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Standing atop the Gatehouse Tower of Moat Cailin, Jon Stark looked out over the sea of tents laid out north of the Moat. Nearly thirty thousand fighting men and women of the North, another five thousand Free Folk, and two thousand Dornish. Thirty-seven thousand able to fight, with another ten thousand in camp followers. Nearly fifty thousand in all. More men than Jon had ever seen at once. Even his short time north of the Wall when they treated with Mance Rayder couldn't compare. And yet despite the impressive number, they still numbered perhaps half that of the force coming at them. Even less so should the other Kingdoms of the South join in with this farce.
'They won't stop,' Jon thought, resting his forearms against the cold stone of the tower. 'For millennia, the Andals have tried again and again to eradicate the last bastion of the faith of the First Men. The only time they stopped was when the dragons came and united the Seven Kingdoms and put an end to their attempts. But now, that fucking idiot Joffrey has unleashed them. And now with the backing of a 'King' who can call on all the banners of the south. They won't relent until they have what they want. Or they're all dead.'
"You are brooding again, Jon Stark. If you continue to do so, those lines will be etched upon your pretty face far before their time."
Feeling his heart skip a beat, Jon twisted his neck just enough to see Arianne Martell, his betrothed, standing just behind him. For not the first time, he wondered just how he had been so blessed to have somehow gained the affection of not just one, but two beauties that could scarcely be contended with. Ygritte, her beauty and fiery nature as wild as the land from which she hailed. And Arianne, the picture of cool elegance, grace and sophistication. Both beauties were far beyond what he thought he could have. Yet both had not only chosen him but had also decided to have him together. Something he would never,evercomplain about. And if he did…he would want someone to kill him for his stupidity.
"Aye," Jon nodded. "Father often said I brooded too much. And Master Nox has often berated me for brooding too much. The past cannot be changed. We can only focus on the here and now and the future we aim to create."
"Wise words," Arianne nodded, coming up and standing beside him, observing the sea of tents with him. "The council your brother has called for will begin soon. Tormund Giantsbane has been chosen to sit as a representative of the Free Folk during the discussion. And my uncle and I will be there as well to represent Dorne's interests in this war."
"Aye," Jon nodded, a feeling of unease swelling within him. "Something…strange is gonna happen. Something…momentous. But I don't know what."
Arianne scoffed. "Of course, something momentous will. It's a meeting to decide the course we take in this war. Regardless of how many may look at it, this night could very well decide the future of Westeros as a whole."
"Aye," Jon nodded.
He knew that very well. And that was what he feared. The course of the North, and Dorne, would be decided tonight. They would not kneel to the demands of Joffrey. Not now after he called an Exalted March on the faith of the Old Gods and the Force. Which meant they had two paths before them. The North declaring their independence, which would also prompt Dorne to perhaps do the same. Or reaffirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne, without Joffrey sitting upon it. And it was the second option that scared him. There were options for Kings outside of Joffrey. Like Tommen or, hells, even Stannis and Renly. But there was also another option. Him, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. And the prospect that he might be sitting upon the Iron Throne scared him shitless.
Arianne's warm hand slid into his own. "No matter what the future holds Jon. We will face it together."
Gripping her hand tightly, Jon gave her a curt nod before casting one last glance at the sea of tents laid out below before turning and heading back into the tower and towards the main hall.
Entering the hall, Jon realized that they were two of the last to enter. Dozens of Lords of the North were already seated, which included his brother and goodsister who were sitting at the head table. Lord Nox occupied the seat directly to Robb's right. And an empty seat to the left of Talisa, who was currently conversing with Ygritte who was sitting next to the empty seat and looking mightily uncomfortable. As she usually did during formal feasts. Giving his hand one last squeeze for support, Arianne left his side and made her way towards Prince Oberyn, who had been given a place of honor at the high table as well.
Quietly making his way across the hall, Jon took the seat near his brother. Robb gave him a quick nod. 'He's nervous,' Jon realized. Despite his brother appearing completely stoic, Jon knew Robb enough to recognize the signs. 'He held out against Tywin Lannister for days and sent the Old Lion running. And he's nervous?'
Food and drink were set out on the tables, and quickly enough the various lords were feasting and drinking their fill while talk of the war and next steps were thrown out for now. There were no actual plans being made. It was more men trying to prove why they should be entrusted with one role or another over a different lord.
"You want me in the van," Greatjon Umber rumbled, his eyes alight with the possibility of a good fight as he used his still good arm to drink and entire horn of ale in a single go. "I've been making corpses of men since you were still in yer father's balls. I doubt any, besides the Sorcerer and Viper there, can say they've killed more than me."
"We don't even know if there will be a van, Umber," the young Lord Karstark called out. "The Young Wolf of the North sent the Old Lion running with his tail tucked firmly between his legs! We have the Moat and the might of the North supporting her. What need we fear of the South to go chasing after them?"
"Lest you forget, Lord Karstark, but my sisters and Lord Nox's own wife are still in the South," Robb countered, a hard look in his eye. "Aye, the Lannisters and Baratheons may not have their hands on them. But each day they stay in the south is another day the noose around their necks become tighter."
"And yer father, the Ned is still in Kings Landing," Lord Wull called out from near the back of the hall. "We lost old Rickard and young Brandon to that fucking city. We won't lose the Ned to it as well."
"Lord Stark is no longer captive of the Iron Throne," Lord Nox's voice was calm and quiet, but it carried through the hall and silenced all who were talking. "While the Northern retinue was routed giving my wife, Sansa, Arya and Jayne the chance to escape, I was able to divert some of the agents Ned and I had stationed in Pentos to King's Landing. They successfully managed to infiltrate the Red Keep and extract Ned Stark from the city. They are now enroute to Braavos."
"Smart, Sorcerer, like always," Prince Oberyn complemented before the Northern lords could voice their objections to Lord Stark not immediately returning to them.
"Smart?" Lord Umber echoed, his eyes narrowing towards Nox. "I will never doubt ya, Sorcerer. But Ned is Lord Stark. He needs to be with us. Not in Braavos."
"My father is doing what he needs to do," Robb countered, his voice hard. Their father always told him that while the Lords and Ladies of the North were loyal to a fault, you could not be soft with them. "The North stands alone in this fight. Dorne has offered their aid, but they are as far from us as you can be while still being on Westeros. And should all of the South unite as one, which my sisters and Lady Nox are working on trying to prevent, then they will easily outnumber any number we can manage at least six-to-one if not greater. My father intends to enlist the aid of sellswords. While not ideal, their numbers will bolster our own and give us a far better chance against the southerners. And as the Lord of the North, my father's word will carry far more weight with any sellsword company than a messenger ever could. My father will return to our soil once he has secured more men. Until then, I will act in my father's stead just as I already have been."
"Then how shall we proceed, Lord Robb?" Lord Flint asked, leaning forward and steepling his fingers before his face. "I am no craven. But while I agree that we need to secure your sisters and Lady Nox and see them safely returned to the North, I feel that Lord Karstark's suggestion has merit. Would it not be better to send a few leal men to find them and bring them back? Surely it would be easy for a small force to search for them while the remainder of our forces strengthen the Moat to repel this 'Exalted March'."
"Fucking craven, Flint! If you're too scared to fight the southerners, just man up and fucking say it!" Greatjon yelled, all but jumping to his feet. "Six-to-one, ten-to-one, it won't fucking matter what numbers the southerners gather! We will kill them all and throw them back on their asses just as we have done every time the Andals decide to try and fuck over the North!"
Lord Flint immediately jumped to his own defense, with Lord Karstark trying to throw in his own opinion again as Lord Umber, now backed by the Hill Tribes and Mormonts demanded that they head south right now and destroy the retreating lion instead of reinforcing their position at the Moat. The yelling escalated, as it often did when the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered. Soon enough, the entire hall was embroiled almost to the point of launching into a full out brawl.
That was until Robb stood up and raised both hands. Half the heavy tables in the room rose to near chest height before Robb turned his hands, palms facing downwards, and the tables slammed back down to the ground with enough force to crack the wooden legs on most, and outright breaking them on others.
"You will all be silent!" Robb growled, his eyes yellow as all shouting in the hall quieted. "You are acting like a pack ofrabid dogs!Not wolves of the North!"
The Lords and Ladies, properly chastised, return to their seats while Robb remained on his feet. "Karstark and Flint have the right of it. We could have Lord Nox head south with a few leal men and secure my sisters and his wife in little time at all. But then what happens? The south will keep throwing everything they have at us until either us or them are dead to the man. And, lest you all forget, this war is but a prelude to what is to come. You all know full well what is stirring north of the Wall. Say we reinforce Moat Cailin and fight the south to the last man. What happens when the Walkers finally come south? Who will stop them? Without the aid of the North, the Wall will fall. And without the aid of the south, the North will fall. And should the North fall to the cold of the White Walkers, then so too shall the rest of the realm."
The reminder of the war to come was a chilling one that rendered even the boisterous Greatjon silent.
"Then what is your plan, my Lord?" Lord Wylis Manderly questioned.
Robb didn't retake his seat. "This farce of an Exalted March needs to end. And the only way that will happen is if the one who's sitting upon the Iron Throne puts the collar back on the Faith."
"Joffrey is a cruel bastard, Lord Stark," Prince Oberyn said calmly. "I have met many men in my time from all over the realm, Essos, and even the Summer Isles. I know a bloodthirsty fool when I see them. Joffrey is the worst I have ever seen. He is merely using the Faith to satisfy his bloodlust. And now that he's unleashed them, he will not recall them."
"There are more options than just that golden-haired shit," Lord Glover stated. "The second Prince Tommen is young, but there have been younger King's than he. And Stannis and Renly have both fled King's Landing… Perhaps both intend to make a claim for the throne as well? Perhaps we could court one of them and offer our backing in return for annulling the Exalted March?"
Muttering broke out again, and the lump that'd been forming in Jon's chest rose into his throat. He tried meeting his brother's eyes, almost wanting to beg him not to say anything towards him. But Robb wouldn't even look his way. As the bantering continued, the Greatjon once again rose to his feet, his mere size demanding all attention. "Bah, fuck those southern kings! Stannis hid on Dragonstone, leaving Ned and Lady Nox alone with the vipers of King's Landing! Renly ran like a fucking coward with his tail between his legs! And I won't kneel to some greenboy! No, why the fuck should we listen to those southern pricks any longer? It was the dragons we kneeled to. Not the stags or lions! And the dragons are gone! We of the North know only one King! The King whose name is Stark! The Kings of Winter! And only to them will my knee fucking bend! Hail to the King Ed—"
"Hold, Lord Umber!" Robb called out, raising his hand. Jon's heart had been beating wildly. If his father was named King, then Robb would be the heir and there would be no need for Jon's claim to be known. But the moment his brother stopped Lord Umber, the fear and knot in his gut returned full force. Robb spared him a single pitying glance, and Jon wanted to stand up and beg him not to do what he knew was about to happen.
Taking a breath, Robb looked around the room of assembled lords and ladies. "I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Umber, and I know my father would as well. But… Neither I nor my father will take the Iron Throne. Our place is in the North. In Winterfell."
The Greatjon did not look pleased. "Then who would you bend the knee to? The stags that used us and forgot us? Or the lions that want to fuck us over?"
"Neither," Robb's one word answer drew several looks, and Jon fought to sit still and not try and disappear from the hall. "You are right Lord Umber. Since the time before the dragons, the North knew no King but the King whose name was Stark. And it is only to a Stark that I shall bend the knee to. One who has the blood of the North,anda claim on the Iron Throne. My brother…in all but blood, Jaehaerys Stark. The son of Lyanna Stark by way of Rhaegar Targaryen and the second son of Elia Martell. The man you all know as Jon Stark, the White Wolf of the North. It is to him that I would gladly bend the knee."
The hall went so silent that Jon was sure one could hear a piece of straw hit the ground.
"What in the hells are you talking about?" the Greatjon bellowed, the large man thoroughly confused for the first time Jon could ever remember. "The White Wolf of the North is a fucking accursed dragonspawn?"
Jon didn't know why, but the insult struck something deep within him. "A dragonspawn?" he asked. His voice soft yet clearly heard as every eye in the hall went to him as he rose to his feet. "My mother was Lyanna Stark. She was enamored with Elia Martell and because of that she was beguiled by Rhaegar Targaryen who promised her a way out of her engagement to Robert Baratheon. Which any in this hall who knew my mother would know that was something she desired more than anything. But despite being sired by Rhaegar Targaryen, he is not my father. My father is Eddard Stark. The man who shamed his name by claiming me his bastard son to protect me from the likes of Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. I am a son of the North. I know the cold of winter. I have feasted with all of you. Fought and bled with all of you. I went with Lord Nox to the heart of Valyria and buried a lightsaber into the skull of a dragon. Call me what you will, Lord Umber. But do not mistake me for a mere 'dragonspawn'. I am a son of the North."
Lord Umber's face was going back and forth between red and white as Jon spoke. No one else spoke for some time until Lady Mormont laughed out loud. "Fucking hells. Yeah, this boy is Lyanna's alright. I swear I could hear her speaking through his lips just now. Gods be good…Ned fucking fooled us all. Never thought he had it in him. Ha!"
"Aye, Ned pulled the wool over all of our eyes for years," Wylis Manderly nodded, his eyes gazing at Jon appraisingly. "But the lad is right. Rhaegar might have sired him…but it was the Starks who raised him. He's not just a dragon…he's a dragon with the heart of a wolf. And he is a man I would fight to see sitting upon the Iron Throne."
"Aye, the lad has the heart of a Northman and the look of one, but that is also a problem," Lord Glover remark had a small amount of bite as he gazed hard at Jon. "While I trust the word of Lord Stark… How do we know that…Jaehaerys Stark is who you claim him to be?"
Jon was about to reply when he felt a presence just beyond the hall. With a bang, the doors to the hall flung open. Ghost stood there in the doorway, lightly shaking his head after having used it to knock them open. After quickly recomposing himself, his massive direwolf marched into the hall, almost strutting with pride. His passage through the central aisle of the hall brought with it an increasing number of murmurs and curses as men knocked over tables and chairs to get out of his path. Or rather, they were making way for the dog sized creature sitting atop Ghost's back.
Reaching his side, Ghost sat on his hind legs, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth in amusement as Archon spread his wings and hopped from Ghost's back onto Jon's arm before using its claws to find a perch atop Jon's shoulders. The young dragon's growth had accelerated unbelievably since their return from beyond the Wall. Why, Jon did not know. But where he was once able to fit within the confines of Ygritte's robes. He now sat like a cat across Jon's shoulders with his wings nearly able to touch the floor on either side of him.
Reaching up, Jon gently scratched at the underside of Archon's serpentine head. The young dragon almost purred in response as its eyes closed, enjoying the attention and the fact that he was no longer confined to Jon's room.
"I believe that, Lord Glover, is all the proof that we will need of Jaehaerys's parentage." Lord Reed replied calmly, the Lord of the Crannogmen being one of the few who did not move from his seat even as Ghost and Archon made their entrance.
The Greatjon's chair scraped across the ground as the giant of a man shot to his feet, his eyes alight with rage. "You expect us to bow once again to the dragons?!"
Jon felt anger boil within him. Beside him, Ghost growled and on his shoulders Archon hissed. "I never wanted the Iron Throne, Lord Umber," Jon said calmly, but with as much steel as he could. "Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne by right of conquest. And had the next generation proven themselves worthy, I would have lived the rest of my life content amongst my brethren in the North or with my love in Dorne. But the fact remains that the Baratheon reign fell to pieces the moment Robert Baratheon's heart stopped beating. Joffrey has proven himself no friend of the North. No, he screamed to all the realm with this Exalted March of his that he is in fact an enemy of the North and the Old Ways. Stannis, instead of helping his brother or my father, hid on Dragonstone. And as for Renly, the moment things were not going his way he fled like a coward with his tail between his legs. None of them are worthy of the Iron Throne. While I may not want the throne, I will take it to bring peace back to the land and to protect those I consider my brethren."
Jon held his breath as he waited for a reaction to his proclamation. Amazingly enough, the first to speak was perhaps the last he expected as Lady Val Norfolk gracefully rose to her feet. "In the Far North, chieftains are not chosen by who fucked their mother. But rather by their own actions. You know the truth of the North. You know the cold. You have fought, bled, bedded, pissed and shat with all of us here. I don't know anything about those Baratheon fucks, and I don't care. However, I do know you, Jon, or Jaehaerys Stark. And you are a chieftain I would kneel to." Walking up next to Robb, Val gave his brother a passing glance before slowly going to a knee before Jon.
The Greatjon scoffed, then laughed. "It is known in the North that we know no King, save the King in the North whose name is Stark. If we can't have a Stark Kinginthe North…then we might as well have aStark Kingfromthe North!" The last of his words echoed like a battle cry as the giant of a man stepped forward and took a knee beside Val.
With those two having opened the gates, the rest of the Lords and Ladies of the North quickly voice their agreement, raising their fists and loudly proclaiming him the King from the North. Then another stepped forward, his head down slightly and with none of the usual confidence Jon was used to seeing from him. Biting his lip, Theon glanced around nervously before locking eyes with Jon. "We, well, we've had our differences, Jo – your grace. I know I've been a right arse to you in the past…but I still thought of you and Robb as my brothers. Am I still your brother?"
Jon kept his eyes on Theon. "Aye, Theon. We've had our differences…but I still think of you as a brother."
Theon's lips twitched as he knelt. "Then I follow you as well, your grace. As a friend and brother."
The next to step forward was Prince Oberyn, with Arianne at his side. Together, the two stood next to Robb, leaving only the three of them still standing. "King Jaehaerys Stark," Oberyn began, a smirk playing on his face. "Do you intend to honor your word to my niece?"
Jon didn't hesitate. "Aye. I am a man of my word. She is mine. And I am hers."
His smirk growing wider, Oberyn nudged Arianne forward. With a smirk and a sway of her hips, Arianne proudly walked forward till she was standing next to Jon. Pausing, Arianne took a moment to pull Ygritte to her feet and place her on Jon's left before she took her place on Jon's right. Then, with a deliberate slowness, Arianne raised her hand and gently scratched at the scale under Archon's jaw. The young dragon's eyes closed and leaned its head further into her warm touch. "Then Dorne will be yours," Oberyn called out loudly, taking a knee. "Dorne stands, unbowed and unbroken with King Jaehaerys Stark and our future Queen, Arianne Martell."
Taking his lightsaber off his hip, Robb ignited his blue blade and raised it high. "ALL HAIL THE KING AND QUEEN! KING JAEHERYS STARK AND QUEEN ARIANNE MARTELL! HAIL THE KING FROM THE NORTH AND THE QUEEN FROM THE SOUTH! CHILDREN OF FIRE AND ICE!"
The roar from the crowd was almost deafening as every voice in the hall echoed Robb's proclamation! Rising to the feet and drawing their blades and holding them high as they did. Swallowing, Jon unconsciously reached out with his hands for both Arianne and Ygritte. Holding their hands gave him the strength to stay standing as Ghost tilted his head back and howled while Archon's snake-like head went up, the dragon giving off a roar of his own.
The only one who was not cheering was Master Nox. Who, while standing, was towards the back of the hall. When the two met eyes, all Master Nox did was give him a nod before raising his glass in a toast to the new King of Westeros.
Walking down the corridors of Highgarden, Margaery couldn't slow her heart from beating away in her chest. Ever since her father had proclaimed that they would join with Joffrey, things around Highgarden had changed. Her father was still the same loving man he always was with his children, but he had grown a hard edge that had never been present before. Not even her grandmother could change her father from this course. Every time the conversation was presented, a dark look crossed over her father's face, and he immediately rejected the idea. Saying that this course they were now on would be the one to lead House Tyrell to a prosperity unlike ever before.
Ever since that day, the men of House Tyrell had been preparing for war. Men drilled in the yard daily. The fires in the forges were lit day and night as the smiths hammered out every piece of steel they could get their hands on into arms and armor. Every crop that could be harvested was so in preparation for the long march ahead.
And while the preparation for war was expected, it was the ever-increasing presence of the Faith that truly put her ill at ease. Where there was once one Septa or Septon, there were now at least half a dozen. Even she was not free from this as she now had a dedicated Septa shadowing her every step. Their increase in number ensured that there was no place in all of Highgarden that was not being flooded with the sounds of Septons and Septas preaching the gospel of the Seven, and the Faith had been growing bolder by the day. Smallfolk who refused service were publicly flogged by the Faith. The brothels were shut down and the women who'd worked there were all branded on their faces to let all know of their past. Refusal to offer tribute or tithe to the Faith and you were put in the stocks and shamed. And despite her families protests to their father, the Lord of Highgarden was doing nothing to discourage these acts. If anything, he seemed to be encouraging them. The only thing that brought her any hope was the fact that she and her brothers managed to get Mira out of Highgarden before things got too bad. And she could only hope that Mira and the few men with her managed to intercept Renly and Loras before they arrived.
'No time to worry about that now,' she thought as she made her way out into the courtyard. 'Father summoned us all to the main yard. No doubt another of our bannermen have arrived to discuss war preparations. And for all of us to be summoned, it must be either Lord Tarly or Lord Hightower.'
Walking out into the yard, she felt her heart drop. A group of a dozen riders were dismounting before her father. All of whom she recognized as men of House Tyrell. Though the two at the front drew her attention the most. For the two leading these men and who were now graciously greeting her father were none other than her brother Loras and Lord Renly Baratheon.
'Oh no…Did Mira and those sent with her get captured? No, I can't think like that. They must have taken another road away from Highgarden. Yes, that must be it. Renly and Loras would have ridden the Rose Road, and Mira would've been wise to avoid the main road.'
Renly met eyes with her and the man smiled warmly as his eyes traveled up and down her person. But the look he was giving her was…different than the ones she was used to. She knew that she was beautiful. And not just because she was of noble birth. Men, and even women, praised her beauty from the northern reaches of Dorne to the farthest reaches of the North. And she was used to the lustful stares of men. Yet with Renly, he did not stare at her with lust. Nor was his gaze one of a man staring at the woman he loved. But rather…he was staring at her as if she were a painting or an expensive piece of jewelry.
"Ah, the Rose of Highgarden," Renly proclaimed loudly, stepping forward and gracefully taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss to the back of it. "Your beauty has grown like a rose in spring, my lady. A true testament to the beauty of both House Tyrell and the Reach. Indeed, the Maiden herself has blessed you in her image. A woman fit to be the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Margaery wanted to wince. Renly had approached them expecting roses, but instead had walked willingly, if unknowingly, into a thicket of thorns. And there was no backing out for him now without spilling his own blood.
"Indeed she is!" Her father smiled widely, gesturing for her to come forward. "And we are grateful that the King's Uncle decided to personally come to Highgarden to escort the future queen and betroth of King Joffrey Baratheon the Blessed to King's Landing for her wedding and coronation."
Renly's smile fell as he then realized just what was going on, and he wasn't the only one. Loras looked as equally confused as dread slowly crept up his face. "Father…what are yo—?"
"And to show our devotion to the cause of King Joffrey Baratheon the Blessed and our commitment to the Faith of the Seven, I have prepared a demonstration," her father continued joyfully, rather blatantly ignoring his son's question and rising alarm. "Please, this way."
Her father didn't give any of them time to respond before he turned on his heel and quickly walked towards one of the side yards that was sheltered by high walls. Sharing a confused look with her brothers Willas and Garlan, Margaery slowly followed their father with Renly and Loras following them. No doubt more so from the fact that they were both being closely followed by six men of House Tyrell who had their hands resting on their swords.
Entering the yard, the first thing that caught Margaery's eyes was the large pond that'd been dug into the center of the yard. The pond wasn't what was strange though. It'd been in Highgarden since the time of the Gardeners. No. What was strange was the fact that a large wooden pole that was connected to a levering system manned by four men had been constructed near the pond's edge, and one end of the long pole was deeply submerged in the pond. When they were all in the yard, her father motioned towards the men manning the lever system. She wanted to scream when the pole was raised from the water's depths.
A heavy chair had been attached to the end of the pole in the water. And on the chair, held in place with heavy chains, was the heavily beaten and bloodied form of Mira Forrester. Margaery involuntarily took a step forward, but a hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Looking down, she saw it was Willas. She made to yell at him, but he subtly shook his head. He was clearly just as confused, concerned, and disturbed. But he at least recognized that there was nothing that they could do. So, she reluctantly held her ground and could only stare in fear and sorrow as her friend vomited a mixture of blood and water.
"This Northern whore wooed her way into our House through my daughter and sought to usurp the Faith of our House," her father explained, waving his hands towards her. "She was imprisoned when the call for the Exalted March reached us. But through a combination of sorcery and a giving of her own body, she beguiled several of our men to help her escape. But the Seven have shown their favor on our course, having given me a vision of her escape. So, I had men ready to capture her again. The men she beguiled were unfortunately too far under her thralldom and thus were put to death after being thoroughly questioned on how many more she might have enthralled."
Her father gave her and her brothers a hard look at this. He knew. He knew that they were the ones who helped her escape. And he had silenced all who knew about it.
"But what to do with this sorceress whore?" her father continued musingly. "The Seven teach that no one is beyond repentance and redemption. But it must be earned. So, with the agreement of the Faith, it was decided that Mira Forrester would endure the Seven Hells for seven days. Which she has done. And now she will be offered repentance and release. Or if she still holds to the heathen belief of the Old Gods and refuses the one true faith…"
Her father left it unsaid, but one of the men came forward and threw a length of rope over one of the thicker tree branches. Working in unison, the men manipulated the pole so that Mira was brought to dry land before setting her down. Removing the chains, the men roughly grabbed her and threw her out of the chair. Mira promptly collapsed, still gasping for breath and shaking almost violently.
"My dear daughter," her father called out for her, beckoning her forward. "I know you have a soft heart of a woman, and, despite her heathen nature, you have some attachment to her. Therefore, I will give you this one chance to redeem this whore and have her repent and recognize the truth of the Faith."
Her shoes felt as if they were weighted with steel. But she forced herself to walk forward towards the still twitching and gasping form of her dearest friend. Reaching Mira, Margaery all but collapsed at her friend's side. Not caring about the blood and water, Margaery grasped her friend and buried her face into Mira's shoulder. She wanted to wail as Mira gasped and screamed in pain at her touch. The marks of her torture had been covered by the white dress she'd been wearing. But now, being so close, Margaery could see that the torturers of Highgarden had spared no expense while working on her.
"Mira," she cried lowly, tears falling down her face as she kept her voice low so only the two could hear her words. "I'm so sorry! I – This was never supposed to happen! Please… Please…say the words. They are only words. The gods of the North will understand. Please…say them. End this. And I will protect you. I swear it!"
Mira's eyes opened or rather…one eye opened. For the other was gone, ripped from her friend's head. "Is…Is this…worth…your…crown…Marge?"
"Only through the admission of heathenistic ways and acceptance of the true Faith of the Seven can you be spared, unfortunate child. Reject the false gods of the North and the First Men. Accept the truth of the Seven-Who-Are-One. And you shall find redemption for your sins and your place within the peaceful realm of the Seven."
Margaery turned a hateful glare at the Septon of Highgarden, a man who she had known her whole life. She wanted to scream at him. To tell him to go fuck himself. But her words stilled as Mira's hand touched her shoulder. Slowly, and in pain, Mira rose to her feet. Her friend clutched at her wounded body, shaking from the cold of the water and the pain of the torture she'd been forced to endure. Raising her head, Mira's one good eye stared the Septon full on. Then with one jerky movement, she spat. A huge wad of spittle mixed with blood flying from her lips and coating the Septon's face. "I…am a woman of the…North.Iron From Ice!For the North…remembers."
Margaery wanted to break down right there as she watched the strength of her friend stare death in the face…and spitting on it. The Septon glared at her before angrily pulling out a cloth and wiping his face. "Then your soul is forever damned. And the past seven days shall be your eternity."
As the Septon moved away, the men of House Tyrell roughly grabbed Mira by the arms and dragged her back towards the tree. Margaery did not have the strength to do anything more than stay on the ground, tears falling down her face as she watched, powerless, as the noose was tightened around her friend's neck. Then, with nary a word of condolence, the men pulled on the other end of the robe. Mira rose into the air, her hands clutching at the rope around her neck as she gasped, slowly, painfully. Her body twitching as she fought for breath that was denied. This wasn't the first execution Margaery had witnessed. But when it came to hanging, it was always with the criminals being dropped from gallows to break their neck. This…This was just killing with the intent to cause as much pain as possible before death.
She wanted to look away. To run and hide. But she could not. She would not. She would not dishonor her friend's death by running away. So, she forced herself to stay. To watch as Mira's face turned blue as her struggles lessened until they stopped completely.
"And thus ends this whore who thought she could beguile House Tyrell," her father proclaimed loudly and proudly, much to the cheers of those around them. Men and women who all knew, who were all friends…or ratherhad beenfriends, with Mira. "Now, Lord Renly. You are here to escort my daughter to King's Landing, are you not? I have heard some…disturbing rumors regarding your intent on coming here. And I do so hope that they are indeed just that…rumors."
Margaery didn't care to hear his response. Her world had gone blank and soundless. She was helpless to do little more than walk through the rest of her day as if she were a puppet on strings. It was only after night had fallen and she was back within her chambers, with her now ever-present Septa standing watch at the door that the strings holding her upright were finally cut. She'd managed to make it to her bedside before it happened. And the cause of her breaking was when she opened the topmost drawer of the bedside table and saw the small dagger that laid within. A dagger forged of that rare Northern steel with a handle engraved with golden roses. A gift from Mira on her last nameday.
Clutching the dagger to her chest, Margaery wailed with grief as the loss of her friend caught up with her. She vaguely heard her door opening, no doubt her Septa coming to check what the commotion was. But she paid the woman no heed as she let her grief over the loss of Mira run its course.
She had no idea how long she laid on her bed crying, but eventually she had no more tears to shed and all she was doing was laying on her side, her pointer finger delicately tracing the patterns on the dagger's grip. Hearing a commotion coming from her balcony, Margaery raised her head. It wasn't just a commotion. She could recognize the voices: her brothers, Willas and Garlan. Both were talking urgently and quietly enough to not be overheard, but loud enough that she could hear them.
Rising from her bed, she slowly made her way to her balcony, staying back just enough not to be seen by her brothers who were standing on the balcony attached to Garlan's room. "—do this, brother! There won't be any going back!" Willas urged, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't care, Willas!" Garlan whispered back just as harshly. "You damn well saw just how fucking far father has gone today! Fucking hells…all I can think about is seeing Karsi like that. Or her daughters. Or…Or my son! None of them follow the Seven. I – I can't, Willas. I can't. I won't stand for this farce any longer. I know where I belong…and it's not here. Not anymore."
"Garlan, we must be united! We are the only ones who stand a chance of ending this war peacefully! Once we're in King's Landing and Margaery is Queen, we can convince Joffrey to end this war an—!"
"And what if you can't, Willas?" Garlan asked, which brought both Willas and Margaery up short. She knew the plan was to convince Joffrey to cease this war and make peace with the North. But…But what if they couldn't? "Will you stand idly by and go with grandmother's grand plan as Sansa is tortured for days on end? I know she's still barely a woman, but I know that you care for her, and she is still your betrothed. Will you stand by and do nothing as she screams and begs? What about all the others who will be unjustly brutalized before then? Will you stand for it simply because they are nameless souls you don't know?I can't, brother. I can't do this anymore."
Willas was silent for a long time. "Take only silver, brother. Gold will attract too much attention. You'll have to take just a simple brigandine. Anything 'fancy' will make you stick out as well. And take two of the older horses. Avoid the Rose Road. Stay to the Ocean Road till your further north but avoid following the Gold Road east. And we'll pen a letter to House Stark for you to carry as well. We need to let them know of our plans and the peace we hope to achieve."
"Treachery! Blasphemy!"
Blinking, Margaery turned. Standing just behind her was her Septa. The blasted woman had heard every word Garlan and Willas had spoken! "We must inform your father and the Septon about your brothers' trea—ahh!"
Her words ended in a gurgle of blood. Margaery hadn't even been aware of her actions, but she had drawn the dagger in her hand and moved without thought. The strong northern steel cut through the Septa's throat as if it were warm butter. Margaery was so…shocked by her actions that she could do little more than watch as the Septa clutched at her throat before stumbling forward and falling headfirst off her balcony and down to the hard stone walkway below. Acting fast, Margaery quickly divested herself of her bloodied clothes, hiding them beneath her bed before grabbing a fresh night slip and pulling it on. Opening the drawer to her bedside table, Margaery stared at the dagger in her hand. 'This war will end. One way or another. We will try grandmother's way and try to convince Joffrey to make peace with the North. But if he does not…then I will do what must be done. No matter the consequences.'