Chapter 43

Being able to wake up with Arya at his side had made Steffon feel better than he had in a long time, even with the still-stinging wound in his shoulder. He winced slightly as he sat up in the bed; it was going to cause him problems for a while yet but hopefully the Maester would judge him fit to return to the mainland.

"Morning, Stag Boy." He heard Arya say. He smiled gently as she sat up. "Still hurts?" She asked, nodding at his shoulder.

"Not as much as it did." He said, trying to rotate it slightly and clenching his teeth as a bolt of pain shot straight through him.

"I imagine not having a sword in it helps."

"It does help Arya, thank you for the concern." He deadpanned. Arya laughed slightly. She had obviously missed this side of him. Still, that didn't change the fact he'd treated her horribly, and he still didn't deserve here. Seven Hells, he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve this girl. "Arya, I-"

"Stop." She cut him off. "I already know what you're going to say. You don't feel worthy of me."

"Because I'm not." He mumbled.

"Do I have to slap you again, you idiot?" She asked, her voice getting a bit sterner. "We both said things we didn't mean, Steffon."

"Still, I shouldn't have said it."

"Steffon, shut up." She said, in a way that almost seemed like a command. Suddenly, Arya gently grabbed Steffon by the shoulder and pushed him back down onto the bed before climbing on top of his waist. She then grabbed both of his cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eye. "We both made mistakes. Nobody is perfect. What's happened has happened. What matters now is what we do from now on." She then bent down, resting her forehead on his."And I want to marry you."

"I want to marry you as well." He said. They kissed, but what was meant to be a brief peck turned into a deep, long kiss as the two moulded their lips together. He'd missed this as well. He'd missed everything about her, and he was too caught up in himself to take a step back and realise that she was sharing the same burdens he was. They eventually broke apart, both of them smiling widely.

"I missed that." She said, blushing heavily.

"So did I." Steffon replied. He knew his face would be just as red, judging from the burning feeling on his cheeks. The intensity grew once his eyes began to glide down to below Arya's neckline. "Er…"

"What?" Arya asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Arya… your…" Steffon's words trailed off, to the point the only thing he could do was point with his finger.

Arya looked down and realized that the knot keeping her shirt closed had been untied, exposing a good portion of her chest. She let out a slight gasp, grabbing both sides of her shirt and closing it shut tightly against her body, her own face turning bright pink as a result. She instantly got off Steffon, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She then glanced over at Steffon with a look of warning.

"You will say nothing about this. Clear?" She asked.

Steffon gave a stiff nod. "Clear."

After a moment of awkward silence, the two of them finally let out a light chuckle, just enjoying each other's company. "C'mon, we'd best get moving. The Maester said he wants to assess you first thing." Arya threw back the covers and a short while later, the two of them were dressed and heading to the Maester's laboratory. At least the man had managed to keep him alive; Steffon supposed he should hear him out just because of that.

The Maester arrived shortly after. Steffon was able to get his first good look at the man. He was short, with a slight paunch and looked to be in his late 50s. Younger than most castle Maesters, he supposed. "Thank you for keeping me alive, Maester." He said.

"It is my duty, Your Grace. I serve the lord of this castle, and he has commanded me to ensure you are healthy again." He said before beginning the examination. Thankfully he didn't poke around Steffon's wound too much, merely commenting that it was healing up okay and that he should persist with changing the bandages.

"Can I return to the mainland and my host then?" Steffon asked.

"You may, Your Grace, but you must avoid fighting for some time. Even if by some miracle you survive, your shoulder will not recover." He warned.

"Alright. Thank you." He said as he and Arya left the room. "Back to the mainland then wolf girl."

"Indeed, stag boy."

The arrival of the Tyrells was the only thing anyone in King's Landing had been talking about for days, and their arrival was filled with as much fanfare as possible. Their rose sigil had been plastered over nearly all of King's landing along with the Lannister lion. Sansa dared to hope that her torment at Joffrey's hands was finally beginning to come to an end. Of course, there was still the matter of Littlefinger . . . he'd offered to help her, but Shae was skeptical.

"I still don't believe it." Shae said, brushing Sansa's hair.

"It's true. He didn't want anything. He just wanted to help me because he loved my mother." Sansa replied.

"Men only want one thing from a pretty girl."

"Littlefinger's not in love with me Shae, that's absurd."

"Love is not the thing he wants."

That comment made Sansa shiver. "He's too old."

"They never see it that way." She said, helping Sansa into her dress. This was playing on Sansa's mind a lot. What if Shae was right? What if Littlefinger really did have an ulterior motive? If there was one thing she'd learnt while being in King's Landing, it's that everyone had an ulterior motive. She'd learnt quickly not to trust anyone in the city, much as she hated it. She sighed. Things were simpler in the North. Everyone looked out for each other, and-

"Ser Loras Tyrell, m'lady." The room guard said. Why is Loras Tyrell visiting me? She wondered. She remembered him from the tourney in King's Landing; he had been so handsome, so perfect. The very image of a true knight.

"Send him in." She replied. Ser Loras entered a moment later, looking as perfect as ever.

"Lady Sansa." He greeted, bowing his head.

"Ser Loras." She replied as Shae shuffled out of the room.

"My sister invites you to take the air with her and our grandmother, the Lady Olenna, in the gardens. May I escort you?" He asked with impeccable politeness.

"You may, Ser Loras." She smiled and took his arms as she was led out. Things were strangely peaceful today, as if a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Granted, she was still a hostage, but perhaps Joffrey wouldn't target her anymore.

"You probably don't remember, Ser Loras," She began, "But we first met at the Hand's tourney. You gave me your favour. A red rose." She smiled.

"Of course I did." Loras smiled back. "If I may, Lady Sansa, I believe you grow more beautiful every day."

Sansa blushed heavily. "You are too kind, Ser Loras."

They soon arrived at where the Tyrell household had established themselves in the gardens; a pretty little place with a view out over the sea. Loras handed her over to Margaery and the two made their way to a small patio where a very old woman was sitting, surrounded by handmaids.

"Lady Sansa, it is my honour to present my grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns."

"Kiss me, child." Olenna said, holding her hand out. Sansa pressed a light kiss to it, as was customary. She had heard stories about Olenna Tyrell, a woman with a tongue as sharp as Valyrian steel, and not one to suffer fools lightly. "It is good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens." Her face turned sympathetic. "We are sorry for your losses."

"And I am sorry for yours." Sansa blurted out without thinking. Damn, she needed to be more careful than that! "Your family supported Lord Renly, and-"

"Oh enough of that preener." Olenna said. "Yes he knew how to smile and dress and this somehow gave him the notion that he should be king."

"Grandmother!" Margaery said, she and Sansa both suppressing a giggle. "Father liked him and so did Loras."

"Loras is young and good at knocking men off horses with a stick. That does not make him wise. As for your fathead father-"

"Grandmother, what will Lady Sansa think of us?" Margaery chided. Sansa's attempt to suppress a giggle failed this time.

"She might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at any rate." She said before turning to Sansa. "It was treason, I warned them. Robert has three sons, only one of which has the brains of a ruler. How could Renly possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair?" She shook her head in disgust. "But once the cow's been milked, there's no squirting the cream back up her udders, so we're here to see things through. Will you join us for lemon cakes, dear?"

Sansa overcame both her slight revulsion and urge to laugh to answer, which was no small effort. "Lemon cakes are my favourite."

"So we've been told." Olenna looked past them to a servant. "Do you intend to starve us to death or are you going to bring the food?" She turned back to the two girls. "Come, Sansa, sit with me, I'm much less boring than the rest." They made their way to a table away from the others, accompanied by Olenna delivering another skilfully-crafted insult, this time about her son Mace and her own late husband Luthor. The woman did certainly live up to her reputation as the Queen of Thorns; that much was certain.

"Now, child, I want you to tell us the truth about Joffrey." Olenna asked her.

Sansa went pale.

"We've heard some troubling rumours. Has this boy mistreated you?" She asked. Sansa looked down, trying to formulate a response, She'd already slipped up once; she couldn't afford to again.

"King Joffrey is fair and handsome and . . . and as brave as a lion."She said with feigned affection that she knew instantly both Olenna and Margaery had seen through.

"Yes, yes, all Lannisters are lions." Olenna said boredly. "And the King's brother is a savage brute who rapes your sister every night." Her voice was dripping heavy with sarcasm. "But how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart and gentle hand?"

"I'm to be his queen." Margaery reminded her. "I only wish to know the truth."

Olenna demanded cheese from a servant before turning back to Sansa, speaking gently. "No harm will come to you, you have my word. You may speak openly."

Sansa looked down, still trying to formulate a response. She looked back up. "He's a monster." She said quietly. She dared not say anymore, but she could almost sense the worried looks that Margaery and Olenna were sending each other.

They'd had two new arrivals since they'd left the Wolfswood in the form of Jojen and Meera Reed; the children of Lord Howland of Greywater Watch. Howland had been a dear friend of Bran's father, and he'd decided they could trust them based on that.

Bran glanced over at Myrcella. The girl was obviously unused to the rough travel, and had to be sore all over. Nonetheless, she didn't complain even once. It was hard not to admire her determination to keep going, even if they were no longer heading for Last Hearth and the Umbers, where she might've been more comfortable.

At least Jojen was proving knowledgeable about the three-eyed raven. He was able to wring some answers out of him. "Does the raven have anything to do with warging?" He asked. By now he'd learnt that warging involved seeing the world from an animal's eyes, quite literally, in fact.

"No." Jojen answered. "The raven is something deeper. The raven brings the sight."

"Seeing things that haven't happened yet?"

"Or things happening right now a thousand miles away, or happened before you were born." Jojen answered. That much made sense, Bran gathered.

"You have the sight too?" Bran asked. The only way Jojen could know all this was if he had it as well, or had simply read long enough to know what it was all about. Bran dismissed the second part quickly and the conversation moved to their fathers. He was taken aback when he heard that Lord Howland had cried upon hearing of his father's death; he didn't know that they were that close.

Myrcella was walking alongside them now. "Are you okay, Myrcella?" Bran asked.

"I'm not dead yet, if that's what you mean." She said, causing both to let out a slight chuckle. "It's harder than I'm used to."

"You're a lot harder than I thought." Osha said.

"Not sure whether that's a compliment or not." Myrcella laughed. She was still getting used to her shorter hair, even if it made her prettier in Bran's eyes. "Where are we headed?"

"I'm not sure at the moment." Bran confided. "I still think we should head to Last Hearth, but . . ." he trailed off, knowing of Jojen's objections to it.

"I'm not sure I can take much more of this." Myrcella said.

"You'll be alright, little lady. I've got your back." Osha said. At least she was taking care of her somewhat, Bran mused. "We should rest up here for a while. Give her a chance to recover a little."

"We must press on." Jojen disagreed.

"Jojen, look at her." Meera said. "She's exhausted. At least for an hour, we need to rest. It's no use collapsing from exhaustion." She continued.

"Hodor?"

"Yes, we will stop." Bran said.

"Hodor."

That was the last of it. Jojen, seeing he was outvoted, sighed and consented to resting for a while so they could gather themselves. Myrcella looked particularly grateful for the opportunity, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.