FIC: The She-Wolves of Highgarden for smirnoffmule
Recipient: smirnoffmule
Title: The She-Wolves of Highgarden
Author: lareinenoire
Rating: T
Characters: Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark, Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane, Willas Tyrell, Margaery Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Brienne of Tarth
Wordcount: 9018
Warnings: Major Character Death, References to violence, Canon-compliant ableism, Alternate Reality, Alternate Ending, Bechdel Test Pass, Fix-It Fic That Isn't, references to PTSD, conspiracies, morally questionable priorities
Summary: AU. The Tyrells succeed in stealing Sansa Stark from King's Landing.
Notes:This may look like fix-it fic, but I promise it isn't. ;) A thousand thanks to R. for helping me wrangle the plot, what little there is. More detailed notes at the end.
The messenger was still dripping as he knelt before the King in the North's mother. Those had been his orders--Deliver this to Lady Catelyn Stark and none other--and he held out the folded letter sealed with the green-and-gold rose of Highgarden to the woman seated in silence on a camp chair.
To his surprise, one of the guards flanking Lady Catelyn reached out as though to take it from her, earning himself a glare. "Did my son order you to read my letters too? Does he think the Kingslayer would write to me?"
At the name, the messenger glanced up, just in time to catch the guard's eye as he said, "You are indiscreet, Lady Catelyn."
She ignored him and frowned at the seal before looking at the messenger. Her eyes were a truly startling shade of blue, just like her daughter's, who he had just seen at Bitterbridge a few days past. "From Highgarden?"
"From Lord Willas Tyrell, my lady. He was at Bitterbridge, but..." he trailed off as Lady Catelyn opened the seal and drew forth a smaller letter wrapped and sealed with a circle of grey wax.
For a moment, her brow knit as she read what he assumed was the message from his lord. Her breath grew shallow, her fingers twitching against her black gown. In mourning for her two youngest sons, he recalled, who had perished in the sack of Winterfell by the ironborn. His lord's news couldn't come at a better time. Lady Catelyn tore open the second letter, practically ripping it in half in her haste. "Oh, Mother be merciful," she whispered, "she's safe, she's away from that place..."
"I saw the Lady Sansa," the messenger said, clearing his throat. "She is alive and well, my lady."
"At Bitterbridge?" She was not smiling but her eyes were alive with hope, tears standing at the corners. "How did she escape?"
The messenger grinned. "During a hunt in the Kingswood, my lady. Lord Garlan and Ser Loras distracted her guards and the lady was miles along the Roseroad before the Lannisters even caught wind of it."
"But what of the king? What of Lady Margaery?" She did not wait for his answer, thankfully, for he had none. Instead, she rose to her feet and he could see, clutched in her hand, a lock of coppery hair tied with a ribbon and a lady's handkerchief embroidered in one corner with a wolf's head. "I must speak to my son at once. See that this man has everything he wants. Everything."
"My lady! You cannot--"
When Lady Catelyn paused at the door, the smile she turned on them made the messenger's heart quicken a little. "My daughter is alive and free of the Lannisters. You will not keep me from Robb."
The last the messenger saw of her was the bright halo of her hair disappearing into the driving rain outside.
***
The south was everything Sansa had imagined it might be. She had barely seen a thing on their breakneck journey along the Roseroad, desperate as they were to keep ahead of the Lannister scouts, but still she caught glimpses of rolling hills, vineyards, and bowers of great, sweet roses. She could see all of it from the battlements of Highgarden where she waited every afternoon for her mother to arrive, as promised.
Last night was the first dreamless sleep she'd had, her mind free of wildfire and blood, of Joffrey's laughter and Sandor Clegane's rasping voice, sing for me little bird. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself and shivered a little in recollection. He was gone, the Hound, disappeared after the battle of the Blackwater into the Riverlands.
From behind, she heard a man's voice, softer than Joffrey's and older. Willas Tyrell was stouter than his celebrated younger brother and had a pronounced limp, but there was a strange gentleness about him that Sansa had never seen in the Knight of the Flowers. He'd left her to her own devices, preferring the library and his books for company, and she suddenly realised just how much effort it must have taken for him to seek her out here. She dropped into a curtsey.
"Lord Willas, I was just..."
"Waiting for your mother," he finished with a smile. It did not set her heart pounding like Ser Loras' did, but she was reminded a little of his grandmother, the Queen of Thorns. "I know. You come here every day, or so my steward tells me."
"I long to see her, my lord." It seemed as though years had passed since King Robert and Queen Cersei had come to Winterfell, since her world had crumbled to bits around her. The war had scarcely touched Highgarden but Winterfell was gone, burnt to the ground, and her little brothers with it... Sansa had to fight her tears. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?" Lord Willas reached her side and took her hand. "You're safe here, my lady."
"I don't know what that means anymore," Sansa said without thinking. "They told me I was safe in King's Landing too. And they say the Riverlands are the worst of all. What if she...?"
"I'm certain your brother sent her with an escort, my lady." She had noticed that none of the Tyrells or their bannermen called Robb by the kingly title he had claimed. Lord Stark was all they would vouchsafe, but Sansa did not care. "The last message I had was from Acorn Hall and they left more than a week ago, so they shouldn't be far."
As if summoned by his words, Sansa caught sight of a cloud of dust on the Roseroad and clutched Lord Willas' hand tighter. "My lord, do you think...?"
There were at least forty riders, heavily armoured and the banner snapping in the breeze was a grey direwolf on white. Sansa's heart leapt into her throat and she turned away, one hand at her mouth.
"Is everything all right, my lady?" asked Lord Willas.
Sansa shook her head. "I don't know what to say to her. It's my fault, all of it." Tears spilled from her eyes as she sank to the ground. "If it hadn't been for me, Father would still be alive and Arya and Bran and Rickon too, surely. She must hate me so very much."
"My lady, you mustn't think that." He sounded surprised even as he slipped one arm around her shoulders, kneeling awkwardly on his good leg. "What choice did you have? The Lannisters are vile and vicious, and King Joffrey worse than all of them."
"But he's to marry your sister. How can you let that happen?"
The resemblance between Willas and the Queen of Thorns was even more pronounced when he laughed. "We'll see about that. Grandmama always has a plan. But for now," he said, tilting her chin so their eyes met, "let's greet your mother."
By the time they arrived in the courtyard the riders were crossing the drawbridge, and the armoured knights parted to reveal a woman cloaked and hooded in black. Sansa stopped, crumpling her grey-green skirts in her fists as the woman dismounted.
Lady Catelyn's face seemed a thousand times more beautiful than Queen Cersei's as she pulled back her hood. With a sob, Sansa threw herself into her mother's arms. "Oh, Mother, Mother, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen, I swear. Please don't hate me, please."
"Shh. Hush, now. No more of that." Lady Catelyn clung to her so tightly that Sansa thought her breath might stop. "We're together now and that is all that matters."
It was then that Sansa caught sight of the boy who still sat on her mother's horse. Dark-haired, snub-nosed... "Arya?"
"You see?" Lady Catelyn was smiling at her, tears glinting in her eyes. "And once your uncle is married, Robb too. And his new wife, the gods preserve us all."
But Sansa was still staring at her sister, skinnier than ever she'd been, her hair chopped and matted. "Where were you? The Lannisters must have searched the entire city and they couldn't find you."
Arya's smile looked unsettlingly wolfish. "I learned how to hide. So did you."
"Not very well," she admitted. "But how did you escape? How did you--?"
Her mother pressed one hand to Sansa's mouth. "Time enough for that later." It seemed to Sansa that the glance Lady Catelyn gave her younger daughter was more uneasy than she had ever looked before. That was when she saw the final member of her mother's retinue on a tightly reined black destrier. He had lost the helm that would have marked him to the world, but Sansa would have known that ravaged face anywhere. Lady Catelyn squeezed her shoulders. "You needn't fear. It was the Hound," she hesitated, disgust clearly warring with politeness, "who brought Arya back to me."
"He saved me from a mob, back in King's Landing," Sansa murmured. "He protected me from Joffrey, too, when he could." Sandor Clegane's white cloak was probably still in Sansa's chambers in the Red Keep, tucked safely in one of her trunks. She did not know why she'd kept it. Sing for me little bird. She shivered. "You must be tired, Mother," she said, straightening her back. "Please, let's go inside."
She could feel the Hound's eyes on her until they'd closed the doors behind them. He did not find her, however, for several weeks thereafter. She wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose, giving her those precious days to relearn her mother and sister. Arya's nightmares were worse than her own, and the fragments of her escape that she revealed suggested greater horrors that she would not speak of.
I was there when the Lannisters killed Father. I served Roose Bolton in Harrenhal and Lord Tywin's monsters before. They tried to kill me so many times but I wouldn't let them. I won't let them.
She still danced in the corridors of Highgarden, swinging a small wooden sword about and terrorising the castle's cats. Lady Catelyn had spoken to Lord Willas, who had his armourer craft a breastplate and vambraces small enough to fit a little girl and when Sansa and her mother presented them to Arya, her sister burst into tears for the first time.
Sansa hung back as her mother embraced Arya. She heard the words "knight" and "Tarth," but they meant nothing to her. Arya's smile lit up her entire face and she looked almost pretty.
"You wouldn't think it to look at her." Sansa's throat closed in terror at the voice. She could almost imagine Joffrey just steps away, about to give his dog further orders. "A hardened killer; that's what your sister is now."
I'm in Highgarden. I'm safe. Mother's here, Arya's here, and I'm safe. She opened her eyes but did not look back at him. "I don't believe you. Not Arya."
"She tried to stab me before your mother found us. It was their horses that woke me in time."
Sansa whirled on him. "Why must you always be so hateful? Just because you hate your brother doesn't mean..." She'd told herself so many times that she hated Arya but surely she wouldn't have been so relieved to see her if it were truly hate. She lowered her eyes. "I should thank you for helping her. For helping us."
"Your mother's promised me gold and not delivered it. I stay until I'm paid."
"What will you do then?"
"What do you care?" The Hound was looking at her but Sansa refused to meet his eyes. "You're free of the king. You'll marry the cripple and raise fat, well-fed children while your inheritance goes to ruin--"
"Stop it!" Sansa cried, shoving him backward. Caught off-guard, he stumbled. "Stay away from me!" Then, ignoring her mother and sister's stares, she fled the room. Instead of returning to her chambers, however, she made her way to the library where she knew she would find the acting lord of Highgarden.
Willas Tyrell was bent over a book whose title she could not catch, but as he rose unsteadily to greet her, she caught sight of a painted dragon beneath his sleeve. "Lady Sansa, I beg your pardon, I wasn't expecting..."
"How much gold did my mother offer the Hound?"
"My lady?" He blinked at her. "Why do you ask?"
"How much?" she repeated.
"Three hundred dragons."
"Can you pay it, my lord?" Sansa took his hand in both of hers. "Please? He frightens me so. I know he shouldn't, and I know he helped us all, but every time I look at him or hear him..." It was unfair. The Hound was not Joffrey; he'd fought Joffrey every step of the way, but there was no place for him in Highgarden, surely.
"Of course, I understand." Lord Willas smiled at her. "It won't be for long, my lady, I promise. I'm just waiting for Lady Olenna to send word from the capital. Then we can send Joffrey's monster on his way and you can put him out of your mind forever."
Something in her stung at the careless phrase. He's a monster, but he was never Joffrey's. Joffrey is his own monster. The Hound, at least, was honest in his own strange way. He did not speak to her after that and she wondered if Lord Willas had warned him off. Her mother never asked what happened; indeed, Lady Catelyn asked very little about the events in King's Landing. Arya's story, they teased out slowly, but everyone already knew of Joffrey's cruelty, and the Tyrells' spies kept them all well informed of the continued preparations for the great royal wedding. Even Arya, slowly, began to sleep through the night, although Sansa would awaken nearly every day to find her sister had already disappeared long before dawn.
On an especially wet afternoon, Sansa and Arya set up a puppet theatre they had found several days before in what had once been Lady Margaery's chamber. Willas--it was growing increasingly difficult to think of him as a lord--laughed when she told him and remarked that it was older than his grandmother but Margaery had adored it when she was a girl.
When he pushed open the door as she and Arya performed an admittedly amateurish version of Florian and Jonquil for their mother, therefore, Sansa assumed it was on purpose. But Willas' face was pale and drawn and Sansa's smile died on her lips. "What's happened? Something's happened."
He did not seem to see her, though he reached for her hand and she grabbed it. His eyes were on her mother. "Lady Catelyn, I bring grave news. I...don't even know where to begin."
Sansa's mother straightened in her chair and Sansa could see her fingers tightening on the arms. "Tell me, Lord Willas. Tell me the worst of it."
"Your son is dead, my lady. His bannermen died with him, and the army of the North is destroyed." His lips twisted. "Walder Frey and the Lannisters were plotting together all this while, with the Boltons of the Dreadfort--"
"Robb?" Sansa's voice emerged as a squeak. "Not Robb, please!"
Lady Catelyn only stared at both of them, her lips trembling. "My brother Edmure?"
"Lord Edmure is alive and married to the Lady Roslin Frey." Willas spoke as though the words tasted of poison. "Your son and his men were slaughtered during the wedding feast, after Lord Walder had offered them safe-conduct. I...I can't understand it, my lady, I am so very sorry."
"Mother!" Sansa let go of Willas and ran to her mother's side. The words seemed to echo and multiply--slaughtered during the wedding feast...Walder Frey and the Lannisters--and she clutched at her mother desperately as she slumped forward. "Willas, help me!"
Half-stumbling, Willas caught Lady Catelyn as she fell from the chair. Sticky tears clung to Sansa's face and she clung tightly to her mother. "I'm here, Mother, I'm here..."
"Is this the price?" whispered Lady Catelyn. "I have my daughters, but you will take my sons?" Her arms circled Sansa like iron bands.
Sansa glanced over her shoulder but Arya had not moved. Slowly, methodically, she was pulling the Florian puppet apart, joint by joint. "Walder Frey," she whispered. "Roose Bolton. Tywin Lannister. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. King Joffrey. Queen Cersei--"
"Arya, what are you doing?"
Her sister looked at her with eyes that chilled Sansa's blood. "Remembering."
***
On the first day of the new century, there were no celebrations at Highgarden, no toasts drunk to the king or to his new queen, their own beloved Margaery. Sansa did not understand it, not at first. Arya, however, wore a secretive smile for much of the day and would not tell Sansa why. You'll find out soon enough and then you'll be happier than I am. She'd grown especially good at eavesdropping and had taken to bringing Sansa at least some of the things she'd overheard, though Sansa knew she kept most of it for herself.
The news arrived on a clear, windy day that found Sansa in one of the castle's countless gardens, trying to think of anything but Robb. Her mother spent her days in the sept now, and Arya disappeared from dawn to dusk doing the gods only knew what. Sansa tried to read books borrowed from the library but the words always transformed into the letter she'd found there, addressed to Willas and the image she now saw every time she closed her eyes. Grey Wind had been a pup when last she saw him, playing with Lady in the godswood at Winterfell. The Freys, it is said, would not even give him honourable burial but cut off his head and sewed that of his direwolf in its place. Sansa pressed her hands to her eyes. "Oh, Robb, Robb, why did you go there?"
There was no answer, only the rustle of the wind through the roses. Then, suddenly, she heard shouts from the courtyard below and the frantic whinnying of horses.
The first thing she saw as she reached the courtyard was Ser Loras, his white Kingsguard cloak spattered with old, dried blood. Beside him, wearing a muddy cloak over a glorious confection of green silk and Myrish lace that had to be her wedding gown, was Margaery--Queen Margaery--her smile a knife's edge. Margaery saw her first and held out one hand.
"Rejoice with me, dear sister, and fear no more."
"What do you mean?" Sansa took her hands, which were freezing cold even through her gloves. "What are you doing here, Margaery? Where's the king?"
She did not dare to hope that Margaery had had the courage to do what she could not. For a moment, she was back on the battlements of the Red Keep, the stench of rotting flesh in her nose and Joffrey's green eyes glittering with laughter as he shoved her face toward what remained of her father. She could have pushed him off the battlements then and there. If I'd killed him, Robb would still be alive. Arya would have done it, but Sansa had hesitated long enough for the Hound to stop her.
"Sansa." The queen's dark eyes suddenly reminded her of Arya. "My husband the king has gone to the gods."
"Not...Joffrey's dead?" Even as Sansa spoke the words, it was impossible not to glance over her shoulder as though someone were listening. "Do you mean it, Margaery? Truly?"
Margaery threw her arms around Sansa. "He's dead, my dearest Sansa, and will never trouble you again."
She was shivering against Sansa, her breath sharp and shallow. Sansa clung to her for a moment. The jewels from Margaery's hairnet pressed against her cheek and Sansa realised they were purple, strung together with silver chains that glittered becomingly against Margaery's dark curls. It did not match her dress at all. Because it's not hers. She remembered a night in the godswood and the jingling bells in Ser Dontos' hat. It's justice you hold. It's vengeance for your father. It's home. Why, then, did Margaery wear it now?
She had lied to the man who called himself her Florian, taking the Queen of Thorns' advice to tell no one of what they had discussed on the day of their first meeting. He had planned to escape with her on the night of Joffrey's wedding, but Sansa couldn't wait. Mayhaps he is dead too. Another death to lie at her door. She wondered if she ought to start recalling each of their names as Arya prayed for vengeance on those who had wronged her.
Sansa pulled just far enough away to look at Margaery. "How did it happen?"
The older girl did not flinch. "That is my sin, Lady Sansa, but I did it for the good of all."
Ser Loras placed one hand on Margaery's shoulder. "Come in and rest, sister." As they turned to go, Sansa noticed that one of the gems Ser Dontos had told her were priceless--black amethysts from Asshai, the rarest in the world--was missing from the hairnet.
"She poisoned him." Arya's voice came from behind Sansa and she spun, startled, to look at her sister, who was sitting on a nearby hitching post. "They call it the Strangler. He was dead in moments. I wish I'd been there. I'd have laughed at him as he died and he'd have hated that more than anything."
"Don't say that, Arya."
"You wish it too. Don't lie." Arya crossed her arms in front of her breastplate. It was dented now from daily practise in the tiltyard, the mother-of-pearl direwolf already missing an eye. "And you helped. You told the Queen of Thorns the truth about Joffrey when nobody else would because you knew she'd kill him for you."
"Where is she?"
Arya shrugged. "Nobody said. Willas says she's sneaky, though."
Sansa didn't doubt that, having met the Queen of Thorns many times before her escape from King's Landing, but she found it far less comforting than Arya apparently did. "So are the Lannisters, and they'll be looking for someone to blame."
"You forget, Lady Sansa, that without Highgarden's aid, King's Landing will starve." Lord Willas' words were far sterner than his face. "Tywin Lannister is no fool, unlike his grandson. The realm is well rid of King Joffrey and he knows that."
Sansa remembered Tywin Lannister, larger than life on his great destrier and clad in golden armour from head to toe, his steely eyes seeming to see right through to every secret she held within. "But surely he must take vengeance."
"He will. They'll find a scapegoat. Someone from the Dornish contingent. The Imp, maybe. The whole world knows there was no love lost between him and Joffrey."
The Imp had been kind to her in his own way, though Sansa had never been fool enough to trust him, not after the queen had betrayed her with such sweet words. He had seemed to take a certain delight in tormenting Joffrey, but surely nobody would believe him capable of poisoning his own nephew.
"Are you not pleased, my lady?" He sounded surprised, although not as disappointed as Arya. "Your father's murder has been avenged."
"But at what cost, Lord Willas?" Jory Cassel. Septa Mordane. Jeyne. Bran. Rickon. Robb. Robb. Robb. She thought of her mother, on her knees in the sept. When she glanced back to where Arya had been standing, she was unsurprised to find that her sister had vanished. "I must tell my lady mother. Pray pardon me, my lord."
Willas Tyrell caught her hand. "How can you be so good?" he asked, although Sansa couldn't tell if he was asking her or himself. Shaking his head, he let her go. "I'll see that you're not disturbed."
The sept was eerily silent next to the chaos in the courtyard. More and more men-at-arms were pouring through the gate, having joined Margaery and Loras on their frantic journey south. In the sept, however, she found only her mother, kneeling before the Stranger's altar and staring into the darkness.
"Mother, there's news," Sansa said, her voice echoing strangely against the carved stone. The sept in Highgarden was intricately carved with flowers and vines of every sort. The windows were a riot of stained glass that painted patterns on the walls on sunny days like this one. Below her feet, the black and white flagstones seemed plain in comparison. "King Joffrey is dead. Poisoned by Margaery Tyrell on their wedding night."
"The gods be praised," said Lady Catelyn softly without turning. "His mother?"
"I don't know. Nobody said anything about Queen Cersei." Sansa looked into the Mother's face, seeking answers but finding only silent pity. "What's going to happen, Mother? I only wanted to go home."
"We have no home, child. Surely you know that now. Winterfell is gone and Riverrun is under siege. Your brothers and your father are dead--"
"But we are not," Sansa interrupted her. "Though you seem to think you are, and Arya wants only revenge."
"What do you want, Sansa?" Lady Catelyn's smile was somehow worse than any of her words. "My poor sweet girl."
I want everything to be as it was. I want Father back, and my brothers, and I want none of it to have happened. But that was impossible. You'll marry the cripple and raise fat, well-fed children while your inheritance goes to ruin. Now that Robb was dead, Sansa was the lady of Winterfell; no doubt the Tyrells would insist on her marrying Willas for that reason if nothing else.
Her mother was still looking at her. Sansa sighed. "I just want the war to be over. I don't care who wins anymore."
Turning on her heel, she left the sept.
***
It should not have surprised Sansa that Loras and Margaery brought a storm in their wake. A bare few days had passed since their arrival and Margaery, whose laughter was more brittle now than it had been in King's Landing, grew too restless to stay within the walls of Highgarden. Countermanding her brothers' requests, she insisted on hunting in the woods hard by the castle. Willas, similarly, insisted on a party of no fewer than a hundred guards, much to Margaery's annoyance.
Sansa hadn't intended to join them but Margaery begged until she gave in. Willas helped her onto her horse only to pause, the reins still in his hand. "You will be careful, won't you? If something happens...if anything happens, you ride for the castle and you don't look back, do you understand?"
"You don't truly think something will happen, do you?" Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Margaery, who was laughing uproariously at something Ser Loras had said. "We're safe here. You said so."
"That was before my sister killed the king," Willas muttered. "Will you promise me, Sansa?"
"If anything happens, I'll make for the castle. I promise." Sansa smiled down at him. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to." He glared at his sister and brother. "I'll see you later."
She still remembered leaving the castle, though it all grew blurry afterward, overlain with the horrors of what passed. In the chaos of their departure, a hundred and first man-at-arms had joined Willas' hundred and he made his move in the depths of the woods, turning a crossbow on Margaery as she paused to untangle her falcon's jesses.
It was Sansa who saw him first and cried out a warning. The quarrel took Margaery in the arm and she tumbled from her horse as Ser Loras, dressed for hunting and wearing no armour, charged the assassin. Sansa jumped to the ground and crawled to her friend's side as Margaery sobbed and clutched her bleeding arm. Her eyes, wide and frightened, sought for Loras in the shadows.
"Stay down, you fools." One hand clamped down over Margaery's mouth, and Sansa found herself gazing up at Sandor Clegane. "I intend to get you back to Highgarden in one piece."
Margaery's squeaks of protest went unheard beneath the Hound's hand as he swept her struggling form onto his horse. Sansa's own horse, a Dornish mare trained by Willas himself, had stayed where she'd left her, a strangely calm figure in the midst of the frenzy. Sansa mounted and kicked her heels into the mare's sides. "Go, go, go!" she cried, urging the animal toward the edge of the woods. She could hear the destrier crashing through the brush behind her, burdened by two instead of one.
As they burst through the underbrush into the meadow, she heard Margaery shriek her brother's name, though she could not make out the Hound's growled response. True to her promise, she did not look back until she was once again within Highgarden's walls.
Neither Sansa nor the Hound followed the crowd surrounding Margaery. Sansa climbed instead to the battlements and stared across the meadow at the trees they had just left behind. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she had to stifle a sob before speaking. "I suppose you're here to tell me I'm a fool and a stupid little girl. Save your breath."
"This foolishness wasn't yours. Lady Margaery has thrice the blood on her hands now than she did when she arrived." At those words, Sansa turned to find him looking at her with pity. "That Kettleblack killed her brother."
"Kettleblack?" Sansa repeated. "From the Kingsguard?"
The Hound gave a bark of laughter. "He's no more of the Kingsguard than I am. Whatever he was, he's dead too."
It was a slow procession made its way back to Highgarden. The Knight of the Flowers lay on a bier carried by four of the men who had fought off Osmund Kettleblack. In a window aloft, Sansa could see Margaery's white, stricken face. Now she knows, her traitorous heart reminded her, now she understands.
***
Ser Loras Tyrell was buried in his family's hillside vault behind thick stone doors carved with thousands of roses. He wore not the white cloak of the Kingsguard but instead the suit of blue armour that he'd worn when Sansa first set eyes on him what seemed like a thousand years ago in King's Landing. Her father had been alive then, and King Robert, and the Hound had defeated Ser Loras in the final tilt. When she mentioned that to Margaery, the other girl let out a harsh laugh. He's with Renly now, where he wanted to be.
Margaery had been weeping for days while Loras lay in state in the sept. Is she going to do something other than cry? Arya had asked the previous night. Lady Catelyn let out a brief snort of laughter in response. That one is always planning something. She just hides it very well. She'd added afterward that it was a skill Arya might do well to improve.
Now, Margaery knelt before her brother's tomb, veiled in black from head to toe and carrying a bouquet of roses dyed black. Behind her kneeling granddaughter, the Lady Olenna, newly arrived from King's Landing, watched the proceedings in silence.
As the mourners slowly faded back to the castle, Margaery remained, the perfect picture of a mourning princess. Sansa's mother squeezed her shoulder and retreated to the castle with the rest, Arya in tow. Sansa noticed only now that Lady Catelyn hadn't managed to force her into a dress; that she was wearing the same mourning livery as Willas' pages. He's indulging her like Jon used to indulge her. She wondered if it were possible to write to Jon at the Wall. Surely he ought to know that she and Arya were alive.
To her surprise, Lady Olenna took Sansa's arm and they started moving away from the silent Margaery. "She needs time to come to terms with what's happened. There's simply no denying that if she hadn't insisted on hunting that day, our Loras would still breathe."
"She couldn't have known," Sansa protested.
"You're not as stupid as you sound, child," Lady Olenna informed her. "Margaery's a grown woman and she ought to have known better. One does not murder a king without consequences."
"How did the Lannisters let you go?" Sansa asked, gazing down at the old lady so much smaller than she was and yet a thousand times more dangerous.
"Lord Tywin saw the folly in his daughter's actions and has imprisoned her in the Maidenvault. The irony, I promise, does not escape me," added Lady Olenna acidly. "Her brother the Kingslayer begged very prettily for her freedom when he returned to the capital, I heard, but to no avail. And Lord Tywin certainly did not try to stop me from attending my grandson's funeral. That would have been terribly rude under the circumstances."
Rude was not the word Sansa would have used, but she suspected that Lady Olenna and Lord Tywin both spoke a language that she would never understand.
"I have another purpose," said Lady Olenna, suddenly sounding weary. "It is my son's wish, and Lord Tywin's, that Margaery marry Prince--or, well, I suppose he is king now. King Tommen. A sweet little boy. Thank the gods his mother ignored him in favour of the elder one; she's saved him from the same fate."
Sansa came to a halt and stared at her. "Margaery killed his brother. The whole world knows it. How on earth can Lord Tywin want that?"
"Lord Tywin wants grain for his storehouses when winter comes. He does not care how he gets it. He has even agreed not to stand in the way of your marrying Willas. That was my condition." Lady Olenna took Sansa's hand in hers. "It buys us the most important thing of all--time."
"Margaery will never agree to it."
"You underestimate her. You of all people ought to know better." They continued along the path blanketed on either side with leaves of red, gold, and orange. "I was very sorry to hear about your brother, my dear. It's a pity we didn't propose him for Margaery when we had the chance. And I don't suppose you have a niece or a nephew, do you?"
"I don't know," Sansa admitted. "Mother says the lady Jeyne is still at Riverrun with my uncle Brynden." And under siege by the Lannisters, according to the latest reports.
"So much the better for her. No doubt Lord Frey would have killed her with the rest, may he rot in the darkest of hells." To Sansa's surprise, Lady Olenna made a sign against evil, then gave her a long look. "You're surprised."
"A little," she admitted. "I found out what those purple stones on Margaery's wedding hairnet were. It was mine first, but I think you know that, Lady Olenna." She'd been given the hairnet before the Tyrells even arrived in King's Landing, but Sansa knew by now not to put anything past the Queen of Thorns.
Lady Olenna smiled. "I told you you weren't as stupid as you sounded. And that sister of yours I intend to take in hand myself. I do wish Loras hadn't scared off that madwoman from Tarth, but one can't expect men to be sensible about love." She shook her head. "I owed Joffrey nothing and neither did Margaery. The realm cannot help but be improved by his absence. Lord Frey is another matter entirely. He offered your brother safe conduct and they broke bread beneath his roof. The gods may not care what we do from day to day, child, but rest assured there are certain things that even they will notice."
"I want to stay with Margaery, my lady," Sansa said as they neared the path and the Queen of Thorns' litter. "I think I of all people can understand how she feels."
Lady Olenna studied her for a moment. "You have a good heart, child. Pray it doesn't get you into yet more trouble."
Margaery was plucking petals from her roses when Sansa returned. "I hoped it would be you, Sansa." She held out one black-gloved hand. "You don't stare at me the way the others do. You and Grandmother."
"I told you about my father," said Sansa, slipping one arm around Margaery's shoulders. "I told the queen about his plan."
"Sweet Sansa, you can't possibly believe she wouldn't have known anyway. There were spies everywhere--her spies, Littlefinger's spies, Grandmother's, Varys'. Everybody has spies in the Red Keep." Margaery leant her head on Sansa's shoulder. "Loras told me he didn't need to ride armed in his own lands, that he'd rather be faster to chase the hart." Her breath caught on a sob. "I should have stopped him."
"Ser Loras..."
"Was stubborn as a farmer's mule," finished Margaery with a watery laugh. "I'd have had to beg him. Renly could have done it, perhaps." She looked down at her hands. On her wedding finger, she wore a delicately wrought ring of rose gold with the quartered arms of Tyrell and Baratheon. "I have Joffrey's too, in my room. One should never throw away jewels, according to Grandmama. They may come in useful."
Sansa had no jewels to speak of, save what the Tyrells had given her. Instead she folded Margaery's hands in her own. "Do you want me to come with you to King's Landing?"
Margaery stared at her. "You would do that for me, Sansa? If I were you, wild horses couldn't drag me back there."
"Joffrey is dead," she said. She'd spoken those words only a bare handful of times and they still scarcely seemed real. "If you wanted me there, I would come."
Margaery smiled, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. "No, Sansa, I wouldn't ask that of you, and you are too sweet to offer. Besides, Willas wouldn't forgive me. You are to marry him still, aren't you?" Sansa nodded, not quite trusting her voice, and Margaery gave her a fierce hug. "You deserve happiness, sister. Of all of us, you deserve it."
Sansa wasn't entirely certain she agreed, but she said nothing.
***
Riders and ravens began to pass back and forth once again between Highgarden and King's Landing and the full consequences of Margaery's actions and the queen mother's retaliation became quite clear. Not only was Cersei Lannister imprisoned by her own father, as Lady Olenna's spies gleefully reported; it turned out that even her celebrated brother the Kingslayer did not free her when he had the chance, although the reason why did not become clear until a group of Lannister guardsmen arrived at Highgarden surrounding a massive, armoured figure.
Sansa's mouth dropped open when the knight lifted off his helmet. Her mother, however, just smiled. "Lady Brienne."
The knight fell to her knees in the churned mud of the courtyard. "Forgive me, Lady Catelyn. I have failed you."
"No, Brienne, you have not." Lady Catelyn took both of those giant, gauntleted hands in hers. "Ser Jaime is returned to King's Landing and I have my daughters again. I hold your oath fulfilled."
"But, my lady--"
"Are you Brienne of Tarth?" interrupted Arya, her eyes wide with wonder. "Are you truly a knight?"
"She was one of King Renly's Kingsguard," Lady Catelyn explained.
"But didn't King Renly...ow!" She glared as Sansa elbowed her in the ribs. "But it's true."
"True or not," warned Lady Catelyn, "a squire always shows respect to the knight he serves, does he not?"
Now both Brienne of Tarth and Arya were staring at Lady Catelyn, who shook her head with a rueful smile. "I have another task for you, Brienne, if you would still serve me, and I fear it may be more difficult than the Kingslayer."
"I find that hard to believe, my lady," said Brienne, eyeing all three of them with suspicion, "but I have sworn myself to your service and will obey."
"My sons are all dead, Brienne," the words seemed to choke her at first but still she spoke, "and you and I both know this is no world for ladies. I give you my daughter Arya of House Stark as your squire from henceforth, to be trained in the arts of knighthood, honour, and chivalry. I would promise you lands as a reward, but I fear we Starks have nothing more than our name."
Brienne's smile caught Sansa quite by surprise in its sweetness. "I accept this charge, Lady Catelyn. And as for you," she turned to Arya with narrowed eyes, "those arms are a disgrace. Take them to the guardroom and scour them. I want to see my face in that breastplate."
"Yes, ser!" Arya darted off, her laughter echoing strangely in the silent courtyard.
"Are you serious, Mother?" Sansa finally asked. "Arya, a knight?"
"As I said," Lady Catelyn told her grimly, "this is no world for ladies anymore. And if we are to reclaim anything of Winterfell or the North, we will need far more than words and courtesies." She raised Brienne to her feet so the lady knight towered over both of them. "She's all wolf, I fear."
"Then she'll be fierce," said Brienne of Tarth. "She'll need to be."
"Were there any messages from King's Landing for us?" asked Lady Catelyn. Sansa couldn't imagine who would seek them out. "Did you have any trouble there?"
From Brienne's expression, Sansa suspected there was a great deal of trouble. "Our journey was not without trouble, my lady. The Riverlands are full of wolves and scavengers of every sort. We were captured, and Ser Jaime...he has lost his sword hand."
"Then the gods are just indeed," said Lady Catelyn, her face as stony as the Stranger's, "for it was that hand pushed my Bran from a tower window. He cannot fight, then?"
"I wouldn't say that, my lady, not exactly." Brienne shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Ser Jaime is not a man to give up, even without a sword hand."
Lady Catelyn was studying Brienne with intense suspicion. "Ser Jaime, is it?"
"He saved my life, my lady, more than once. First, from Lord Tywin's sellswords in Harrenhal, and again in King's Landing from Lord Tywin himself. Had it not been for him, I would be on trial for the murder of my king--King Renly, that is," she added, lowering her eyes. "I will not defend him to you, my lady, but I owe him my life."
Lady Catelyn nodded. "I will never look on him with kindness, Brienne, but I am grateful for his actions. Now, please, get some rest. You must be very tired."
When Brienne's footsteps had faded into the castle, Lady Catelyn turned to Sansa. "Is it your wish to marry Willas Tyrell, Sansa?"
"I..." Sansa's mouth worked. "Does that matter, my lady? I thought it was decided."
"The rules have changed. I should have seen it long before, and perhaps if I had, a great many horrors would not have been. But," she held up her hand to stop Sansa's interruption, "what is past cannot be amended now. We must think of ourselves first, and of our futures. So I ask you again, daughter, is it your wish to marry Willas Tyrell and become the lady of Highgarden?"
Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again. If I married Willas, I could stay here in Highgarden. If I married Willas, the Lannisters couldn't touch me. I'd be safe. Willas was no knight from songs as his brother had been, but Sansa was done with songs. And Willas would protect her. He wasn't reckless as Ser Loras had been, as Margaery still was.
"You've had some weeks now to think about it," her mother said. "I would give you longer if I could but the Queen of Thorns will have her answer. The Tyrells have been very generous to us and we should not waste their time."
Sansa looked through the open gates across the bridge and northward along the Roseroad. Somewhere, miles away, was King's Landing, and impossibly further still, Winterfell--what remained of Winterfell. Tears choked her throat.
She felt Lady Catelyn's hand on her shoulder. "We could," her mother said slowly, "agree to a long betrothal, an arrangement to have you marry in two, maybe three, years. I was engaged when I was only a child and there was no question of my marrying Brandon until--" She stopped.
"Until?" Sansa asked as the silence stretched on, but Lady Catelyn seemed miles away. She looked into her mother's face. "Do you think they'd do it, Mother? Would the Tyrells accept that?"
"If you agreed to stay in Highgarden in the meantime, I imagine they would." They want a hostage, just like the Lannisters. One prison for another, smothered in roses instead of devoured by lions. Did it even matter? Margaery cared for her, but Margaery would return to her own prison in King's Landing soon enough. "I will not force you," said Lady Catelyn, hugging her close. "I will never force you, Sansa. Not after all that's happened."
"I know, Mother," she said. "Thank you." It was greater freedom than any other lady she'd known. Even Margaery was being ordered back to King's Landing to marry Tommen. Sansa told herself that if Margaery truly wished otherwise, the Queen of Thorns would have listened, but she couldn't be certain. Lady Catelyn had done the same when the Mad King murdered Brandon Stark, and she had done it without question. If I married Willas, I'd be safe. Highgarden was no longer the perfect refuge it had once been, but there was nowhere else to go.
Several nights later, her betrothal to Willas was announced before all of the assembled lords of the Reach. The Queen of Thorns had studied her with what seemed like grudging admiration when Sansa made her stumbling explanation. A great deal can happen in three years. Willas had just looked relieved, earning his sister's wrath.
The dancing went on until the early hours of the morning. Sansa had pleaded blisters on her feet and escaped to what had now become her favourite spot in the castle--a tiny rose arbour with an ancient stone balcony that overlooked the Mander. True to the castle's name, there were gardens everywhere, inside and out. Every generation of Tyrells seemed to create new ones, and this, Willas had told her, was a garden in the Dornish style from the reign of Daeron the Young Dragon. At its centre was a white marble fountain inlaid with gems, and the arched walls were intricately carved with fruits and flowering vines. It was also on the castle's southern face, far from the main gates and the keep, and off the beaten path for most of Highgarden's inhabitants.
There was a shadow on the balcony, however, and Sansa's footsteps on the gravel path gave her away.
"I predicted rightly," the Hound's unmistakeable voice said.
"No, you didn't," Sansa told him. "You predicted that I'd marry him. I haven't married him." She knew better than anyone what it took to break a betrothal, and so did he, but it scarcely mattered. "I don't know why you care."
"Neither do I." The confession seemed to surprise him and he turned back to the balcony. The moon hung in the horizon, a massive, pockmarked circle spread half across the sky, pierced from below by the peaks of the Dornish mountains. Winterfell had never seemed further away.
Sansa's steps carried her to his side before she could ask herself why. Not only had her mother paid the Hound his three hundred dragons for Arya's ransom, Willas had given him a great deal more for rescuing Margaery from Osmund Kettleblack. And yet Sandor Clegane lingered in Highgarden. Adjusting the pale blue sleeves of her gown, she asked, "Why are you still here, Sandor Clegane?"
It was the first time she'd spoken his name and she could feel his eyes on her. "Where else would I go, Lady Sansa? Back to the Riverlands with all the other monsters?"
"I didn't mean that," she snapped. But it wasn't entirely true. "Don't the Kingsguard serve for life?"
"I told you before. I'm no Kingsguard knight." Sansa turned to him and he added with a bark of laughter, "And think before you say anything about oaths, little bird. You promised me a song."
It seemed for a sudden as she gazed at the quiet waters of the Mander that they were afire, strewn with the burnt-out skeletons of ships and the air full of screams. "What song do you want?"
He did not answer at first. Sansa wondered if she'd surprised him. When she looked at him again, he was gazing into the darkness, and Sansa wondered if he too saw the Blackwater.
"I still have nightmares about it, you know," she said softly. "The fires on the river. The screaming. Joffrey." Always Joffrey, laughing, his golden hair aglow in the torchlight. "Maybe I'll never marry at all."
The Hound laughed again, but there seemed to be more humour in the sound than before. "Not bloody likely."
A mad idea had just come to her. "You say you aren't a knight of the Kingsguard. That would mean you owe allegiance to nobody. You've made no oath of fealty."
"Never have, never will."
"Not even to me?" As soon as she spoke, she found herself holding her breath. At first, he said nothing. Then, he began to laugh. Sansa's cheeks grew hot. "What's so funny?"
"From Joffrey's dog to the she-wolf's pet. It's very funny."
"You saved my life. Is it so wrong of me to want to help you in return? Serve me, and I swear to you--"
"What? You'll give me lands once you've taken back the north? Your head's still full of stories, little bird." He was walking away from the balcony, toward the garden's entrance. "There's always need for a fighting man in the middle of a war." He looked at her for an endless moment. "I'll come back for my song. And that oath, I'll keep."
Sansa turned back to the river as the Hound's footsteps faded into the darkness. A few moments later, she sighed and said, "You can come out now, Arya. I know you're there."
A shadow detached itself from behind one of the rosebushes. Arya looked almost presentable now, her hair cut and combed and her sapphire-blue livery marked out with the arms of Tarth. "It wasn't a bad plan," she said, "but he wouldn't have said yes for a thousand golden dragons."
"I thought he might want..." Sansa shook her head. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"He belongs with the other monsters. Let him go." Arya's face was unreadable. "Ser says Lord Willas asked Mother if we could carry some messages for him to Oldtown first and then to Sunspear."
"Does she let you call her that?"
Arya grinned. "It was her idea."
"You'll be careful, won't you, Arya?" Sansa's voice shook a little. "Mother couldn't bear it if she lost you again."
"And you?" The smile had faded from Arya's face and she looked infinitely older. "Do you still hate me, Sansa?"
Tears flooded Sansa's eyes. "No. I never did, not really." She hadn't known what hatred meant until Joffrey ordered Ilyn Payne to strike off her father's head. "It all seems so stupid now, doesn't it?"
"I wish it were still that stupid," Arya said with a small shrug. Creeping forward, she slipped her arms around Sansa's waist. She was taller now, her head not quite reaching Sansa's shoulders. Sansa hugged her back, sniffling. "Do you think we'll ever see Winterfell again?"
"I..." Sansa gazed out across the darkened horizon. Every now and again there were pinpricks of light from holdfasts and cottages. The war still didn't quite seem real here. "I don't know. Maybe we won't, but perhaps our children will."
"They'll be the wolves of Highgarden," said Arya, her words muffled in Sansa's sleeve. "That doesn't sound so bad."
"No." Sansa smiled through her tears. "It doesn't sound bad at all."
NOTES
I owe so much to this glorious timeline that orders the events of all five books. Without it, I would have had no idea how to write this fic.
I opened with the assumption that Sansa's refusal to tell Ser Dontos anything about the Tyrell plan makes it possible for that plan to succeed. Littlefinger never finds out, which means he never tells Tywin, which means that Sansa doesn't marry Tyrion. Sansa's escape from King's Landing is based on several references to her going hunting with Margaery and her ladies in the Kingswood and the story of King Henri IV of France escaping his jailers outside of Paris during a hunting trip.
I was a bit self-indulgent in allowing Arya to rejoin her mother and sister, but the timing works if one assumes that the Tyrell messenger caught up with Catelyn en route from Riverrun to the Twins and she immediately journeyed south, thus intercepting the Hound and Arya on their way north from High Heart. It's a tiny window, but I took it. The Red Wedding, planned independently from anything involving Sansa, still happens as it does in canon, except for Catelyn's survival simply by being elsewhere.
The Purple Wedding would go very differently in this universe and considering the three uncomfortable contingents (Lannister, Tyrell, Martell) all holed up in the Red Keep, the death of Joffrey would lead to nothing less than a Mexican standoff, especially if Margaery is implicated and escapes (one assumes, with the help of Varys).
One of the fun things about this prompt and this kind of AU is how many things end up staying the same---not just the Red Wedding, but also putting Jaime Lannister in a situation where he's forced to choose between his sister Cersei and Brienne of Tarth. In this universe, Brienne is clearly the sensible choice since Cersei isn't in any actual danger as far as we know, but I cannot imagine she's likely to forgive him that slight.
Title: The She-Wolves of Highgarden
Author: lareinenoire
Rating: T
Characters: Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark, Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane, Willas Tyrell, Margaery Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Brienne of Tarth
Wordcount: 9018
Warnings: Major Character Death, References to violence, Canon-compliant ableism, Alternate Reality, Alternate Ending, Bechdel Test Pass, Fix-It Fic That Isn't, references to PTSD, conspiracies, morally questionable priorities
Summary: AU. The Tyrells succeed in stealing Sansa Stark from King's Landing.
Notes:This may look like fix-it fic, but I promise it isn't. ;) A thousand thanks to R. for helping me wrangle the plot, what little there is. More detailed notes at the end.
The messenger was still dripping as he knelt before the King in the North's mother. Those had been his orders--Deliver this to Lady Catelyn Stark and none other--and he held out the folded letter sealed with the green-and-gold rose of Highgarden to the woman seated in silence on a camp chair.
To his surprise, one of the guards flanking Lady Catelyn reached out as though to take it from her, earning himself a glare. "Did my son order you to read my letters too? Does he think the Kingslayer would write to me?"
At the name, the messenger glanced up, just in time to catch the guard's eye as he said, "You are indiscreet, Lady Catelyn."
She ignored him and frowned at the seal before looking at the messenger. Her eyes were a truly startling shade of blue, just like her daughter's, who he had just seen at Bitterbridge a few days past. "From Highgarden?"
"From Lord Willas Tyrell, my lady. He was at Bitterbridge, but..." he trailed off as Lady Catelyn opened the seal and drew forth a smaller letter wrapped and sealed with a circle of grey wax.
For a moment, her brow knit as she read what he assumed was the message from his lord. Her breath grew shallow, her fingers twitching against her black gown. In mourning for her two youngest sons, he recalled, who had perished in the sack of Winterfell by the ironborn. His lord's news couldn't come at a better time. Lady Catelyn tore open the second letter, practically ripping it in half in her haste. "Oh, Mother be merciful," she whispered, "she's safe, she's away from that place..."
"I saw the Lady Sansa," the messenger said, clearing his throat. "She is alive and well, my lady."
"At Bitterbridge?" She was not smiling but her eyes were alive with hope, tears standing at the corners. "How did she escape?"
The messenger grinned. "During a hunt in the Kingswood, my lady. Lord Garlan and Ser Loras distracted her guards and the lady was miles along the Roseroad before the Lannisters even caught wind of it."
"But what of the king? What of Lady Margaery?" She did not wait for his answer, thankfully, for he had none. Instead, she rose to her feet and he could see, clutched in her hand, a lock of coppery hair tied with a ribbon and a lady's handkerchief embroidered in one corner with a wolf's head. "I must speak to my son at once. See that this man has everything he wants. Everything."
"My lady! You cannot--"
When Lady Catelyn paused at the door, the smile she turned on them made the messenger's heart quicken a little. "My daughter is alive and free of the Lannisters. You will not keep me from Robb."
The last the messenger saw of her was the bright halo of her hair disappearing into the driving rain outside.
***
The south was everything Sansa had imagined it might be. She had barely seen a thing on their breakneck journey along the Roseroad, desperate as they were to keep ahead of the Lannister scouts, but still she caught glimpses of rolling hills, vineyards, and bowers of great, sweet roses. She could see all of it from the battlements of Highgarden where she waited every afternoon for her mother to arrive, as promised.
Last night was the first dreamless sleep she'd had, her mind free of wildfire and blood, of Joffrey's laughter and Sandor Clegane's rasping voice, sing for me little bird. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself and shivered a little in recollection. He was gone, the Hound, disappeared after the battle of the Blackwater into the Riverlands.
From behind, she heard a man's voice, softer than Joffrey's and older. Willas Tyrell was stouter than his celebrated younger brother and had a pronounced limp, but there was a strange gentleness about him that Sansa had never seen in the Knight of the Flowers. He'd left her to her own devices, preferring the library and his books for company, and she suddenly realised just how much effort it must have taken for him to seek her out here. She dropped into a curtsey.
"Lord Willas, I was just..."
"Waiting for your mother," he finished with a smile. It did not set her heart pounding like Ser Loras' did, but she was reminded a little of his grandmother, the Queen of Thorns. "I know. You come here every day, or so my steward tells me."
"I long to see her, my lord." It seemed as though years had passed since King Robert and Queen Cersei had come to Winterfell, since her world had crumbled to bits around her. The war had scarcely touched Highgarden but Winterfell was gone, burnt to the ground, and her little brothers with it... Sansa had to fight her tears. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?" Lord Willas reached her side and took her hand. "You're safe here, my lady."
"I don't know what that means anymore," Sansa said without thinking. "They told me I was safe in King's Landing too. And they say the Riverlands are the worst of all. What if she...?"
"I'm certain your brother sent her with an escort, my lady." She had noticed that none of the Tyrells or their bannermen called Robb by the kingly title he had claimed. Lord Stark was all they would vouchsafe, but Sansa did not care. "The last message I had was from Acorn Hall and they left more than a week ago, so they shouldn't be far."
As if summoned by his words, Sansa caught sight of a cloud of dust on the Roseroad and clutched Lord Willas' hand tighter. "My lord, do you think...?"
There were at least forty riders, heavily armoured and the banner snapping in the breeze was a grey direwolf on white. Sansa's heart leapt into her throat and she turned away, one hand at her mouth.
"Is everything all right, my lady?" asked Lord Willas.
Sansa shook her head. "I don't know what to say to her. It's my fault, all of it." Tears spilled from her eyes as she sank to the ground. "If it hadn't been for me, Father would still be alive and Arya and Bran and Rickon too, surely. She must hate me so very much."
"My lady, you mustn't think that." He sounded surprised even as he slipped one arm around her shoulders, kneeling awkwardly on his good leg. "What choice did you have? The Lannisters are vile and vicious, and King Joffrey worse than all of them."
"But he's to marry your sister. How can you let that happen?"
The resemblance between Willas and the Queen of Thorns was even more pronounced when he laughed. "We'll see about that. Grandmama always has a plan. But for now," he said, tilting her chin so their eyes met, "let's greet your mother."
By the time they arrived in the courtyard the riders were crossing the drawbridge, and the armoured knights parted to reveal a woman cloaked and hooded in black. Sansa stopped, crumpling her grey-green skirts in her fists as the woman dismounted.
Lady Catelyn's face seemed a thousand times more beautiful than Queen Cersei's as she pulled back her hood. With a sob, Sansa threw herself into her mother's arms. "Oh, Mother, Mother, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen, I swear. Please don't hate me, please."
"Shh. Hush, now. No more of that." Lady Catelyn clung to her so tightly that Sansa thought her breath might stop. "We're together now and that is all that matters."
It was then that Sansa caught sight of the boy who still sat on her mother's horse. Dark-haired, snub-nosed... "Arya?"
"You see?" Lady Catelyn was smiling at her, tears glinting in her eyes. "And once your uncle is married, Robb too. And his new wife, the gods preserve us all."
But Sansa was still staring at her sister, skinnier than ever she'd been, her hair chopped and matted. "Where were you? The Lannisters must have searched the entire city and they couldn't find you."
Arya's smile looked unsettlingly wolfish. "I learned how to hide. So did you."
"Not very well," she admitted. "But how did you escape? How did you--?"
Her mother pressed one hand to Sansa's mouth. "Time enough for that later." It seemed to Sansa that the glance Lady Catelyn gave her younger daughter was more uneasy than she had ever looked before. That was when she saw the final member of her mother's retinue on a tightly reined black destrier. He had lost the helm that would have marked him to the world, but Sansa would have known that ravaged face anywhere. Lady Catelyn squeezed her shoulders. "You needn't fear. It was the Hound," she hesitated, disgust clearly warring with politeness, "who brought Arya back to me."
"He saved me from a mob, back in King's Landing," Sansa murmured. "He protected me from Joffrey, too, when he could." Sandor Clegane's white cloak was probably still in Sansa's chambers in the Red Keep, tucked safely in one of her trunks. She did not know why she'd kept it. Sing for me little bird. She shivered. "You must be tired, Mother," she said, straightening her back. "Please, let's go inside."
She could feel the Hound's eyes on her until they'd closed the doors behind them. He did not find her, however, for several weeks thereafter. She wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose, giving her those precious days to relearn her mother and sister. Arya's nightmares were worse than her own, and the fragments of her escape that she revealed suggested greater horrors that she would not speak of.
I was there when the Lannisters killed Father. I served Roose Bolton in Harrenhal and Lord Tywin's monsters before. They tried to kill me so many times but I wouldn't let them. I won't let them.
She still danced in the corridors of Highgarden, swinging a small wooden sword about and terrorising the castle's cats. Lady Catelyn had spoken to Lord Willas, who had his armourer craft a breastplate and vambraces small enough to fit a little girl and when Sansa and her mother presented them to Arya, her sister burst into tears for the first time.
Sansa hung back as her mother embraced Arya. She heard the words "knight" and "Tarth," but they meant nothing to her. Arya's smile lit up her entire face and she looked almost pretty.
"You wouldn't think it to look at her." Sansa's throat closed in terror at the voice. She could almost imagine Joffrey just steps away, about to give his dog further orders. "A hardened killer; that's what your sister is now."
I'm in Highgarden. I'm safe. Mother's here, Arya's here, and I'm safe. She opened her eyes but did not look back at him. "I don't believe you. Not Arya."
"She tried to stab me before your mother found us. It was their horses that woke me in time."
Sansa whirled on him. "Why must you always be so hateful? Just because you hate your brother doesn't mean..." She'd told herself so many times that she hated Arya but surely she wouldn't have been so relieved to see her if it were truly hate. She lowered her eyes. "I should thank you for helping her. For helping us."
"Your mother's promised me gold and not delivered it. I stay until I'm paid."
"What will you do then?"
"What do you care?" The Hound was looking at her but Sansa refused to meet his eyes. "You're free of the king. You'll marry the cripple and raise fat, well-fed children while your inheritance goes to ruin--"
"Stop it!" Sansa cried, shoving him backward. Caught off-guard, he stumbled. "Stay away from me!" Then, ignoring her mother and sister's stares, she fled the room. Instead of returning to her chambers, however, she made her way to the library where she knew she would find the acting lord of Highgarden.
Willas Tyrell was bent over a book whose title she could not catch, but as he rose unsteadily to greet her, she caught sight of a painted dragon beneath his sleeve. "Lady Sansa, I beg your pardon, I wasn't expecting..."
"How much gold did my mother offer the Hound?"
"My lady?" He blinked at her. "Why do you ask?"
"How much?" she repeated.
"Three hundred dragons."
"Can you pay it, my lord?" Sansa took his hand in both of hers. "Please? He frightens me so. I know he shouldn't, and I know he helped us all, but every time I look at him or hear him..." It was unfair. The Hound was not Joffrey; he'd fought Joffrey every step of the way, but there was no place for him in Highgarden, surely.
"Of course, I understand." Lord Willas smiled at her. "It won't be for long, my lady, I promise. I'm just waiting for Lady Olenna to send word from the capital. Then we can send Joffrey's monster on his way and you can put him out of your mind forever."
Something in her stung at the careless phrase. He's a monster, but he was never Joffrey's. Joffrey is his own monster. The Hound, at least, was honest in his own strange way. He did not speak to her after that and she wondered if Lord Willas had warned him off. Her mother never asked what happened; indeed, Lady Catelyn asked very little about the events in King's Landing. Arya's story, they teased out slowly, but everyone already knew of Joffrey's cruelty, and the Tyrells' spies kept them all well informed of the continued preparations for the great royal wedding. Even Arya, slowly, began to sleep through the night, although Sansa would awaken nearly every day to find her sister had already disappeared long before dawn.
On an especially wet afternoon, Sansa and Arya set up a puppet theatre they had found several days before in what had once been Lady Margaery's chamber. Willas--it was growing increasingly difficult to think of him as a lord--laughed when she told him and remarked that it was older than his grandmother but Margaery had adored it when she was a girl.
When he pushed open the door as she and Arya performed an admittedly amateurish version of Florian and Jonquil for their mother, therefore, Sansa assumed it was on purpose. But Willas' face was pale and drawn and Sansa's smile died on her lips. "What's happened? Something's happened."
He did not seem to see her, though he reached for her hand and she grabbed it. His eyes were on her mother. "Lady Catelyn, I bring grave news. I...don't even know where to begin."
Sansa's mother straightened in her chair and Sansa could see her fingers tightening on the arms. "Tell me, Lord Willas. Tell me the worst of it."
"Your son is dead, my lady. His bannermen died with him, and the army of the North is destroyed." His lips twisted. "Walder Frey and the Lannisters were plotting together all this while, with the Boltons of the Dreadfort--"
"Robb?" Sansa's voice emerged as a squeak. "Not Robb, please!"
Lady Catelyn only stared at both of them, her lips trembling. "My brother Edmure?"
"Lord Edmure is alive and married to the Lady Roslin Frey." Willas spoke as though the words tasted of poison. "Your son and his men were slaughtered during the wedding feast, after Lord Walder had offered them safe-conduct. I...I can't understand it, my lady, I am so very sorry."
"Mother!" Sansa let go of Willas and ran to her mother's side. The words seemed to echo and multiply--slaughtered during the wedding feast...Walder Frey and the Lannisters--and she clutched at her mother desperately as she slumped forward. "Willas, help me!"
Half-stumbling, Willas caught Lady Catelyn as she fell from the chair. Sticky tears clung to Sansa's face and she clung tightly to her mother. "I'm here, Mother, I'm here..."
"Is this the price?" whispered Lady Catelyn. "I have my daughters, but you will take my sons?" Her arms circled Sansa like iron bands.
Sansa glanced over her shoulder but Arya had not moved. Slowly, methodically, she was pulling the Florian puppet apart, joint by joint. "Walder Frey," she whispered. "Roose Bolton. Tywin Lannister. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. King Joffrey. Queen Cersei--"
"Arya, what are you doing?"
Her sister looked at her with eyes that chilled Sansa's blood. "Remembering."
***
On the first day of the new century, there were no celebrations at Highgarden, no toasts drunk to the king or to his new queen, their own beloved Margaery. Sansa did not understand it, not at first. Arya, however, wore a secretive smile for much of the day and would not tell Sansa why. You'll find out soon enough and then you'll be happier than I am. She'd grown especially good at eavesdropping and had taken to bringing Sansa at least some of the things she'd overheard, though Sansa knew she kept most of it for herself.
The news arrived on a clear, windy day that found Sansa in one of the castle's countless gardens, trying to think of anything but Robb. Her mother spent her days in the sept now, and Arya disappeared from dawn to dusk doing the gods only knew what. Sansa tried to read books borrowed from the library but the words always transformed into the letter she'd found there, addressed to Willas and the image she now saw every time she closed her eyes. Grey Wind had been a pup when last she saw him, playing with Lady in the godswood at Winterfell. The Freys, it is said, would not even give him honourable burial but cut off his head and sewed that of his direwolf in its place. Sansa pressed her hands to her eyes. "Oh, Robb, Robb, why did you go there?"
There was no answer, only the rustle of the wind through the roses. Then, suddenly, she heard shouts from the courtyard below and the frantic whinnying of horses.
The first thing she saw as she reached the courtyard was Ser Loras, his white Kingsguard cloak spattered with old, dried blood. Beside him, wearing a muddy cloak over a glorious confection of green silk and Myrish lace that had to be her wedding gown, was Margaery--Queen Margaery--her smile a knife's edge. Margaery saw her first and held out one hand.
"Rejoice with me, dear sister, and fear no more."
"What do you mean?" Sansa took her hands, which were freezing cold even through her gloves. "What are you doing here, Margaery? Where's the king?"
She did not dare to hope that Margaery had had the courage to do what she could not. For a moment, she was back on the battlements of the Red Keep, the stench of rotting flesh in her nose and Joffrey's green eyes glittering with laughter as he shoved her face toward what remained of her father. She could have pushed him off the battlements then and there. If I'd killed him, Robb would still be alive. Arya would have done it, but Sansa had hesitated long enough for the Hound to stop her.
"Sansa." The queen's dark eyes suddenly reminded her of Arya. "My husband the king has gone to the gods."
"Not...Joffrey's dead?" Even as Sansa spoke the words, it was impossible not to glance over her shoulder as though someone were listening. "Do you mean it, Margaery? Truly?"
Margaery threw her arms around Sansa. "He's dead, my dearest Sansa, and will never trouble you again."
She was shivering against Sansa, her breath sharp and shallow. Sansa clung to her for a moment. The jewels from Margaery's hairnet pressed against her cheek and Sansa realised they were purple, strung together with silver chains that glittered becomingly against Margaery's dark curls. It did not match her dress at all. Because it's not hers. She remembered a night in the godswood and the jingling bells in Ser Dontos' hat. It's justice you hold. It's vengeance for your father. It's home. Why, then, did Margaery wear it now?
She had lied to the man who called himself her Florian, taking the Queen of Thorns' advice to tell no one of what they had discussed on the day of their first meeting. He had planned to escape with her on the night of Joffrey's wedding, but Sansa couldn't wait. Mayhaps he is dead too. Another death to lie at her door. She wondered if she ought to start recalling each of their names as Arya prayed for vengeance on those who had wronged her.
Sansa pulled just far enough away to look at Margaery. "How did it happen?"
The older girl did not flinch. "That is my sin, Lady Sansa, but I did it for the good of all."
Ser Loras placed one hand on Margaery's shoulder. "Come in and rest, sister." As they turned to go, Sansa noticed that one of the gems Ser Dontos had told her were priceless--black amethysts from Asshai, the rarest in the world--was missing from the hairnet.
"She poisoned him." Arya's voice came from behind Sansa and she spun, startled, to look at her sister, who was sitting on a nearby hitching post. "They call it the Strangler. He was dead in moments. I wish I'd been there. I'd have laughed at him as he died and he'd have hated that more than anything."
"Don't say that, Arya."
"You wish it too. Don't lie." Arya crossed her arms in front of her breastplate. It was dented now from daily practise in the tiltyard, the mother-of-pearl direwolf already missing an eye. "And you helped. You told the Queen of Thorns the truth about Joffrey when nobody else would because you knew she'd kill him for you."
"Where is she?"
Arya shrugged. "Nobody said. Willas says she's sneaky, though."
Sansa didn't doubt that, having met the Queen of Thorns many times before her escape from King's Landing, but she found it far less comforting than Arya apparently did. "So are the Lannisters, and they'll be looking for someone to blame."
"You forget, Lady Sansa, that without Highgarden's aid, King's Landing will starve." Lord Willas' words were far sterner than his face. "Tywin Lannister is no fool, unlike his grandson. The realm is well rid of King Joffrey and he knows that."
Sansa remembered Tywin Lannister, larger than life on his great destrier and clad in golden armour from head to toe, his steely eyes seeming to see right through to every secret she held within. "But surely he must take vengeance."
"He will. They'll find a scapegoat. Someone from the Dornish contingent. The Imp, maybe. The whole world knows there was no love lost between him and Joffrey."
The Imp had been kind to her in his own way, though Sansa had never been fool enough to trust him, not after the queen had betrayed her with such sweet words. He had seemed to take a certain delight in tormenting Joffrey, but surely nobody would believe him capable of poisoning his own nephew.
"Are you not pleased, my lady?" He sounded surprised, although not as disappointed as Arya. "Your father's murder has been avenged."
"But at what cost, Lord Willas?" Jory Cassel. Septa Mordane. Jeyne. Bran. Rickon. Robb. Robb. Robb. She thought of her mother, on her knees in the sept. When she glanced back to where Arya had been standing, she was unsurprised to find that her sister had vanished. "I must tell my lady mother. Pray pardon me, my lord."
Willas Tyrell caught her hand. "How can you be so good?" he asked, although Sansa couldn't tell if he was asking her or himself. Shaking his head, he let her go. "I'll see that you're not disturbed."
The sept was eerily silent next to the chaos in the courtyard. More and more men-at-arms were pouring through the gate, having joined Margaery and Loras on their frantic journey south. In the sept, however, she found only her mother, kneeling before the Stranger's altar and staring into the darkness.
"Mother, there's news," Sansa said, her voice echoing strangely against the carved stone. The sept in Highgarden was intricately carved with flowers and vines of every sort. The windows were a riot of stained glass that painted patterns on the walls on sunny days like this one. Below her feet, the black and white flagstones seemed plain in comparison. "King Joffrey is dead. Poisoned by Margaery Tyrell on their wedding night."
"The gods be praised," said Lady Catelyn softly without turning. "His mother?"
"I don't know. Nobody said anything about Queen Cersei." Sansa looked into the Mother's face, seeking answers but finding only silent pity. "What's going to happen, Mother? I only wanted to go home."
"We have no home, child. Surely you know that now. Winterfell is gone and Riverrun is under siege. Your brothers and your father are dead--"
"But we are not," Sansa interrupted her. "Though you seem to think you are, and Arya wants only revenge."
"What do you want, Sansa?" Lady Catelyn's smile was somehow worse than any of her words. "My poor sweet girl."
I want everything to be as it was. I want Father back, and my brothers, and I want none of it to have happened. But that was impossible. You'll marry the cripple and raise fat, well-fed children while your inheritance goes to ruin. Now that Robb was dead, Sansa was the lady of Winterfell; no doubt the Tyrells would insist on her marrying Willas for that reason if nothing else.
Her mother was still looking at her. Sansa sighed. "I just want the war to be over. I don't care who wins anymore."
Turning on her heel, she left the sept.
***
It should not have surprised Sansa that Loras and Margaery brought a storm in their wake. A bare few days had passed since their arrival and Margaery, whose laughter was more brittle now than it had been in King's Landing, grew too restless to stay within the walls of Highgarden. Countermanding her brothers' requests, she insisted on hunting in the woods hard by the castle. Willas, similarly, insisted on a party of no fewer than a hundred guards, much to Margaery's annoyance.
Sansa hadn't intended to join them but Margaery begged until she gave in. Willas helped her onto her horse only to pause, the reins still in his hand. "You will be careful, won't you? If something happens...if anything happens, you ride for the castle and you don't look back, do you understand?"
"You don't truly think something will happen, do you?" Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Margaery, who was laughing uproariously at something Ser Loras had said. "We're safe here. You said so."
"That was before my sister killed the king," Willas muttered. "Will you promise me, Sansa?"
"If anything happens, I'll make for the castle. I promise." Sansa smiled down at him. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to." He glared at his sister and brother. "I'll see you later."
She still remembered leaving the castle, though it all grew blurry afterward, overlain with the horrors of what passed. In the chaos of their departure, a hundred and first man-at-arms had joined Willas' hundred and he made his move in the depths of the woods, turning a crossbow on Margaery as she paused to untangle her falcon's jesses.
It was Sansa who saw him first and cried out a warning. The quarrel took Margaery in the arm and she tumbled from her horse as Ser Loras, dressed for hunting and wearing no armour, charged the assassin. Sansa jumped to the ground and crawled to her friend's side as Margaery sobbed and clutched her bleeding arm. Her eyes, wide and frightened, sought for Loras in the shadows.
"Stay down, you fools." One hand clamped down over Margaery's mouth, and Sansa found herself gazing up at Sandor Clegane. "I intend to get you back to Highgarden in one piece."
Margaery's squeaks of protest went unheard beneath the Hound's hand as he swept her struggling form onto his horse. Sansa's own horse, a Dornish mare trained by Willas himself, had stayed where she'd left her, a strangely calm figure in the midst of the frenzy. Sansa mounted and kicked her heels into the mare's sides. "Go, go, go!" she cried, urging the animal toward the edge of the woods. She could hear the destrier crashing through the brush behind her, burdened by two instead of one.
As they burst through the underbrush into the meadow, she heard Margaery shriek her brother's name, though she could not make out the Hound's growled response. True to her promise, she did not look back until she was once again within Highgarden's walls.
Neither Sansa nor the Hound followed the crowd surrounding Margaery. Sansa climbed instead to the battlements and stared across the meadow at the trees they had just left behind. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she had to stifle a sob before speaking. "I suppose you're here to tell me I'm a fool and a stupid little girl. Save your breath."
"This foolishness wasn't yours. Lady Margaery has thrice the blood on her hands now than she did when she arrived." At those words, Sansa turned to find him looking at her with pity. "That Kettleblack killed her brother."
"Kettleblack?" Sansa repeated. "From the Kingsguard?"
The Hound gave a bark of laughter. "He's no more of the Kingsguard than I am. Whatever he was, he's dead too."
It was a slow procession made its way back to Highgarden. The Knight of the Flowers lay on a bier carried by four of the men who had fought off Osmund Kettleblack. In a window aloft, Sansa could see Margaery's white, stricken face. Now she knows, her traitorous heart reminded her, now she understands.
***
Ser Loras Tyrell was buried in his family's hillside vault behind thick stone doors carved with thousands of roses. He wore not the white cloak of the Kingsguard but instead the suit of blue armour that he'd worn when Sansa first set eyes on him what seemed like a thousand years ago in King's Landing. Her father had been alive then, and King Robert, and the Hound had defeated Ser Loras in the final tilt. When she mentioned that to Margaery, the other girl let out a harsh laugh. He's with Renly now, where he wanted to be.
Margaery had been weeping for days while Loras lay in state in the sept. Is she going to do something other than cry? Arya had asked the previous night. Lady Catelyn let out a brief snort of laughter in response. That one is always planning something. She just hides it very well. She'd added afterward that it was a skill Arya might do well to improve.
Now, Margaery knelt before her brother's tomb, veiled in black from head to toe and carrying a bouquet of roses dyed black. Behind her kneeling granddaughter, the Lady Olenna, newly arrived from King's Landing, watched the proceedings in silence.
As the mourners slowly faded back to the castle, Margaery remained, the perfect picture of a mourning princess. Sansa's mother squeezed her shoulder and retreated to the castle with the rest, Arya in tow. Sansa noticed only now that Lady Catelyn hadn't managed to force her into a dress; that she was wearing the same mourning livery as Willas' pages. He's indulging her like Jon used to indulge her. She wondered if it were possible to write to Jon at the Wall. Surely he ought to know that she and Arya were alive.
To her surprise, Lady Olenna took Sansa's arm and they started moving away from the silent Margaery. "She needs time to come to terms with what's happened. There's simply no denying that if she hadn't insisted on hunting that day, our Loras would still breathe."
"She couldn't have known," Sansa protested.
"You're not as stupid as you sound, child," Lady Olenna informed her. "Margaery's a grown woman and she ought to have known better. One does not murder a king without consequences."
"How did the Lannisters let you go?" Sansa asked, gazing down at the old lady so much smaller than she was and yet a thousand times more dangerous.
"Lord Tywin saw the folly in his daughter's actions and has imprisoned her in the Maidenvault. The irony, I promise, does not escape me," added Lady Olenna acidly. "Her brother the Kingslayer begged very prettily for her freedom when he returned to the capital, I heard, but to no avail. And Lord Tywin certainly did not try to stop me from attending my grandson's funeral. That would have been terribly rude under the circumstances."
Rude was not the word Sansa would have used, but she suspected that Lady Olenna and Lord Tywin both spoke a language that she would never understand.
"I have another purpose," said Lady Olenna, suddenly sounding weary. "It is my son's wish, and Lord Tywin's, that Margaery marry Prince--or, well, I suppose he is king now. King Tommen. A sweet little boy. Thank the gods his mother ignored him in favour of the elder one; she's saved him from the same fate."
Sansa came to a halt and stared at her. "Margaery killed his brother. The whole world knows it. How on earth can Lord Tywin want that?"
"Lord Tywin wants grain for his storehouses when winter comes. He does not care how he gets it. He has even agreed not to stand in the way of your marrying Willas. That was my condition." Lady Olenna took Sansa's hand in hers. "It buys us the most important thing of all--time."
"Margaery will never agree to it."
"You underestimate her. You of all people ought to know better." They continued along the path blanketed on either side with leaves of red, gold, and orange. "I was very sorry to hear about your brother, my dear. It's a pity we didn't propose him for Margaery when we had the chance. And I don't suppose you have a niece or a nephew, do you?"
"I don't know," Sansa admitted. "Mother says the lady Jeyne is still at Riverrun with my uncle Brynden." And under siege by the Lannisters, according to the latest reports.
"So much the better for her. No doubt Lord Frey would have killed her with the rest, may he rot in the darkest of hells." To Sansa's surprise, Lady Olenna made a sign against evil, then gave her a long look. "You're surprised."
"A little," she admitted. "I found out what those purple stones on Margaery's wedding hairnet were. It was mine first, but I think you know that, Lady Olenna." She'd been given the hairnet before the Tyrells even arrived in King's Landing, but Sansa knew by now not to put anything past the Queen of Thorns.
Lady Olenna smiled. "I told you you weren't as stupid as you sounded. And that sister of yours I intend to take in hand myself. I do wish Loras hadn't scared off that madwoman from Tarth, but one can't expect men to be sensible about love." She shook her head. "I owed Joffrey nothing and neither did Margaery. The realm cannot help but be improved by his absence. Lord Frey is another matter entirely. He offered your brother safe conduct and they broke bread beneath his roof. The gods may not care what we do from day to day, child, but rest assured there are certain things that even they will notice."
"I want to stay with Margaery, my lady," Sansa said as they neared the path and the Queen of Thorns' litter. "I think I of all people can understand how she feels."
Lady Olenna studied her for a moment. "You have a good heart, child. Pray it doesn't get you into yet more trouble."
Margaery was plucking petals from her roses when Sansa returned. "I hoped it would be you, Sansa." She held out one black-gloved hand. "You don't stare at me the way the others do. You and Grandmother."
"I told you about my father," said Sansa, slipping one arm around Margaery's shoulders. "I told the queen about his plan."
"Sweet Sansa, you can't possibly believe she wouldn't have known anyway. There were spies everywhere--her spies, Littlefinger's spies, Grandmother's, Varys'. Everybody has spies in the Red Keep." Margaery leant her head on Sansa's shoulder. "Loras told me he didn't need to ride armed in his own lands, that he'd rather be faster to chase the hart." Her breath caught on a sob. "I should have stopped him."
"Ser Loras..."
"Was stubborn as a farmer's mule," finished Margaery with a watery laugh. "I'd have had to beg him. Renly could have done it, perhaps." She looked down at her hands. On her wedding finger, she wore a delicately wrought ring of rose gold with the quartered arms of Tyrell and Baratheon. "I have Joffrey's too, in my room. One should never throw away jewels, according to Grandmama. They may come in useful."
Sansa had no jewels to speak of, save what the Tyrells had given her. Instead she folded Margaery's hands in her own. "Do you want me to come with you to King's Landing?"
Margaery stared at her. "You would do that for me, Sansa? If I were you, wild horses couldn't drag me back there."
"Joffrey is dead," she said. She'd spoken those words only a bare handful of times and they still scarcely seemed real. "If you wanted me there, I would come."
Margaery smiled, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. "No, Sansa, I wouldn't ask that of you, and you are too sweet to offer. Besides, Willas wouldn't forgive me. You are to marry him still, aren't you?" Sansa nodded, not quite trusting her voice, and Margaery gave her a fierce hug. "You deserve happiness, sister. Of all of us, you deserve it."
Sansa wasn't entirely certain she agreed, but she said nothing.
***
Riders and ravens began to pass back and forth once again between Highgarden and King's Landing and the full consequences of Margaery's actions and the queen mother's retaliation became quite clear. Not only was Cersei Lannister imprisoned by her own father, as Lady Olenna's spies gleefully reported; it turned out that even her celebrated brother the Kingslayer did not free her when he had the chance, although the reason why did not become clear until a group of Lannister guardsmen arrived at Highgarden surrounding a massive, armoured figure.
Sansa's mouth dropped open when the knight lifted off his helmet. Her mother, however, just smiled. "Lady Brienne."
The knight fell to her knees in the churned mud of the courtyard. "Forgive me, Lady Catelyn. I have failed you."
"No, Brienne, you have not." Lady Catelyn took both of those giant, gauntleted hands in hers. "Ser Jaime is returned to King's Landing and I have my daughters again. I hold your oath fulfilled."
"But, my lady--"
"Are you Brienne of Tarth?" interrupted Arya, her eyes wide with wonder. "Are you truly a knight?"
"She was one of King Renly's Kingsguard," Lady Catelyn explained.
"But didn't King Renly...ow!" She glared as Sansa elbowed her in the ribs. "But it's true."
"True or not," warned Lady Catelyn, "a squire always shows respect to the knight he serves, does he not?"
Now both Brienne of Tarth and Arya were staring at Lady Catelyn, who shook her head with a rueful smile. "I have another task for you, Brienne, if you would still serve me, and I fear it may be more difficult than the Kingslayer."
"I find that hard to believe, my lady," said Brienne, eyeing all three of them with suspicion, "but I have sworn myself to your service and will obey."
"My sons are all dead, Brienne," the words seemed to choke her at first but still she spoke, "and you and I both know this is no world for ladies. I give you my daughter Arya of House Stark as your squire from henceforth, to be trained in the arts of knighthood, honour, and chivalry. I would promise you lands as a reward, but I fear we Starks have nothing more than our name."
Brienne's smile caught Sansa quite by surprise in its sweetness. "I accept this charge, Lady Catelyn. And as for you," she turned to Arya with narrowed eyes, "those arms are a disgrace. Take them to the guardroom and scour them. I want to see my face in that breastplate."
"Yes, ser!" Arya darted off, her laughter echoing strangely in the silent courtyard.
"Are you serious, Mother?" Sansa finally asked. "Arya, a knight?"
"As I said," Lady Catelyn told her grimly, "this is no world for ladies anymore. And if we are to reclaim anything of Winterfell or the North, we will need far more than words and courtesies." She raised Brienne to her feet so the lady knight towered over both of them. "She's all wolf, I fear."
"Then she'll be fierce," said Brienne of Tarth. "She'll need to be."
"Were there any messages from King's Landing for us?" asked Lady Catelyn. Sansa couldn't imagine who would seek them out. "Did you have any trouble there?"
From Brienne's expression, Sansa suspected there was a great deal of trouble. "Our journey was not without trouble, my lady. The Riverlands are full of wolves and scavengers of every sort. We were captured, and Ser Jaime...he has lost his sword hand."
"Then the gods are just indeed," said Lady Catelyn, her face as stony as the Stranger's, "for it was that hand pushed my Bran from a tower window. He cannot fight, then?"
"I wouldn't say that, my lady, not exactly." Brienne shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Ser Jaime is not a man to give up, even without a sword hand."
Lady Catelyn was studying Brienne with intense suspicion. "Ser Jaime, is it?"
"He saved my life, my lady, more than once. First, from Lord Tywin's sellswords in Harrenhal, and again in King's Landing from Lord Tywin himself. Had it not been for him, I would be on trial for the murder of my king--King Renly, that is," she added, lowering her eyes. "I will not defend him to you, my lady, but I owe him my life."
Lady Catelyn nodded. "I will never look on him with kindness, Brienne, but I am grateful for his actions. Now, please, get some rest. You must be very tired."
When Brienne's footsteps had faded into the castle, Lady Catelyn turned to Sansa. "Is it your wish to marry Willas Tyrell, Sansa?"
"I..." Sansa's mouth worked. "Does that matter, my lady? I thought it was decided."
"The rules have changed. I should have seen it long before, and perhaps if I had, a great many horrors would not have been. But," she held up her hand to stop Sansa's interruption, "what is past cannot be amended now. We must think of ourselves first, and of our futures. So I ask you again, daughter, is it your wish to marry Willas Tyrell and become the lady of Highgarden?"
Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again. If I married Willas, I could stay here in Highgarden. If I married Willas, the Lannisters couldn't touch me. I'd be safe. Willas was no knight from songs as his brother had been, but Sansa was done with songs. And Willas would protect her. He wasn't reckless as Ser Loras had been, as Margaery still was.
"You've had some weeks now to think about it," her mother said. "I would give you longer if I could but the Queen of Thorns will have her answer. The Tyrells have been very generous to us and we should not waste their time."
Sansa looked through the open gates across the bridge and northward along the Roseroad. Somewhere, miles away, was King's Landing, and impossibly further still, Winterfell--what remained of Winterfell. Tears choked her throat.
She felt Lady Catelyn's hand on her shoulder. "We could," her mother said slowly, "agree to a long betrothal, an arrangement to have you marry in two, maybe three, years. I was engaged when I was only a child and there was no question of my marrying Brandon until--" She stopped.
"Until?" Sansa asked as the silence stretched on, but Lady Catelyn seemed miles away. She looked into her mother's face. "Do you think they'd do it, Mother? Would the Tyrells accept that?"
"If you agreed to stay in Highgarden in the meantime, I imagine they would." They want a hostage, just like the Lannisters. One prison for another, smothered in roses instead of devoured by lions. Did it even matter? Margaery cared for her, but Margaery would return to her own prison in King's Landing soon enough. "I will not force you," said Lady Catelyn, hugging her close. "I will never force you, Sansa. Not after all that's happened."
"I know, Mother," she said. "Thank you." It was greater freedom than any other lady she'd known. Even Margaery was being ordered back to King's Landing to marry Tommen. Sansa told herself that if Margaery truly wished otherwise, the Queen of Thorns would have listened, but she couldn't be certain. Lady Catelyn had done the same when the Mad King murdered Brandon Stark, and she had done it without question. If I married Willas, I'd be safe. Highgarden was no longer the perfect refuge it had once been, but there was nowhere else to go.
Several nights later, her betrothal to Willas was announced before all of the assembled lords of the Reach. The Queen of Thorns had studied her with what seemed like grudging admiration when Sansa made her stumbling explanation. A great deal can happen in three years. Willas had just looked relieved, earning his sister's wrath.
The dancing went on until the early hours of the morning. Sansa had pleaded blisters on her feet and escaped to what had now become her favourite spot in the castle--a tiny rose arbour with an ancient stone balcony that overlooked the Mander. True to the castle's name, there were gardens everywhere, inside and out. Every generation of Tyrells seemed to create new ones, and this, Willas had told her, was a garden in the Dornish style from the reign of Daeron the Young Dragon. At its centre was a white marble fountain inlaid with gems, and the arched walls were intricately carved with fruits and flowering vines. It was also on the castle's southern face, far from the main gates and the keep, and off the beaten path for most of Highgarden's inhabitants.
There was a shadow on the balcony, however, and Sansa's footsteps on the gravel path gave her away.
"I predicted rightly," the Hound's unmistakeable voice said.
"No, you didn't," Sansa told him. "You predicted that I'd marry him. I haven't married him." She knew better than anyone what it took to break a betrothal, and so did he, but it scarcely mattered. "I don't know why you care."
"Neither do I." The confession seemed to surprise him and he turned back to the balcony. The moon hung in the horizon, a massive, pockmarked circle spread half across the sky, pierced from below by the peaks of the Dornish mountains. Winterfell had never seemed further away.
Sansa's steps carried her to his side before she could ask herself why. Not only had her mother paid the Hound his three hundred dragons for Arya's ransom, Willas had given him a great deal more for rescuing Margaery from Osmund Kettleblack. And yet Sandor Clegane lingered in Highgarden. Adjusting the pale blue sleeves of her gown, she asked, "Why are you still here, Sandor Clegane?"
It was the first time she'd spoken his name and she could feel his eyes on her. "Where else would I go, Lady Sansa? Back to the Riverlands with all the other monsters?"
"I didn't mean that," she snapped. But it wasn't entirely true. "Don't the Kingsguard serve for life?"
"I told you before. I'm no Kingsguard knight." Sansa turned to him and he added with a bark of laughter, "And think before you say anything about oaths, little bird. You promised me a song."
It seemed for a sudden as she gazed at the quiet waters of the Mander that they were afire, strewn with the burnt-out skeletons of ships and the air full of screams. "What song do you want?"
He did not answer at first. Sansa wondered if she'd surprised him. When she looked at him again, he was gazing into the darkness, and Sansa wondered if he too saw the Blackwater.
"I still have nightmares about it, you know," she said softly. "The fires on the river. The screaming. Joffrey." Always Joffrey, laughing, his golden hair aglow in the torchlight. "Maybe I'll never marry at all."
The Hound laughed again, but there seemed to be more humour in the sound than before. "Not bloody likely."
A mad idea had just come to her. "You say you aren't a knight of the Kingsguard. That would mean you owe allegiance to nobody. You've made no oath of fealty."
"Never have, never will."
"Not even to me?" As soon as she spoke, she found herself holding her breath. At first, he said nothing. Then, he began to laugh. Sansa's cheeks grew hot. "What's so funny?"
"From Joffrey's dog to the she-wolf's pet. It's very funny."
"You saved my life. Is it so wrong of me to want to help you in return? Serve me, and I swear to you--"
"What? You'll give me lands once you've taken back the north? Your head's still full of stories, little bird." He was walking away from the balcony, toward the garden's entrance. "There's always need for a fighting man in the middle of a war." He looked at her for an endless moment. "I'll come back for my song. And that oath, I'll keep."
Sansa turned back to the river as the Hound's footsteps faded into the darkness. A few moments later, she sighed and said, "You can come out now, Arya. I know you're there."
A shadow detached itself from behind one of the rosebushes. Arya looked almost presentable now, her hair cut and combed and her sapphire-blue livery marked out with the arms of Tarth. "It wasn't a bad plan," she said, "but he wouldn't have said yes for a thousand golden dragons."
"I thought he might want..." Sansa shook her head. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"He belongs with the other monsters. Let him go." Arya's face was unreadable. "Ser says Lord Willas asked Mother if we could carry some messages for him to Oldtown first and then to Sunspear."
"Does she let you call her that?"
Arya grinned. "It was her idea."
"You'll be careful, won't you, Arya?" Sansa's voice shook a little. "Mother couldn't bear it if she lost you again."
"And you?" The smile had faded from Arya's face and she looked infinitely older. "Do you still hate me, Sansa?"
Tears flooded Sansa's eyes. "No. I never did, not really." She hadn't known what hatred meant until Joffrey ordered Ilyn Payne to strike off her father's head. "It all seems so stupid now, doesn't it?"
"I wish it were still that stupid," Arya said with a small shrug. Creeping forward, she slipped her arms around Sansa's waist. She was taller now, her head not quite reaching Sansa's shoulders. Sansa hugged her back, sniffling. "Do you think we'll ever see Winterfell again?"
"I..." Sansa gazed out across the darkened horizon. Every now and again there were pinpricks of light from holdfasts and cottages. The war still didn't quite seem real here. "I don't know. Maybe we won't, but perhaps our children will."
"They'll be the wolves of Highgarden," said Arya, her words muffled in Sansa's sleeve. "That doesn't sound so bad."
"No." Sansa smiled through her tears. "It doesn't sound bad at all."
NOTES
I owe so much to this glorious timeline that orders the events of all five books. Without it, I would have had no idea how to write this fic.
I opened with the assumption that Sansa's refusal to tell Ser Dontos anything about the Tyrell plan makes it possible for that plan to succeed. Littlefinger never finds out, which means he never tells Tywin, which means that Sansa doesn't marry Tyrion. Sansa's escape from King's Landing is based on several references to her going hunting with Margaery and her ladies in the Kingswood and the story of King Henri IV of France escaping his jailers outside of Paris during a hunting trip.
I was a bit self-indulgent in allowing Arya to rejoin her mother and sister, but the timing works if one assumes that the Tyrell messenger caught up with Catelyn en route from Riverrun to the Twins and she immediately journeyed south, thus intercepting the Hound and Arya on their way north from High Heart. It's a tiny window, but I took it. The Red Wedding, planned independently from anything involving Sansa, still happens as it does in canon, except for Catelyn's survival simply by being elsewhere.
The Purple Wedding would go very differently in this universe and considering the three uncomfortable contingents (Lannister, Tyrell, Martell) all holed up in the Red Keep, the death of Joffrey would lead to nothing less than a Mexican standoff, especially if Margaery is implicated and escapes (one assumes, with the help of Varys).
One of the fun things about this prompt and this kind of AU is how many things end up staying the same---not just the Red Wedding, but also putting Jaime Lannister in a situation where he's forced to choose between his sister Cersei and Brienne of Tarth. In this universe, Brienne is clearly the sensible choice since Cersei isn't in any actual danger as far as we know, but I cannot imagine she's likely to forgive him that slight.