FIC: A Time For Thorns (Tyrells) for lareinenoire
Recipient: lareinenoire
Title: A Time For Thorns
Author: misstopia
Rating: G
Characters: Olenna, Alerie and Margaery Tyrell, also the Merryweathers.
Word Count: 1131
Summary: Olenna and Alerie may be distraught about Margaery's fate, but that doesn't mean they've stopped trying to protect her from it.
Warning: none
The sunlight shone carelessly on Loras’ sleeping face. In it he looked like an innocent babe, restful, even happy. It had been a long time since his mother had seen him truly happy. A lock of ashen brown fell across his brow, and Lady Alerie brushed it away, much as she had so many years ago. Outside the high tower room Dragonstone plodded along in its grey routine. The aftermaths of a successful siege, Alerie had found, were not overly fascinating. There were enough matters to keep her busy should she choose to take them in hand, but she had her parts to play in front of all the watchful eyes and loose lips: the nurse and griever, the mother.
“Such an indulgence to stay this long. I can’t believe I let you talk me into it, good-daughter. Perhaps I am losing my wits at last.”
Olenna sat primly on a chair near the door. She had given Loras a kiss on the forehead before leaving mother and son together in relative solitude. Apparently she had tired of waiting. “I needed to be with my son.” Aurane Waters had told the court of Loras’ scars and burns, how he hung ever precariously above the mouth of death. She was sure Queen Cersei had delighted in the news, mother though she was.
“And so you have. Do not forget you have another child that might soon die. It is time we went where we were useful.”
Alerie rose with a heaviness that fit her years, though she had never worn it before the turn of the moon. Of a sudden she felt old. “Yes. You are right. It’s just as well, victory has made Mace insufferable.”
“My son is always insufferable, my dear. Because you share his bed you do not take it upon yourself to say so, but it is true.”
Alerie’s smile was wan. “He has done what he can for Margaery from here, but …”
Olenna stood and took her arm as they left the room. “But when have we ever left things in his care, hmm?”
*****
Longtable had not changed much since Alerie’s last visit. The castle was small, but handsome, nestled in a happy glen made august by the colors of autumn. Lady Alerie and her good-mother had been shown every courtesy upon their arrival, with meat and mead aplenty and warm beds to soothe the chill of the nights. And it was on the way to Highgarden, which meant their stop there could be attributed to nothing more than the traveling needs of old women who were only getting older. Alerie did not expect to be believed innocent, merely that nothing would be able to be proven.
“It is time we come to the point, my ladies of Tyrell.” On the third night of their stay, at table, Orton Merryweather finally spoke his mind. Lady Olenna was insistent that he had to be the one to approach the subject, but it would not stop her from a sharp quip about Orton’s ponderous nature later. “I believe I have been as courteous and as hospitable a host as one could expect under the circumstances --”
“As always, my Lord of Orton,” replied Alerie calmly. “Long has my husband wished to thank you for your enduring steadfastness to him your liege.” Mace liked to remind his bannermen of their lealty in plain, often blustering words. Alerie preferred her subtler presumptions.
Lord Orton fidgeted. “Ah, yes, I accept your thanks. But … look, if it is a return to the city you are demanding, I’m afraid it is out of the question.”
“If?” Olenna interjected. “I needn’t remind you that you were expected to stay at Lady Margaery’s side.”
Next to Lord Orton his Myrish wife leaned forward with her explanation, perfunctory and predictable, yet necessary in the chain of things. “My husband has had ill luck with beset rulers in the past, as you would recall, my lady. Royalty are often unhappy when beset, it makes them dangerous. And a lion in chains, all the more so.”
“Lord Orton will not be required in the city. It was you, Lady Taena, who spent yourdays at my granddaughter’s side, and it is you the High Septon will believe when you tell them that Margaery behaved perfectly appropriately with this Kettleblack oaf -- especially when his heart was breaking out of miserable love for the king’s mother.”
“And what might Cersei make of me, should she go free? I have my child to think of just as much as you. He will not benefit from the loss of his mother.”
“Cersei Lannister, it is said, has chosen trial by combat of her champion. You need not testify against her at all. Only my Margaery will stand the Faith’s judgment.”
“And yet she will know that I came to the little queen’s aid,” Lady Taena mused, looking as if she was seeing through someone else’s eyes. “Her champion could emerge victorious.”
“Her champion is sure to be the one-armed brother,” Alerie pointed out. “He might have been fearsome once, but that was then.”
“No,” Lady Taena said firmly. “I will not take my son back into that nest of snakes.”
Olenna gave out a yawn, though Alerie was certain she was more than rested. “If it will ease your mind, we will take your son.”
“What?”
“In fact an escort is on its way from Highgarden right now. Three hundred strong, to be sure, we intend to let no harm come to the boy. Why, three hundred is more than your garrison here, if I’m not mistaken. Though I’m quite old and I might well be mistaken.”
“If you would rather a formal invitation from Lord Tyrell, I could write to him,” Alerie said, with her precise and careful intonation, “but I assume it will not be necessary.”
*****
In a tiny tower cell in the Maidenvault of the Red Keep, perched at the easternmost point of King’s Landing, Margaery Tyrell was pacing agitatedly when the door opened to admit a strange face underneath a septa’s veil.
“Where is Septa Moelle?”
“She has become suddenly indisposed, my lady. An old complaint of the back. I am Septa Uria, just arrived from Longtable.”
“Longtable?”
“Yes, my lady.” The new septa set a small tray on the floor, upon which rested a half loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a freshly cut rose bloom. “You had best get some rest, my lady. A new witness has surfaced for your trial, the High Septon may wish to begin sooner than expected.”
When alone again, Margaery peered out the tiny slit in the wall that served as a window, casting her gaze westward as far as her eyes could see. She let herself smile.
Title: A Time For Thorns
Author: misstopia
Rating: G
Characters: Olenna, Alerie and Margaery Tyrell, also the Merryweathers.
Word Count: 1131
Summary: Olenna and Alerie may be distraught about Margaery's fate, but that doesn't mean they've stopped trying to protect her from it.
Warning: none
The sunlight shone carelessly on Loras’ sleeping face. In it he looked like an innocent babe, restful, even happy. It had been a long time since his mother had seen him truly happy. A lock of ashen brown fell across his brow, and Lady Alerie brushed it away, much as she had so many years ago. Outside the high tower room Dragonstone plodded along in its grey routine. The aftermaths of a successful siege, Alerie had found, were not overly fascinating. There were enough matters to keep her busy should she choose to take them in hand, but she had her parts to play in front of all the watchful eyes and loose lips: the nurse and griever, the mother.
“Such an indulgence to stay this long. I can’t believe I let you talk me into it, good-daughter. Perhaps I am losing my wits at last.”
Olenna sat primly on a chair near the door. She had given Loras a kiss on the forehead before leaving mother and son together in relative solitude. Apparently she had tired of waiting. “I needed to be with my son.” Aurane Waters had told the court of Loras’ scars and burns, how he hung ever precariously above the mouth of death. She was sure Queen Cersei had delighted in the news, mother though she was.
“And so you have. Do not forget you have another child that might soon die. It is time we went where we were useful.”
Alerie rose with a heaviness that fit her years, though she had never worn it before the turn of the moon. Of a sudden she felt old. “Yes. You are right. It’s just as well, victory has made Mace insufferable.”
“My son is always insufferable, my dear. Because you share his bed you do not take it upon yourself to say so, but it is true.”
Alerie’s smile was wan. “He has done what he can for Margaery from here, but …”
Olenna stood and took her arm as they left the room. “But when have we ever left things in his care, hmm?”
*****
Longtable had not changed much since Alerie’s last visit. The castle was small, but handsome, nestled in a happy glen made august by the colors of autumn. Lady Alerie and her good-mother had been shown every courtesy upon their arrival, with meat and mead aplenty and warm beds to soothe the chill of the nights. And it was on the way to Highgarden, which meant their stop there could be attributed to nothing more than the traveling needs of old women who were only getting older. Alerie did not expect to be believed innocent, merely that nothing would be able to be proven.
“It is time we come to the point, my ladies of Tyrell.” On the third night of their stay, at table, Orton Merryweather finally spoke his mind. Lady Olenna was insistent that he had to be the one to approach the subject, but it would not stop her from a sharp quip about Orton’s ponderous nature later. “I believe I have been as courteous and as hospitable a host as one could expect under the circumstances --”
“As always, my Lord of Orton,” replied Alerie calmly. “Long has my husband wished to thank you for your enduring steadfastness to him your liege.” Mace liked to remind his bannermen of their lealty in plain, often blustering words. Alerie preferred her subtler presumptions.
Lord Orton fidgeted. “Ah, yes, I accept your thanks. But … look, if it is a return to the city you are demanding, I’m afraid it is out of the question.”
“If?” Olenna interjected. “I needn’t remind you that you were expected to stay at Lady Margaery’s side.”
Next to Lord Orton his Myrish wife leaned forward with her explanation, perfunctory and predictable, yet necessary in the chain of things. “My husband has had ill luck with beset rulers in the past, as you would recall, my lady. Royalty are often unhappy when beset, it makes them dangerous. And a lion in chains, all the more so.”
“Lord Orton will not be required in the city. It was you, Lady Taena, who spent yourdays at my granddaughter’s side, and it is you the High Septon will believe when you tell them that Margaery behaved perfectly appropriately with this Kettleblack oaf -- especially when his heart was breaking out of miserable love for the king’s mother.”
“And what might Cersei make of me, should she go free? I have my child to think of just as much as you. He will not benefit from the loss of his mother.”
“Cersei Lannister, it is said, has chosen trial by combat of her champion. You need not testify against her at all. Only my Margaery will stand the Faith’s judgment.”
“And yet she will know that I came to the little queen’s aid,” Lady Taena mused, looking as if she was seeing through someone else’s eyes. “Her champion could emerge victorious.”
“Her champion is sure to be the one-armed brother,” Alerie pointed out. “He might have been fearsome once, but that was then.”
“No,” Lady Taena said firmly. “I will not take my son back into that nest of snakes.”
Olenna gave out a yawn, though Alerie was certain she was more than rested. “If it will ease your mind, we will take your son.”
“What?”
“In fact an escort is on its way from Highgarden right now. Three hundred strong, to be sure, we intend to let no harm come to the boy. Why, three hundred is more than your garrison here, if I’m not mistaken. Though I’m quite old and I might well be mistaken.”
“If you would rather a formal invitation from Lord Tyrell, I could write to him,” Alerie said, with her precise and careful intonation, “but I assume it will not be necessary.”
*****
In a tiny tower cell in the Maidenvault of the Red Keep, perched at the easternmost point of King’s Landing, Margaery Tyrell was pacing agitatedly when the door opened to admit a strange face underneath a septa’s veil.
“Where is Septa Moelle?”
“She has become suddenly indisposed, my lady. An old complaint of the back. I am Septa Uria, just arrived from Longtable.”
“Longtable?”
“Yes, my lady.” The new septa set a small tray on the floor, upon which rested a half loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a freshly cut rose bloom. “You had best get some rest, my lady. A new witness has surfaced for your trial, the High Septon may wish to begin sooner than expected.”
When alone again, Margaery peered out the tiny slit in the wall that served as a window, casting her gaze westward as far as her eyes could see. She let herself smile.