close eye on the fucking squid. Some Greyjoy shit gets killed in a brothel, sticking his tiny dick in the wrong girl, and the Greyjoy's think that's enough for them to commit treason?" Robert snarls, his warhammer resting against the table.
…the Greyjoy died in a brothel? I carefully avoid looking at Littlefinger, having zero proof, but my investigations have shown just how widespread his network of whorehouses is.
As the conversation (and my father) rages, I hesitate for a moment, but Margaery takes my hand into hers under the table and gives it a small squeeze of encouragement. She's already worryingly good at reading me.
"Lord Stark, how prepared are your people for their raids?" I ask, keeping my tone calm as Ned Stark turns to me.
"Our banners weren't ready, but my son, Robb, has begun to gather them. We can hold our own, but the Ironborn are hitting poorly defended locations and fleeing back to the seas before we can retaliate," Ned admits, causing my father to spit out the word 'cowards'. "The North has no real fleet, and can't take the fight to the Ironborn in Pyke."
"Uncle, how soon can we have the royal fleet in the North?" I ask, turning to Uncle Stannis, who frowns thoughtfully.
"I keep them prepared, but it will take time to muster them. I believe I can send enough North to… discourage the Greyjoy from raiding by the end of the month," Stannis explains with his usual no-nonsense attitude.
"Father, I suggest we do so. Send our fleet to guard the North's borders and force Balon to the table. If he attacks them, it is treason, and he'll meet his God sooner than he hoped. We can't sit back and let the Ironborn rape and pillage one of our Kingdoms," I say, making Robert take a deep breath, still redfaced and clenching his fists before he nods.
"Stannis, put those fucking squids in their place. If they attack the royal fleet, I'll finish what we should have done when Greyjoy's rebellion failed," Robert orders. "Ned, get your men to work with him and fortify your coasts while the fleet buys you the time you need."
Ned nods, giving me a grateful look as I watch the auras of the council carefully. Most lighten as Robert calms down, one darkens. Why are you unhappy, Littlefinger?
"I can blockade them onto their islands," Stannis agrees, the tiniest hint of approval on his face. "We showed them before that we can outmanoeuvre them on the seas. The Ironborn are no true warriors; they are undisciplined and too used to raiding for a real, prolonged battle."
"You finally get to play with your ships, eh, Stannis?" Renly asks playfully, getting a tired, annoyed look from Stannis. "Do you think Greyjoy will be stupid enough to try another rebellion? It's barely been ten years since his last failed attempt."
"That fucking squid only bent the knee to save his filthy neck. He probably celebrated when he heard his useless shit of a son died so stupidly, finally giving him a reason to cause chaos again," Robert growls. "He's a bitter old cunt who never got over the thrashing we gave him. King of the Iron Islands, my hairy, fat arse. They've probably been preparing for round two since the moment the Rebellion ended."
"If he's foolish enough to attack our fleets, it'll be the end of House Greyjoy. Two rebellions in ten years is more than enough for us to put an end to them," I point out, making my father smile darkly, one hand stroking his warhammer, clearly picturing splitting Balon's skull open with it.
The conversation moves on to planning out our response, and I relax slightly as I listen carefully. They might be raiders, but the Ironborn are known for their prowess on the seas. If this becomes a full war, it's going to be a messy one, even if the Ironborn would almost certainly lose. I speak up a few times, but for the most part, I settle in and listen to the older and more experienced men. Uncle Stannis is in his element, and he even seems pleased that I'm putting this on his shoulders.
With the knowledge that we'll be reacting, Father calms down enough for the Small Council to plan our response to the Ironborn. Apparently, Theon Greyjoy had snuck out to get his dick wet without telling anyone, and while the Starks had a duty to keep him safe as a hostage, and he did die in Winter Town, right outside Winterhold, it's enough to partially cover for their fuck up. If Balon had come to the crown demanding retribution or compensation for his son's death, he'd have certainly gotten something, but that's not their way.
They don't ask for things, they take what they think is theirs.
The meeting passes, with Stannis setting out to prepare our fleets. I think he's glad to be getting away from King's Landing. Father leaves with Ned, reminiscing about the good old days when he could have picked up his hammer and sailed North to beat Balon to death himself.
"I have to say, it was a surprise to see you at the council meeting, Lady Tyrell," Varys simpers.
"She's to be Queen, isn't she? I attend these meetings to better learn the realm I'm going to rule, why wouldn't she learn beside me when she will rule by my side?" I ask, getting a strange smile from him. Varys is the one person I truly cannot read. I'm sure he still has some lingering loyalty to the Targaryen, but it's almost like the dragon behind him is sleeping. Whatever he is truly loyal to, I don't think it is any one House.
Margaery smiles at me, confirming that I invited her to join me. I can tell some people are already questioning that decision, especially with the Tyrell and Lannister feud currently raging, but I've made my decision.
"You spoke well today, nephew," Renly says with a smile, his eyes flickering to Margaery for a moment. "Not many can get His Grace to see reason."
"I said what he wanted to hear, that we should do something about the Ironborn," I say with a shrug. "I'm sure Father would prefer to raid the Iron Islands and tear down Pyke to the last brick, and frankly, he might still get his chance if Balon doesn't back down."
"I've met the man; backing down isn't his style. His own people might just throw him into the sea for their Drowned God if he did so a second time," Renly points out, making me sigh and run a hand through my hair.
"Then nobody will be able to say the reckoning we deliver upon them isn't justified," I retort, making him chuckle. I'm giving Balon a chance to back down, if he doesn't take it, it's his own damn fault what happens next.
"Extending a hand in peace, while keeping your other ready to beat them if they don't take it? You'll make a fine king," Renly jokes, his eyes glancing at the other people in the room for a moment. "Can we talk, Nephew? In private, though Margaery is welcome to join us."
Agreeing, I follow him to a smaller room.
"I didn't suggest this marriage because of my relationship with Loras," Renly says bluntly, making me pause and raise an eyebrow in surprise. "I genuinely thought Margaery would be a good match for you."
"So, you are with Loras then?" I ask, and Renly doesn't hesitate to nod and admit to his 'deviancy'. "I don't hold your preferences against you. Honestly, I can't blame you too much. These Tyrell flowers are too damn pretty."
At my joke, Margaery giggles and relaxes slightly, and I can see some of the tension leave Renly.
"I didn't believe that you were being blackmailed or betraying the family by conspiring with the Tyrells, Renly, and anyone can see that the Tyrells are a good match. It doesn't take a genius to know who made your… open secret into a far more damaging scandal," I admit, running my hand through my hair again. It's a bad habit grandfather used to scold me for, because it shows when I'm stressed and exposes weakness.
"Tywin isn't exactly subtle, but then he doesn't have to be," Renly half-jokes, clearly a little stressed.
"He's afraid that having Loras be your Sworn Shield while I'm your wife would give us too much influence over you," Margaery admits, squeezing my hand. "If it hadn't hurt my brother, I'd almost be impressed by how easily Tywin bared his fangs."
"He shamed Loras publicly, humiliated him, and me, to get a step ahead in this rivalry, and for what? Orys is half-Lannister, raised in Casterly Rock," Renly says, some of his frustration showing. "The High Septon has recommended we both be disowned, to 'set an example' and show that such deviancy won't be tolerated in the Royal family."
"Let me guess, Father politely told him to fuck off?" I ask, making Renly snort and Margaery giggle even as she frowns at the idea of the Faith demanding her brother's disowning.
"Not so politely, but yes," Renly admits with a fond chuckle. "His exact words to me were 'go find some girl, marry her and knock her up and these rumours will stop'. I don't know if he doesn't believe them or simply doesn't care, but either way his lack of interest couldn't be more apparent."
"Somehow, I doubt Lady Tyrell was particularly polite about it either when the High Septon bothered her," I continue, getting a nod from Margaery.
"I've not heard anything, but neither Grandmother nor Father would listen to the High Septon," Margaery confirms. It's entirely possible the High Septon avoided Olenna entirely and sent a message to Mace instead, but I doubt anything will come of it.
"This is just the latest scandal. Give them a week, and the gossipers will find something else to discuss, no matter who is fanning the flames," I say, making Renly nod in agreement. "By the time the tournament comes around, I suspect most of the Knight of Flowers fans will have forgotten the scandal."
"Loras has always loved the crowds, and they've loved him right back," Margaery agrees with a warm smile.
"As for my Sworn Shield? I'm going to choose my own from the tournament. Everything else has been decided for me, but at least this I've decided to choose for myself. It might be Loras, it might be some formerly no-name knight who catches my eye with their showing," I say easily, seeing the understanding on Renly's face.
"Considering it seems like half the Seven Kingdoms are showing up, you'll have quite the buffet to choose from," Renly agrees, patting me on the shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure this mess wasn't dampening your upcoming marriage, but it seems I was worried for nothing."
His eyes flicker down to where I'm still holding Margaery's hand, but I just smile.
As we say our goodbyes, I know that my closeness to Margaery has already started to spread. I see no reason to hide it, and Myrcella gives us a big grin as she spots us entering for the very late breakfast, still clasping hands.
"Did you kiss?" Myrcella asks immediately, making me laugh and ruffle her hair just a bit harder than necessary, messing up her neatly combed hair.
"A gentleman does not kiss and tell," I retort as I take my seat, gesturing for the servants to get a chair for Margaery to sit next to me.
"We kissed," Margaery confirms with an impish smile, as I realise my mistake.
Margaery on one side, Myrcella on the other, the gossip begins and I find myself longing for the tension of the Small Council chamber once more.
– Bonus Scene — Daenerys Targaryen
Her 'marriage' to the horse lord had come with a mountain of gifts, so many lords of Essos paying lip service to her (and to the powerful, dangerous man she'd been sold off to). It should have been the alleged Dragon Eggs that drew her attention; they'd certainly gotten Viserys' attention, but for her, it was something else that drew her gaze.
She didn't know who the hooded woman was, but her explanation of the beautiful golden blade being created by dragons had called to her as the woman handed it to her, hilt first. When Daenerys placed her hand upon it, she felt the heat of the foreign-looking blade travel up her arm and ignite her heart.
She never even noticed the woman slip away as she stared at Goldbrand, and nobody seemed to know who she was, or had even seen her to begin with.
Viserys had tried to lay claim to it, but for the first time in years, she stood up to him and refused. He stepped forward in anger, raising his hand to strike her for 'waking the dragon'. Khal Drogo punched him in the stomach, sending Viserys stumbling back, shocked and confused.
Her brother stared at her in shock, betrayal and fury, but she didn't back down and told him that it was her wedding gift, along with the Dragon Eggs. Not his. He went to argue, but surrounded by the Dothraki riders he once swore he'd let fuck her to get his army, all of them glaring and defending their new khaleesi, her brother's fury faded from an inferno to a pathetic, sputtering flame and died out entirely, backing away in cowardice.
It caused the fire in her heart to grow all the stronger, stroking the blade and admiring the way it felt warm to her touch.
Author's Note: And the next Daedric Prince starts with their bullshit. Nice to see you, Boethiah.
Written: 28/03/2025