Working her way into Margaery's confidences had yielded little of any worth, though at least Arianne could comfort herself with the fact that it had not cost her much.
But if she could somehow catch him unawares, without any pretence to slow her way...
...
"If that is all, my lords, I would put an end to this meeting of the small council." The king rose from his seat when nobody objected. "You are all dismissed."
All around, the lords stood from their seats and shuffled away. Arianne stood when they did, then lingered. Thus far she had been little more than an observer in small council sessions, swallowing her instincts. Watching, learning, waiting - just as Oberyn had instructed. But her patience had withered as the weeks had passed.
"Is there anything you'd like to discuss, princess?" the king asked, quirking a lone eyebrow. "Given you have decided to stay in spite my dismissal?"
"I merely wished to inquire after your health, Your Grace," Arianne tactfully answered.
The king gestured to his young face, forcing a smile. "Just a little accident in the yard is all. I got a tad too enthusiastic. Worry not, princess, I've been chastised aplenty for my carelessness already."
Arianne shook her head, affecting sincerity and letting the seductive pretence drop, judging it the best path forwards. "Besides the bloody lips and bruises, I mean. Surely I can't be the only one to notice your eyes." A sudden surge of curiosity forced the question to her lips. "Is it truly such a burden? Ruling?"
The king snorted. "I imagine governing just one loyal kingdom would be easier than governing seven unruly ones. Don't worry, princess. It likely won't be so bad for you when you inherit. Though I can't help but think that a man like Doran makes it look easy."
"My father spends most his days doing nothing," Arianne complained, sighting an opportunity to arouse sympathy. "Consumed by gout. And that's assuming I inherit at all. If he meant to make me Princess of Dorne he would not have sent me here."
Tommen laughed. "Don't mistake his patience for indolence, princess. It is an easy mistake to make. But your father is less a cripple and more a coiled serpent, waiting to strike. And you shouldn't worry about your inheritance. Though I have it on good authority that your father means for you to be heir, it is best not to contemplate one's entitlements overmuch. The gods are fickle and play with us like toys. A simple turn of fate can rip your rights away from you without so much as a parting farewell."
"Then why work so much? Why not enjoy your time here whilst you can? Before the gods take you?"
Tommen seemed at first puzzled by the question, as though the answer was so obvious it did not need explanation, then assented to her inquiry with a shrug. "My father neglected his duties, and I don't think I have to tell you what happened next. A resentful wife, a mad child, a shattered realm, thousands dead with millions more threatened by famine and strife. I will have my share of enjoyment when I am dead and gone up to the heavens. Till then, duty will be my lot."
"You can cater to your duties and care for yourself at the same time," Arianne argued. "It will do the realm no good if you work yourself into an early grave, or else drive yourself mad. Even Jaehaerys had mistresses, fancies, entertainments."
"I have my books, my fishing, my martial training, my wife's company, and Tyrion's wit to keep me light," the king rebuffed her, waving away her concerns dismissively as he gathered up a sheaf of papers in his arm and turned to leave. "My enjoyments are different to yours; that does not make them any less enjoyable. This," he gestured to his face, "is merely temporary. The sleeplessness, the stress - it will all slowly pass as the realm settles."
"And if it doesn't?"
The king sighed, furrowed his brow even as his eyes met hers. "Then I will know I have failed, and that all my efforts were for naught. That I failed to save the lives and livelihoods of my subjects... That I failed to bring justice, peace, security, prosperity...
I will die in painful disgrace of that knowledge, no doubt, my legacy torn to shreds and left to decay, my loved ones murdered and exiled and raped and enslaved, my body tortured into oblivion first by my enemies and then by the Seven Hells as well. A worse fate I could scarcely imagine." The king met her gaze unwaveringly. "Can you see, now, why I work the way I do?"
Arianne nodded silently, struck dumb, suddenly without witty retort or reply, disquieted by the king's description. So long as I have known him, His Grace has always had an artful way with words. But these were more than mere words, Arianne could tell, and they could hardly be called artful. Blunt was the better term. Blunt and brutal.
The king is being more honest with me now than he has ever been before, Arianne knew.
And then he was gone.
Arianne let free a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. How had he done that? Held her in thrall like that?
She shook off her uncertainties, her doubts, reassured herself even as she struggled to quell the vague sensation of unease rolling around her stomach. She left the small council chambers no more than a minute after the king, and wandered through the halls and passages of the keep in no particular direction for a while, almost in a daze, her mind still struggling with Tommen's words.
Gods, she thought. To think he's no older than Trystane. At that age she had just stopped playing with her dolls and started growing real teats. Yet here was this boy, bearing what he thought was the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint.
She walked and walked, and wound her way to the Tyrell queen, knowing that beyond the small council she was the only one who might have some insight into the Boy King's mind. And, perhaps, in the queen she sought the comfort of the company of one she had come to think of as a friend.
Arianne found Margaery Tyrell alone on an isolated balcony of the Red Keep, gazing out at a glittering ocean. That alone was strange enough. The young queen could almost always be found surrounded by a sizeable flock of ladies-in-waiting. Not even a single guard could be seen, the nearest having admitted her entry a door away.
The little queen is not often keen to be alone. She wore a yellow gown, silk and lace, light and airy in spite the bracing evening breeze. Her hair was done up into elaborate waves that fell down her shoulders like water, topped with her crown. She nursed a cup of wine in her hands, deep in thought, occasionally eyeing the half-empty pitcher on the table.
"Your Grace," Arianne announced herself with a shallow curtsy.
"Princess," Margaery greeted her. "Please, sit. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Arianne accepted the seat. "I wished to ask what is troubling you, Your Grace."
The queen offered her a pleasant smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Nothing is troubling me."
Another secret. Arianne changed course. "I am gladdened to hear it, Your Grace. Though it is a lie, I am still gladdened to hear it."
Margaery shot her a look. "It is merely the Shields," she finally confessed. Another lie? "It pains me to hear my home is under attack, though I have full faith His Grace will help see the ironmen off before long, of course."
"Of course," Arianne agreed. "Though - and forgive me for saying so - I cannot help but notice His Grace seems a little more..."
Margaery nodded, averting her gaze, pulling at the hem of her sleeves. "The burdens of the throne are many."
Arianne shifted closer to Margaery, tentatively lifting a hand to her shoulder in comfort. The young queen seemed to tense at the touch, though she did not object. "So I hear. Yet as my own mother's fate taught me, so few seem to ask what happens to the wife when the husband suffers." Silence. "My mother and father fought fiercely," Arianne continued, "when they were together. About all manner of things. Small disputes festered and grew. Then my mother left."
"His Grace and I are not fighting," the little queen assured her.
Arianne softened her expression, rubbing the girl's shoulder soothingly. "I never said you were, Your Grace."
Margaery shook her head, relaxed with a sigh. "No, of course not."
"Yet something is bothering you," Arianne observed, pressing for an answer. She reached down and freshened the queen's cup from the pitcher, knowing the extra wine would help loosen her tongue. "Something besides the Shields."
Margaery lifted her gaze from the newly-refilled cup in her hands and met Arianne's eyes, brown irises staring deep. "How can you tell?"
Arianne shrugged, slid her arm around the young queen's shoulder, subtly pulling the pair closer together. "Call it instinct. I have grown fond of you, Your Grace. I don't like to see you sad."
...
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