Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Beans, Marethyu, Mike God of Lore
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.