34 A Song in The Garden

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Margaery Tyrell

Margaery was not, as a rule, a willful child. When Willas rode off to Lannisport, Garlan and Loras had begged and pleaded to be allowed to join the party, whining until Grandmother declared she could not tell them from hunting hounds and threatened to send them to the kennels. Margaery, though, had kept her peace (except for a few yips and barks at Loras when none of the adults were near). She wanted, as much as her brothers did, to go to the tourney, to see the glittering lances in the sun and pick out sigils from each fluttering banner. But she knew without asking that her parents felt her, at six, much too young for such things. So instead, she bent her head to her sewing, determined that if she could not go herself to watch her brother's first tourney, at least her favor would accompany him.

When she had finished, even she had to admit that the rose was lopsided, more windblown wildflower than the tended product of Highgarden's courtyards. She would not let Garlan or Loras see it and almost held it back from Willas. Only at the last moment, when he came to the nursery to let her admire his armor in all its gilded trim and rich enamel, did she find the courage to present it to him. She held out a scrap of green silk shyly, and he stripped off one gauntlet to run bare fingers across the uneven stitches.

"A lovely favor from a lovely lady," he told her solemnly and went down on one clanking knee to kiss her hand. "I surely cannot fail with this around my arm."

When he left, she watched from the ramparts. Garlan had sulked, and Loras, ever-enterprising, had tried to sneak off after the party on his pony, but Margaery was content to know that while she remained behind, her favor was with Willas. He had told her, after all: with it, he could not fail. With that knowledge, it was easy to watch and easy to wait.

But he had been back six days now, and Margaery had not been allowed to see him. That was intolerable. Worse, no one would tell her why. Her father's usually florid skin was pale, her mother tight-lipped. Her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. Whispers filled the air around her but went silent as soon as she entered the room.

"They say he was poisoned," said Loras, always the more industrious about eavesdropping. "They say he was bit by a snake. They say he's lost a leg, both legs! They say Garlan will be the next Lord of the Reach." His tone wavered between a small boy's delight in gore and a younger brother's tears. He kept the tears off his face but did not pull away when Margaery wrapped him in a hug and bent his head so she could stroke his hair. If there was a sniffle or two shielded by his curls, well, they both pretended they had not heard.

"None of that is true," she told her brother. "None of that. Or Mother would have told us."

But silently, she was not so sure. Alerie looked so tired now, and Margaery thought her hair was going grayer by the hour. So when she marked the same servant going to and from the kitchens, carrying a tray, three days running, she followed her. Loras was better at sneaking, but Margaery was very good at looking innocent. She smiled at two passing page boys and a scullery maid and stopped to examine two tapestries as though she did not know them as well as her own stitches, and when the servant stepped out of a seldom-used room with an empty tray in hand, Margaery was poised to slip in after her.

The chamber had windows on two walls overlooking the gardens. The sashes were up, but even the scent of roses wafting in could not quite hide the odor of sickness. Margaery could not make herself look at the foot of the bed but stared at her brother's face. He looked tired and older. His eyes were closed. But it was definitely Willas.

His eyes fluttered open, and his brow creased. "Lady sister?"

"Willas!" she squeaked and surged forward.

His hand came up and stopped her when she would have flung herself bodily onto the bed. It shook slightly, fingers trembling, but it was warm on hers. She grasped it tightly. Now that his arm was loosed from the bedclothes, she could see her favor was tied just above his elbow, though half the stitches had come undone, and there was an ugly stain that mottled one dangling end of the ribbon.

"They said you were dying," she babbled, "they said you'd lost your legs."

"I feel better by the day," he assured her, and he kept his voice strong enough that she could almost ignore his unfocused eyes. "And as to my legs, well, they're still there. You can see them yourself."

Margaery let her gaze wander down the bed. He was covered, of course, in a blanket, but beneath it, she could see two reassuringly leg-shaped lumps.

"No one would tell me anything," she said. "Not me or Loras or Garlan. And we've been waiting for weeks." She knew she was exaggerating--nine days was not weeks--but it felt that way. Anyway, it had been weeks since the raven had come with news of the tourney, and though she had not noticed it at the time--she had been too busy with Loras, plotting a new angle of attack on the castle's store of pastries--she thought her parents' tension might have begun then.

"Well. Soon enough, I'll be out of this bed. And I'll tell you everything." His eyes drifted shut, and his voice trailed away. "I'll tell you . . ."

"That's enough of that," said a voice from behind Margaery, so soft she almost didn't recognize her grandmother. Margaery hadn't heard her come in; then again, she realized she hadn't shut the door behind her. "Let the lad sleep and come with me."

Meekly, Margaery followed.

Outside, in the hallway, Grandmother's voice sharpened to its usual pitch. "What did you think you were doing, child?"

"No one would tell us anything," Margaery repeated, channeling, for a moment, Garlan's sulkiness. "No one would tell us anything, and I couldn't find you, and I was scared."

"I," said Grandmother, "have been tending the lad, night and day."

"It's because of my favor, isn't it," Margaery said. "It's because I didn't stitch it straight. I'll learn better, I promise, I promise. I swear to the Maiden." Her voice slid up to a whine, and she could feel her heart pounding.

Grandmother put a hand on each of her shoulders and shook her once, sharply. "What are you talking about, child? No, don't say that. It's because of that damnable viper and his twice-damned Maester. But your brother will survive."

"Oh." Margaery took a long, deep breath. "They said Garlan would be Lord of the Reach."

Grandmother gave her a sharp look. "Who said that?"

Margaery blinked. "I don't know. They did." Loras hadn't said whose conversation he had eavesdropped on.

"If you want to help your brother, child, find the answer to that question. Find out who means to challenge his place. That will matter more than all your stitching."

"Really?" Margaery asked.

Grandmother's snort of irritation was so familiar as to be almost comforting. "Yes, really. Now, go away. I have bandages to change." Grandmother turned and was through the door before Margaery could blink, leaving her standing alone in the hall.

Standing idly was always suspicious. She turned, without quite thinking about it, to blindly study another tapestry. This one showed bees, round and fat, and gold, buzzing between flowers. Bees, flitting here and there, carrying pollen back to their hive. . .

I can do that, though, Margaery. I can bring answers for Willas. I can listen for him if he can't--until he can get out of bed. She nodded decisively. If she told Loras what she'd learned today, he'd be eager to share, in turn, the secrets of his listening holes.

She spared one last glance at the tapestry before beginning the walk back to more populated castle halls. But, Maiden be my witness; I'll work on my stitching, too.

It couldn't hurt. And if Garlan or Loras ever rode to a tourney, she swore they would do so adorned with the most beautiful rose the realm had ever seen.

A week later, she told her grandmother about the people who had spoken about her brother. The two knights were never seen again after the next day. Margaery quite often thought if perhaps she had done something wrong, but every time she remembered what those men had said about her big brother. Every bit of sympathy disappeared.

Now

There were times when having three brothers was rather nice – for example when certain boys thought it was a good idea to bat their eyelashes at her – but for the most part, Margaery found herself wishing they would leave her alone.

Lowering her lashes, she tried once again to focus on the book she had wheedled out of her mother, examining the pictures with a furrowed brow. She was so deeply absorbed in a particularly pretty picture of a knight offering a flower that she did not hear Garlan approaching until he squeezed her waist, making her squeal and flop like a fish.

"Margaery, it's sunny, it's warm; what do you have to be reading for?"

"Some of us find reading fun," said Willas, wandering up after Garlan. He was almost twice as old as Margaery and by far the most serious boy she'd ever met. "Oh, and Loras is going to put a spider on your neck." Margaery wheeled around with a gasp, and Loras quickly put his hands behind his back and grinned at her, his curls full of leaves.

"What?"

"You little swine," Margaery said and wished she had a peach to throw at him or something. "It's a good book. I'm not playing any games, and if you keep bothering me, I'll go inside." She gave them all a severe frown so they knew she meant it.

Loras looked amused and spread his hands. "Well, you heard her. What are we going to do?"

"You're the youngest," Garlan said fiercely, from where he was sitting on her skirts trying to muss Loras's hair. Loras, on the other hand, was putting up a valiant fight. "You have to do what we say. And you're a girl, too."

"If you're going to be knights," Margaery countered haughtily, "Then you'll have to be – be – chivalrous." She was very proud of herself for remembering that word. "And besides, if I were going to be a lady, I shouldn't be playing silly boy games."

"I'll let you braid my hair," said Loras, from where he was currently pinned by Garlan's elbow and knee. Garlan whacked his head.

"You don't give people things to make them do something, don't be stupid."

"All right," Loras said, sounding poutily peevish, "Fine, I'll cut off your hair, is that better, ser?"

Margaery gasped and pulled her hair away from both of them. "Both of you are little beasts!"

Willas sighed, got up with the help of his crutches, and hauled Loras, who seemed to be winning this round, off of Garlan. "Garlan, don't beat up on Loras. Loras, don't beat up on Garlan. And no one is cutting anyone's hair."

Garlan scowled. "Why do you have to be so grown-up, Will? I liked you better when you weren't so serious all the time."

"He's always serious," said Loras, who seemed fully recovered from his beating and was making that silly face that he got when he was pleased with himself. "I don't think he's smiled once. In his life."

Willas seemed to consider that and let Loras go, seeming to have decided that his little brother was not going to attack anyone. "Maybe twice," he said, in utmost seriousness, and that got them all to laugh.

"I want a running game," complained Garlan. "And I don't want to be chasing, and Will goes too slow when he's chasing." Willas scowled, and Margaery sighed theatrically.

"Do you think you can argue somewhere else? I am trying to read."

"You're not reading," Loras said wisely. "You're looking at the pictures. I don't think they're fascinating, though."

"You don't think anything is exciting," Margaery said scathingly, "If it doesn't have blood and dead people and all those things in it."

"She has a point there," Willas said a little dryly, but she could see the little way his mouth twitched like he kind of wanted to smile. "I think that if we're going to play a game, we should respect our little sister's wishes-"

Garlan made a loud noise somewhat along the lines of 'thhhhbt,' and this time, it was Loras who punched him in the arm. "Be quiet! She's going to play with us anyway. Aren't you, Margaery?" Loras had the widest, prettiest eyes in the whole world, and he looked at her hopefully. Grumpily, she glanced at the book and then at the castle. Convents did sound terribly dull once she thought about it a little.

Before Margaery could tell him to go somewhere and play with knights, they heard someone singing...

"You hear that?" Willas questioned, surprised, turning his head, and looking over the big green garden of HighGarden, it was a faint noise, but they could hear someone singing.

"Over there!" Garlan pointed at someone sitting alone on a branch in the garden, Margaery looked at where her brother was pointing, squinting her eyes, but she could hardly make out the details. She was always baffled by how her brother could see so well.

"Where?!" Loras questioned, his hand over his eyes to block the sun and to see better.

Margaery was already walking towards the source of the voice, much to her brother's annoyance. Walking through the garden briefly reminded her of when she had been younger, playing hide and seek with her brothers. Birds chirping and trees with peaches all around her, the voice getting clearer and louder the closer she got.

Soon she was close enough to hear his singing, and she was baffled, making her stop on her track. Only now, she noticed that she was barefoot. Throughout her whole life, she had no shortage of singers. She had heard all kinds of singers, beautiful voices that could make maidens throw themselves at them. Some would even cry.

But this one had the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. It seemed the birds around the garden agreed with her; many of them were all around the singer, around the tree branches near him. Margaery couldn't see him; she was hiding behind a garden corridor that was made to look like a tunnel made of branches and leaves. Her back just barely touched the corridor garden. She didn't want to be seen, but his melodic voice was making her want to meet this singer; she was already thinking of someone handsome singing.

Listening closely, she recognized the song right away, it was Dornish's wife's song, a frown formed on her lips hearing the song, but she quickly smiled back. It was just a song, after all.

For a good minute, she listened to his singing, her head slowly swaying left and right. She had been so focused on listening to his song that she hadn't heard the footsteps behind her. "Sweet sister. I didn't know you were a spy," a voice spoke softly behind her, startling her; she quickly whirled around, only to be met with all three of her brothers standing right in front of her?!

"What?" Margaery demanded, barely keeping her voice down, not bothering to hide that she was annoyed and not noticing that the mystery singer had stopped singing.

"Perhaps you should become a spymaster if you're so good at spying!" Loras added, snickering, barely keeping his voice down. Willas rolled his eyes at his antics before focusing on his sister. His smile quickly disappeared as if it was never there.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't have run off like that," Willas spoke with a pointed look that was too familiar to anyone who knew the Queen of Thorns.

Margaery exhaled, exhausted by her brothers sometimes. "I want to hear him sing. Can't I enjoy some good music?" She questioned, crossing her arms, armed with her own pointed look and a snort that reminded her brothers of their grandmother.

Loras rolled his eyes playfully while Willas looked unaffected by her way of acting like their grandmother.

"There's nothing wrong with that lady Sister, but the king and the crown prince arrive a week later. We don't need rumors of you spying on some singer." Willas spoke bluntly like he always did. Sometimes it was appreciated, but mostly was something many found annoying, and not even members of his family were spared from his sharp tongue.

Margaery almost gasped, feeling as if someone had just slapped her in the face. She wasn't some maiden that would easily fall over some pretty voice. She was ready to counter him when he suddenly silenced her with a hand; his eyes looked over her shoulder instead of her.

"My lords!" Margaery pulled her brother's hand away quickly, turning around to face the singer. He was standing at the end of the corridor garden, looking amused with a raised eyebrow.

Looking at him, Margaery recognized him right away. She still remembered the face of the only son of Prince Oberyn. His name had been mentioned a few times since House Martell had arrived in Highgarden, not just by the small folk but by her parents as well. Margaery didn't know why they would mention him in whatever conversation they had. Every time she tried to listen, her grandmother would give her a stern look, basically telling her to walk away.

Looking at him from up close, she couldn't see anything close to Prince Oberyn, unlike him, who looked like a viper. His son seemed to have taken all his looks after his mother. If she didn't know any better, she would say he was a Northern, but his majestic purple eyes showed he wasn't from the North.

He was undoubtedly one of the most handsome young men she had seen, and he was pretty. Sharp cheekbones, sharp eyes like an eagle. His clothes made him look more like a highborn rather than a lowborn. Gaining back her composure, she cleared her throat, putting up a sweet smile.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, my lord. I was curious to hear your beautiful voice," she spoke sweetly; her voice and accent would make most men weak in their knees. Yet, Margaery noticed that he didn't as much as blink. He eyed her up and down, but not in the way she had seen almost all boys do.

Margaery wasn't stupid, she knew she was beautiful, and her smile was infectious, but the boy in front of her was looking at her, uninterested. He almost looked bored.

"I'm no Lord. My lady. Just call me Jon," Jon spoke with a light bow and a smile that Margaery could tell was a fake one. She briefly wondered how his genuine smile would look on his pretty face.

"We know who you are; your father is quite famous in the Reach!" Loras spoke accusingly with a grimace, steeping closer as his hand gripped the pummel of his Sword.

Margaery wanted to tell her brother to be kind to their guests when Jon spoke, not looking afraid of Loras, despite the latter being of much higher status than him.

"Indeed, my father's activities are well known in Westeros. Even his accidents," Jon said with a blank tone after a short pause. His words made it clear on what he was referring to.

Willas didn't look bothered by his choice of words, he simply nodded along, but Loras turned red from anger, the grip around the sword's hilt tightened, steeping forward menacingly.

"What did you say, bastard?" He shouted, now feeling furious that he thought he could just insult them like that. Not only that, but he was calling that an accident, everyone in The Reach knew it was no accident.

"There's no need for this, my lord. My father feels ashamed of that day..." "Loras, step down," Willas ordered sternly, interrupting Jon, looking at his brother with narrowed eyes. Loras made no move, still glaring at the Viper's son.

Tapping his crutch loudly against the ground. "Did you hear me? I won't repeat, little brother," Willas spoke slowly with a low tone right next to Loras, who gulped before letting go of his sword.

Willas gave Garlan a look, who nodded immediately before taking Loras away, despite the latter's protest. As soon as Loras was out of earshot, Willas turned to Jon.

"Forgive my brother, lord Jon. He speaks too much and says little. I hope you enjoy your time in Highgarden. Your voice is a good change compared to the donkeys we have here. I haven't heard anyone sing quite like you," Willas spoke, letting out a friendly chuckle at the end that Jon shared.

"Of course, my lord," Jon said, looking more relaxed at Margaery, who smiled sweetly at him before deciding to step into the conversation.

"You will enter the Tourney?" She questioned sweetly, her voice low and singing at the end. Again, Jon gave her a brief look, but his eyes didn't show lust or even linger in any part of her body, making Margaery mentally frown.

"Yes, my lady. I promised my little sister that I would crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty," Jon answered, this time with a genuine smile.

Margaery smiled back, seeing his genuine smile was much prettier, and knowing Jon cared for his sisters made her heart beat faster.

"I wish you good luck, my lord," Margaery said. Again, his eyes didn't show what she had expected. Not once.

"Thank you, my Lady. I will take my leave. My lord, my lady," he said respectfully, bowing his head before walking away, an aura of strength surrounding him, something Margaery hadn't seen in anyone else before.

She hated to admit that she was interested in him. Especially his voice, just remembering it, made her feel weak in her knees. She quickly dreamed of him singing for her in the banquet, winning the tourney, and naming her Queen of Love and Beauty, but she escaped her dreams when her brother cleared his throat and spoke.

"Stop daydreaming, sweet sister. Joffrey Baratheon will arrive soon. You know our grandmother won't be pleased if she heard that you have been dreaming of Prince Oberyn's son." Willas warned her with a grimace. Like every other Kingdom of Westeros, perhaps except The North, they had heard of Joffrey's questionable activities with the servants.

Willas was against whatever his grandmother and parents had planned. He didn't want to sell his sister like a cow to the highest bidder; so the rest of the family could thrive and grow strong. Because of the rumors, he had personally hired a few men to 'test' the prince and to see with his own eyes if the rumors and information from the spies were exaggerated.

Margaery almost rolled her eyes, hearing Willas's words. She quickly decided to go back inside and read the book she had been reading. Perhaps tonight, she would be lucky.

Note: The endgame Pairing of this fic is Jon/Arianne/Dany, but let me know if you think there should be any other women that should be with Jon.

Falia Flowers

Dacey Mormont

Val

Margaery Tyrell

Other?