Chapter Text
292 AC – The first full moon: Olenna
Olenna opened her eyes.
For one brief, awful, moment, she expected to see Jaime Lannister in front of her. Then she came to her senses; she could feel that she was in a bed. Her feather bed, judging by the softness of the mattress underneath her. Jaime Lannister would never have put her in her bed, not after what she had told him minutes before.
Had the poison not worked properly?
She sat up, ignoring the gentle protesting of her joints, and looked around the room she was in. The sun hadn’t yet risen but the room was bathed in an early morning glow that indicated that within a matter of minutes the sun would be rising over the horizon. She cast her eyes over the room; the state of it would tell her what had happened. An enemy would have dumped her in her ransacked room and an ally would have seen to her room be righted. The quick skim of the room and the discovery that not a single piece of furniture was upended told her that it was an ally she had to thank. Good. Queen Daenerys must have arrived in time.
She coughed quietly. Her eyes drifted to the side of her bed in the hopes of finding a nightstand and pitcher of water but instead she found a small piece of cloth decorated with a golden rose on a green field. God, she hated roses. Growing Strong. House Tyrell wasn’t growing strong; she was the last one. All her children were dead. All her grandchildren were dead. Her eyes fixed on the piece of cloth, and she resisted the urge to crumple it and toss it across the room. She never wanted to see another bloody rose as long as she lived – although given her age it probably wouldn’t be that long anyway. She re-focussed on the cloth. The rose was ugly and misshapen; no master seamstress would have created what was, quite frankly, a disgraceful attempt at sewing. The tension around the stitching was too tight which had pulled the cloth up in places and meant it wasn’t lying flat on the nightstand, and there was an unevenness in the pattern that suggested the maker had not been confident in their skills and so had paused and pulled stitches out frequently in an attempt to re-work particular areas.
She paused. Margaery had gifted her a handkerchief with these exact same imperfections for her 60th name-day. Margaery had still been a child; her skills with the needle had not come to fruition until years later. Sewing was one of the few things her granddaughter had not been able to master easily, much to her never-ending frustration. The handkerchief had been the least elaborate and, if she was honest, the least attractive of all the sewn golden rose items she had received that day. But she had treasured it for years until she had lost it in Kings Landing shortly after Margaery’s arrest by the Faith Militant.
I lost it.
She peered harder around the room. It was her room; there was no doubt about that. Her dresser was exactly where she wanted it – opposite the window so that she had the best possible sunlight on her when her servants were putting on her final touches for the day ahead. Alerie had spluttered for years over the position as she had felt it made the room look uninviting with too many dark items to one side. Olenna had, naturally, won the debate given that it was her room and not Alerie’s. Next to it was her camphor wood chest that contained additional blankets for any cold winter nights. Underneath the window was her chaise longue. She paused. Curled up, buried beneath the blankets was a tiny figure – easily missed during her first inspection of the room. Brown curly hair was peeking out from underneath the blankets which were rising and falling gently in a manner that suggested whoever was underneath was sleeping.
Olenna coughed more deliberately this time.
The head of brown hair jerked, then there was a very brief pause before the head and rest of the body emerged from underneath the blankets. Then a small girl was launching herself across the bedroom in short little strides yelling “Grandmother!” and the next thing Olenna knew small pudgy arms were wrapping themselves around her neck, a head buried itself into her shoulder and tears began to soak through whatever she was wearing onto her skin. Olenna made to push whoever this girl was out of her arms and the girls head moved against her shoulder in protest and her nose was suddenly assaulted by the smell of Lavender. Lavender.
Olenna froze. Whoever this girl was, someone was playing a monumentally cruel trick on her. She sounded like Margaery, she looked – as far as Olenna had been able to see whilst the girl ran at her full tilt – like Margaery and she even smelled like her. Everything in Highgarden had always smelt like roses, but Margaery – her Margaery – had always smelt like the Lavender bushes that lined the Rose Road.
“I was so worried Grandmother! Mother said you should wake up, but you kept sleeping. I was so worried,” a tiny voice squeaked out by her ear. Olenna moved her hands as though to push the girl away, but the girl finally pulled back to sit – rather uncomfortably – in Olenna’s lap and gaze at her with big brown eyes. Margaery’s eyes. Before Olenna could do anything more than gaze blankly into the familiar eyes the little girl pressed on, “father has been so worried too. I heard him saying to mother that he couldn’t bear to lose you so soon after nearly losing Willas!”
Olenna flinched.
“You must be hungry. I will get you some food. I won’t tell father you’re awake yet – he’ll fuss, and you must be so tired, Grandmother,” the girl said again and, before Olenna could even twitch, the girl was off her lap and out the door.
Well. That was unexpected.
The pattering of feet running down the corridor faded away and Olenna tried to quickly pull herself together. What on earth was going on? Queen Daenerys would never have played such a trick on her. Jaime Lannister would never have played a cruel trick either; Cersei might have, but he would never have gone along with it. He was a fool, but not heartless. Even after what Olenna had told him earlier, she doubted he was capable of such cruelty.
Someone else then. That still didn’t explain her room or the handkerchief. Her room might have been righted as part of the joke…but that did not explain the handkerchief. Nothing could explain the handkerchief. She had never told anyone how much that handkerchief had meant to her, not even Margaery. A regular one with perfect stitching might be explained away, but one with the same imperfections as the one she had treasured for years? No. That could not easily be explained away. So, if the only two people who had the resources and ability to play such a trick wouldn’t or couldn’t have, there was only one possible conclusion. She was back. That or this was a cruel dream. But Olenna couldn’t remember any of her dreams ever having smells.
She made her mind up. She would act as normally as possible. She resisted the urge to snort; she had been plotting the downfall of House Lannister so long she couldn’t even remember what normal was. If this was a dream, it didn’t matter what she did…but if she was back and she acted anything less than herself then that would cause problems. She would play it safe, for now. Then, once she had irrefutable proof that she was back she would set to work. For now though, she wasn’t going to miss the chance – if this was a dream – to have a final chance of happiness and peace.
“Grandmother!”
Olenna was pulled out of her musings by the return of Margaery – her brilliant, beautiful, brave Margaery – who was stood beside her bed with a tall, beautiful blonde-haired woman who carried a tray. Alerie.
Olenna did not freeze this time and when Margaery clambered into bed with her, she pulled her closer and wrapped her arms tightly around her. Once her arms were around Margaery – because she really did smell like Margaery and Olenna could feel her tiny chest rising and falling against where it was pressed up against her - she tightened her grip and didn’t let her go for what felt like hours. Her eyes closed and she breathed in.
I pray this is not a dream. The Gods cannot be so cruel.
The bed dipped next to her. She heard the soft chinking of the tray being set down and then a hand gently rested on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked at Alerie who gave her a cautious smile – touching was, after all, not something Olenna would have typically tolerated from anyone. Olenna gently pushed Margaery back until she as sitting next to her on the bed and so there was space for Alerie to sit down.
Alerie removed her hand from Olenna’s shoulder and scooted slightly closer to Margaery, pulling at her until Margaery was nestled in her arms. Olenna took a moment to savour the image they presented. She had never been close to Alerie, but she had liked her and, although she would never have admitted it, respected the woman who had birthed four healthy, intelligent, children and made her son so happy.
My grandchildren who died. My son who died.
Olenna shook her head to clear her thoughts and refocussed her attention on Alerie and Margaery. Margaery’s face was streaked with tears and Alerie looked equal parts relieved and worried.
“You had us worried, Olenna. Margaery has barely left your side. She’s been bringing you meals every day in the hope that the smell of your favourite foods would hasten your recovery. I hope you are feeling better,” Alerie said, smiling gently at her.
Olenna adjusted herself so she was perched more upright in the bed and against the pillows. She opened her mouth but instead of speaking coughed heavily. Alerie was there in an instant pressing a glass of water into her hand. Olenna took a long drink and then rasped out, what seemed to be the most appropriate question, “what happened? I don’t remember.”
“We were standing on the balcony overlooking the sparing courtyard watching Loras and Garlan when you fainted. It was so sudden no one could catch you and you hit your head on the wall when you fell. You’ve been unconscious for just over a week. Maester Lomys said there was no apparent reason for your fainting, and you should wake up, but you kept sleeping. We’ve all been so worried,” Alerie said.
Olenna nodded.
Alerie stared at her expectantly.
“I think I might eat and then try to get a bit more sleep,” she said to Alerie and by extension to Margaery who was still gazing worriedly at her. She watched as Alerie opened her mouth, presumably to say she ought to at least stay awake to see Maester Lomys, because that was exactly what Alerie would say, and quickly got out a curt, “I am fine,” before Alerie could mother her.
For once, Olenna was intensely grateful for Alerie’s docility and the fact it was her, and not Mace, who had come with Margaery. Gods if Mace had come up, he wouldn’t have ever left her side again. He would have glued himself to her like a leech.
Alerie closed her mouth and nodded, “come Margaery, let’s go and tell your father the good news.” She stood up and gently pulled Margaery off the bed and towards the door.
Alerie managed to get slightly less than half-way to the door before Margaery had ripped her hand free and run back to the bed, “I want to stay with Grandmother.” She sat resolutely down on the bed in the same position she had just been removed from and crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant fashion.
Olenna hid a smile; if Margaery hadn’t run back, she would have asked that Margaery stay regardless.
Alerie cast a cautious glance at Olenna who nodded once – because if this was a dream it was Margaery who Olenna wanted to spend time with, despite the fact she was exhausted, and if it wasn’t then she would never say no to Margaery again - before Alerie turned around to open the door and leave the room.
Olenna refocussed her gaze at Margaery who was staring resolutely at her, arms still crossed. “I meant what I said, my dear. I am still tired. I am afraid I will not be good company and I will likely fall asleep shortly so after that please do not feel forced to stay.”
“I will stay. If you fall asleep, I will ask a servant to bring my sewing and I will stay until you wake up again,” Margaery stated in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. She gave Olenna a hard stare, making her position quite clear. For one, brief, moment Olenna felt a surge of pride in Margaery who was just a fiery as she remembered. Then Margaery’s eyes drifted to the tray of food and, specifically to the handkerchief underneath, and the spell was broken.
That was that then.
Olenna turned her attention to the tray next to the bed which contained fruits and various bite-sized types of bread. She picked up a piece of bread that contained small pieces of dried fruit and popped it in her mouth. Margaery did likewise, clearly having been waiting for Olenna to eat before she dived in. They ate in comfortable silence.
When the food was finally gone and Olenna was chewing the final piece of strawberry, Margaery turned to her, clearly unable to hold herself back from commenting any longer, and said, “you kept my handkerchief.”
Olenna swallowed the last of the strawberry she had been carefully masticating in her mouth to stop herself from saying anything foolish and said, “why would I not?”
Margaery looked down at her hands and, instantly, Olenna was struck by the realisation that this was not her Margaery. Her Margaery was confident and brave, and a woman flowered. This Margaery was still a child, and although she had perfectly captured the stubbornness and fire than her Margaery had possessed, she was not her and had all the insecurities of a young girl who still required and yearned for reassurance.
I pray this is not a dream and I can have my time again. I would not push her to be Queen, I would see her happy.
A hand tentatively touched her arm and Olenna jerked back into the present. Margaery was blinking worriedly at her.
“You did not believe I would keep the handkerchief you made me because it is not as good as the others I received?” She said in a soft, coaxing voice.
Margaery cast her eyes back down to her lap and nodded once.
“Oh, my sweet child. You are correct that it is not as good as the others,” Olenna began and even as she got halfway through her sentence, she realised she was not going about this the right way as Margaery’s shoulders began the hunch in. She paused, even if this did turn out to be a dream, she had no desire to be hurtful. She took a deep breath before continuing, “I will never lie to you, Margaery, not about anything big and not about anything small. This handkerchief is not as good as the others. But you are young, just beginning and still learning.” She reached out to pick up the handkerchief that was partly trapped under the tray and gave it a gently tug. There was a red stain, presumably juice from the strawberries, on it. With her other hand she lifted Margaery’s chin until she was looking at the handkerchief that Olenna was cradling in her lap. “When I look at this, I see the work of child who desperately wanted to create something, by herself, for her grandmother, even if she knew that her creation would not be as good as other peoples. I see that child’s passion. I see that child’s determination. I see that child’s love for me. Why would I ever throw that away? This is the first name day present you have ever given me that was not bought or chosen by your parents. This gift is from you. It was created by you, and you alone, for me. I will cherish this until my dying day.” You will never know how much.
It was clearly the right thing to say because Olenna had barely finished speaking before her arms were full of Margaery again. Margaery’s head was tucked into her chest, and she was shaking with sobs, “I love you grandmother.”
“I love you too.”
I am so sorry, for everything. If this isn’t a cruel dream, I will do everything differently. I promise. I swear it upon the Gods.
292 AC – The second full moon.
By the time the first full moon drew to a close, Olenna had come to the conclusion that she was definitely not in a dream. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to come to this conclusion. She had recognised that she was probably being a bit silly in assuming there was any remote possibility that a dream could last this long. But was it also not silly to assume she could have her time again? So, a moon had passed before Olenna Tyrell really began to be herself again. A moon in which she had drifted around Highgarden spending every waking second with Mace- who had looked worriedly at her when she had pulled him into a hug the day after she ‘woke up’ – and her grandchildren – who revelled in having her unfettered attention. She had even sent for Mina and Janna and spent hours basking in their company and enjoying the gentle jibes they sent at each other.
The arrival of the second moon since Olenna had ‘woken up’ heralded, the next day, the arrival of a raven from Winterfell announcing the birth of Rickon Stark the third son of Ned and Catelyn Stark. It wasn’t simply that which dragged Olenna back down to earth with a bump, it was the letter itself. She could remember receiving the same letter years before and, in that letter, like this one, someone had smudged the ink, so Ned Stark’s sons name did not read ‘Rickon’ but instead ‘Roken’.
Olenna had spent a moon with her family, ignoring the outside world. No longer. If Rickon Stark – and she was sure it was Rickon Stark because the timings fit even if the letter meant his name was easily mistaken for ‘Roken’ – had been born, then that meant she had six years. Six years before Lord Ned Stark went south and doomed them all. Six years to get a plan together keep her family alive. She had smiled to herself when the realisation had hit her that she had six years. She didn’t need six years; she didn’t even need six moons.
Olenna would not gamble on her family’s future. She would not make the same mistakes again. She would act and she would make sure family grew strong and, above all, survived.
The day after the raven bearing the news from Winterfell arrived, Olenna sequestered herself in her solar and did not come out all day. Her solar was just how she remembered it before she had become that bit too frail to climb the stairs. It was in the tallest tower in Highgarden and bright given the numerous windows providing unincumbered views of the castle, grounds, village and rolling hills beyond. She had picked this room, years prior, deliberately. There were eight different staircases leading up to this room, so you had to be really committed to speaking to her to bother to climb all the way up.
She took all her meals in the room that day and didn’t even lift her head to scold the servants when the chicken soup at lunch arrived cold. She once would have, but not now.
When Mace – well-meaning but oafish Mace – knocked when the evening meal was ready and poked his head around the door to express mild concern that his mother, who had spent the last moon ignoring all politics and governance had suddenly demanded to read every single scroll that had been received so far that year, and interrogated her over whether she was okay, she had managed a sharp, “yes, now go away,” and went back to the notes in front of her.
When Mace finally shut the door and left several minutes later, after many more attempts at fussing, she stood up and stretched and walked over to the window. She gazed out at Highgarden at the labyrinth of hedges and beyond.
As of today, everything was the same as it was before down to that bloody splotch on the birth announcement of Rickon Stark. That, presumably, meant that King Robert had no legitimate heirs. It meant that in six years Ned Stark would be dead and Robb Stark would be King in the North. It meant that Daenerys Targaryen would, eventually, have dragons. It meant if her family continued its current path that her children and grandchildren would be dead within ten years and House Tyrell would be effectively extinct. It meant the extinction of other Great Houses; Baratheon and Martell amongst them. It meant war was coming. People rarely had weeks to prepare for war. Olenna had six years and she was damned if she wasn’t going to be on the right side this time.
Eyes fixed resolutely on the land outside Highgarden, Olenna considered her next problem. She had died in 304 AC; autumn had been announced in 299 AC and winter had only been announced in 303 AC. This summer was already three years long and autumn not arriving until 299 AC meant that, in a best-case scenario, winter was going to be about ten years along. Olenna would be preparing for a worst-case scenario. She was not going to survive the Game of Thrones and see House Tyrell thrive only to have them all killed off by the bloody weather.
She flexed her hand and mentally went back through her notes. She had spent all day making copious notes on everything she could remember; the big and the small. She had the dates that Robert Baratheon would ride North and ask Ned Stark to be his Hand and she also had the dates when Jon Snow would let the Wildlings through the Wall. She paused; the situation at the Wall was not really her concern although generations of Starks had manned the Wall and, despite being a bastard, Jon Snow was a Stark. A Stark that had managed to touch a dragon. From what Queen Daenerys had said none of her children had liked anyone, Drogon least of all. It was all very strange. Nearly as strange as his rather outlandish claims that the White Walkers existed. Whilst not her most urgent priority, Olenna resolved herself to pay more attention to the goings on in the North and what Jon Snow was up to. Ned Stark’s children had always seemed rather intelligent - Robb had been a competent commander of his forces and Sansa had outlived nearly everyone – Olenna found it hard to be believe that Jon Snow would have been the one exception to that rule and been insane, or deluded, enough to make up ridiculous stories.
So, her decision was made.
Olenna Tyrell would save her family and, at the same time to prevent herself slowly going insane with all her political manoeuvring – because she was no fool, what she was planning would take all her skills and likely result in an earlier than planned demise if only through sheer exhaustion– she would also dig into the goings on at the Wall and Jon Snow. Even if nothing came of it, and the boy did turn out to be a lunatic, it would break up the monotony of playing the Game of Thrones.
Most importantly, she would make sure her son knew that she loved him, and her grandchildren made matches that resulted in happiness and above all ensured their survival. She had been remiss to not treat Mace better. An idiot he might be, but he was her son and family meant everything to Olenna Tyrell. This time, she would not throw Margaery to the lions. Margaery would make her own decisions on who she married although, of course, Olenna would ensure that the decision did not result in suffering or death. Margaery had already begun to express dreams of marrying a valiant prince and Olenna would quickly be nipping them in the bud. She needed to ensure those dreams did not go with her as Margaery left childhood. Loras would not be going anywhere near House Baratheon. Willas would find the right match; someone who respected him for what he was, a cripple who would never crown them Queen of Love and Beauty but who would care for them, cherish them and ensure any children they had were loved beyond question. Garlan’s match had always been a love match and she saw no reason to meddle in his affairs this time around. Everything that posed a risk to House Tyrell would be dealt with.
Olenna moved back to her desk and began to pen her letters. The letters had to be perfect, and she was determined to make clear that she would be an active part in deciding the future of the Reach whilst ensuring she did not undermine Mace. He might not have her head for negotiations, but he tried and so she would do her best to involve him. She would be gone one day, and he would need to learn to rule properly – undermining him now was not going to do him any favours. Finding the balance in her words would be crucial.
She did not leave her desk and head to her bedroom until the sun was beginning to rise in the sky the next morning.
Interlude
To Lord Eddard Stark
Lord of Winterfell
Warden of the North
I would like to offer my congratulations, alongside those of my son and family, on the birth of your third son. I hope the birth was not too difficult on your wife, Lady Catelyn.
I also offer my apologies for not writing before to congratulate you on the birth of your Heir, Lord Robb Stark, your daughters the Ladies Sansa Stark and Arya Stark and your second son, Brandon Stark. I have four grandchildren in Highgarden with me and I must confess watching them grow up has been my priority over the last few years, so once again I offer my apologies for my lapse in manners.
You are known as being an honest and straightforward man, so I will not beat around the bush. Our Maester has informed my son and I that, although we are in our third year of summer, we can expect several more years of summer ahead of us. A long summer is always followed by an equally long winter.
Your House words seem particularly apt; Winter is Coming.
A long winter means that the north will need the south; you will need our grain. I know you only by reputation but if you are anything like your father you will already be preparing for a long winter and beginning the process of storing extra supplies in the hopes that you do not need to buy too many extra resources from the south over winter at inflated prices. That means that you will need to begin rationing food long before winter approaches. What you may not have considered is that when winter comes, the south will need the north. We will need your furs, your lumber from the vast woods in the North, and your knowledge of how to survive and thrive in a freezing and desolate climate for years on end.
My son and I have discussed our conversation with the Maester at length and my son proposes that, rather than waiting for winter to arrive, we work together now. He has asked that I write to you to make the arrangements whilst he contacts the Lords of the Reach and seeks their best estimates on what they will need to meet the coming winter head so that we are fully prepared for our negotiations should you agree to meet with us.
If you agree, when you write back, please let me know when we should arrive at Winterfell. I want to assure you that, despite our reputation, the Tyrells are not high maintenance. We will travel to Kings Landing and from there to White Harbour on one ship. My son and I will travel with my granddaughter the Lady Margaery. She cannot bare to be left behind and has pleaded with me to see more of the world often enough that I cannot bring myself to say no. You have children her age, I am sure you understand. Children are precious, our future, and so I ask that you indulge an old woman.
Finally, I would also ask that you include in your letter a note of any supplies that the Wall might need; Highgarden has not fulfilled its obligation to the Wall for many years and my son and I would see that rectified. This will be regardless of whether you will host us in Winterfell.
We hope to hear from you shortly,
Lady Olenna Tyrell
**
To Lady Olenna Tyrell,
Thank you for your letter. I hope you do not mind but I have written to Lord Wyman Manderly to ask, not only, that he provide you an escort from White Harbour to Winterfell but that he also joins our discussions. As I am sure you are aware White Harbour is the heart of our northern trade routes and it is only proper that he attends. That is all to say that I would be delighted to receive your son, you, and your granddaughter at Winterfell.
I do not plan on travelling outside of Winterfell, save for any unexpected emergencies, for the foreseeable future. My Maester estimates you should receive this scroll by the end of the second moon of this year. I shall, therefore, expect your delegation any time after the sixth new moon. Lord Manderly will write to me once you arrive in White Harbour so that we can prepare for your arrival.
The Night’s Watch would be grateful for any supplies that you might be able to send. They require both men to man the wall and resources.
I hope your journey is uneventful,
Lord Eddard Stark
**
To Lord Wyman Manderly
Lord of White Harbour
The Lady Olenna Tyrell and her family plan to travel North to discuss cooperation ahead of the coming winter. They will travel from Highgarden to Kings Landing and up to White Harbour. I estimate they will arrive around the sixth new moon.
I would be grateful if you could not only provide her and the family with an escort – she plans to travel light – but that you also attend the negotiations. I understand you may have other commitments so, if you are unable to attend, I would have any representative of House Manderly that you see fit to join me at the table.
There is no need to reply to this letter.
I hope to see you shortly,
Lord Eddard Stark
**
To Lord Eddard Stark,
The Lady Olenna Tyrell and her family arrived in White Harbour safely a few days before the sixth new moon. With her family sailed sixteen ships carrying supplies that will head on to the Wall after we depart. I have already made clear to her how much the Watch will value the supplies including the Arbor gold and salted meats.
She is quite the woman and so we will be leaving tomorrow - the day after her arrival– as she is keen to get to Winterfell. I should warn you that her son, Lord Mace, clearly defers to her and so you should not be surprised if she leads the negotiations.
We will be travelling fast. Do not be surprised if we are there quickly.
Your friend,
Lord Wyman Manderly