The city looked different by torchlight.
From within the litter, Margaery drew back the curtain a finger's breadth and watched the procession wind through King's Landing like a river of fire. Torches bobbed above mailed men-at-arms, their flames dancing with every hoofbeat. The banners of the golden rose caught the evening breeze, bright even beneath the gathering darkness, whilst the long line of servants, knights, and household guards stretched farther than she could see.
Smallfolk stood in doorways and crowded at street corners to watch Lord Tyrell's household ride by. Some bowed. Others whispered amongst themselves. Children darted between their mothers' skirts to glimpse the bright armor of the Reach knights before being hastily pulled back again.
Father would never go anywhere quietly, Margaery thought with a smile.
The smell of roasting meats drifted from cookshops. Somewhere a tavern spilled laughter into the street. Bells from a nearby sept tolled the evening prayers. Across from her, Lady Olenna sat with her hands folded upon the head of her cane, her face unreadable in the flickering light of the lantern that swung gently from the litter's roof.
Margaery stole another glance at her grandmother. When Lady Olenna had announced that House Tyrell would pay a formal visit to Ser Arthur Manderly's manse, the breakfast table had fallen into astonished silence. Lord Mace had objected at once. Loras with considerably more feeling. Neither had prevailed.
Since His Grace and Ser Arthur Manderly would depart with the eastern host at first light, and House Tyrell itself intended to leave King's Landing before noon. Lady Olenna decided that there will not be another opportunity for what they have come to seek. That had ended the matter.
Margaery had concealed her satisfaction behind a dutiful nod. She was glad of the visit. Gladder than she ought to have been.
Ever since the feast, her thoughts had wandered whenever she allowed them freedom. Those thoughts had only become troublesome with the passing days. They returned again and again to the moonlit balcony, to quiet conversations that had seemed strangely effortless, to laughter shared over foolish questions, to a knight who spoke of home as though it were a treasure rarer than Valyrian steel.
To the song. Gods, the song. She could still hear it if she closed her eyes. There had been joy in it, yet sorrow too. Hope, entwined with grief so gently that one scarcely knew where one ended and the other began.
And always, somehow, in the end, it came back to his eyes.
The color of beautiful sea-blue waters that hid things beneath their surface. Margaery wondered whether she could ever understand the sadness that lived behind them.
A shadow fell across the litter. Loras guided his courser alongside, resting one gloved hand upon the window frame. His expression made it plain that he would rather have been anywhere else.
"Why must we scurry off to visit the Merman at his merchant palace?" Loras groaned and said, "Surely if Ser Arthur wished our company, he could have called upon us."
Margaery glanced across at Lady Olenna before answering. Her grandmother had not opened her eyes.
"Because Grandmother wished to speak with him," She replied sweetly.
"So I gathered." Loras replied, mockingly.
Margaery laughed and said, "Then why ask?"
"Because I was hoping for a different answer."
Lady Olenna snorted and replied. "Those answers are wasted on pretty boys."
"We could have summoned him," Loras replied angrily. "He is no prince that we should pay court to him. If you desired to treat words with him, he could have come to us."
Lady Olenna looked at her grandson as though he had said something especially witless. "You are more alike to him than you'll admit, boy," she said.
Loras retorted, his pride damaged, "I am not!"
"You are," Olenna tapped the side of the litter with one finger. "Both of you can readily be moved by the summons of a stag."
Margaery bit the inside of her lip to hide a smile.
Loras frowned. "I do not know what you mean."
"No?" Olenna's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Then perhaps I have grown too old to speak plainly."
Loras had no chance to mount his defense for their grandmother had not finished. "The only difference between the two of you," she continued, "is his stag dons a crown on his head whilst yours only wears a lance."
For a heartbeat there was silence. Then Loras's face turned the color of ripe summer apples.
"Grandmother!" Margaery said with shock barely holding back her laughter.
"What?" Olenna asked, teasing mildly. "Have I said something wrong?"
Margaery lowered her head, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.
Loras caught sight of her smile. "Hmph." He gathered the reins sharply. "I shall ride with Father."
"A wise decision," said Olenna. "His company is much more to your speed."
Loras muttered something beneath his breath that neither woman pretended to catch before pressing his heels into his horse's flanks. The courser surged ahead, weaving through the line of household knights until he reached Lord Mace near the head of the column.
Margaery watched him go, her smile lingering, "Why must you torture him?" she asked her grandmother.
Olenna shrugged and replied, "The boy needs to learn patience."
Margaery couldn't disagree. As the litter rolled onward, her thoughts wandered where they had wandered every day. She frowned faintly at herself. This is foolish. She had watched enough maidens at Highgarden sigh over gallant hedge knights and handsome singers to know how such fancies began. She had always believed herself wiser than that. Yet her wisdom proved a poor opponent against her feelings.
She wished to scold herself for behaving like some lovestruck maiden from a singer's tale. But it accomplished nothing. No matter how sternly Margaery rebuked her own heart, the Knight of Winter refused to depart it.
Even the smallest meetings had become precious. She smiled despite herself as she recalled their chance encounter in the gardens of the Red Keep two mornings before. They had spoken for scarcely a moment, but it had been enough to plant itself strongly in her memory and left her wanting more.
Yet since the tourney Arthur had scarcely been seen at court except when duty demanded it.
There was always another petitioner awaiting him. Another lord seeking audience. Another captain begging ships or coin. Another scholar from his Winter Academy carrying letters and ledgers beneath one arm. And tomorrow at dawn he would sail east with the king and their crusading host.
King's Landing itself had become a kettle set upon the fire. Lord Stark and the Lannisters had quarreled openly in the streets only days before, and every noble house whispered of what might follow. The departure of so many knights and lords with the eastern crusade had only deepened the unease.
Arthur stood somehow in the midst of all of it. War. Nobles. Merchants. Scholars. The king himself.
Margaery wondered whether anyone ever asked if he was weary. Whether he had found even a single quiet hour these past days. Whether he had slept a good night's sleep or even at all.
She suspected he had not and the thought saddened her more than it ought to have.
Outside, the procession turned onto the broad avenue leading toward the great manses upon Visenya's Hill. Before long they slowed, and the first ranks of Tyrell men-at-arms began to peel aside as the gates of the Manderly manse came into view.
Margaery drew back the silk curtain once more. She had passed the manse only once before, catching no more than a glimpse from horseback. Seeing it now, standing before its gates with time enough to admire it, she understood why Loras had called it a merchant's palace.
High walls of smooth white stone enclosed a spacious courtyard paved with pale flagstones that gleamed beneath a hundred lanterns. In the centre stood a great fountain, its waters dancing in the torchlight around a marble merman, bearded and proud, a trident clasped in his uplifted hands. Water poured from the points of the trident into the basin below with a gentle murmur that reminded her faintly of the Mander.
Beyond the courtyard rose the manse itself. The walls were built from pale sea-stone that caught the evening light with a pearly sheen. Tall windows of coloured glass gleamed in shades of blue, green and white, so like those of the Great Sept that they seemed almost to glow from within. Above them, the sweeping roofs were tiled in pale jade, each row laid with such care that the whole house appeared touched by the sea itself.
Willas would admire the workmanship, she thought.
The great iron gates stood open in welcome. Waiting before them was Ser Arthur Manderly with his servants in neat blue-and-white liveries that stood behind him and his household guards lined the entrance in polished mail.
Even across the courtyard she knew him at once. His pale blond hair shone beneath the lanterns like moonlight upon fresh snow. Arthur wore a doublet of blue-green silk, richly embroidered with silver thread in the likeness of curling waves and leaping mermen. A sable cloak hung from his shoulders, clasped with a silver trident, the dark fur setting off the fairness of his hair.
Arthur stepped forward as the Tyrell party descended from their horses and litter. He bowed first to Lord Mace, then to Lady Olenna, before inclining his head respectfully to Margaery and Loras.
"Welcome, my lords, my ladies," Arthur said. "You honour me and my house by your presence."
Lord Mace's face broke into a broad smile. "Thank you, Ser Arthur, for your hospitality. We apologize if we have caused you any discomfort. You must have been very busy with the preparations."
"Your arrival is a welcome sight, my lord," Arthur replied. "And all the preparations have already been taken care of by my uncle." He gestured toward the open doors, "Please, come inside."
The heavy doors swung open before them. Warm light spilled into the courtyard, carrying with it the comforting scents of fresh bread, beeswax candles, and cedarwood. Before any guest crossed the threshold, a pair of servants approached bearing polished silver trays. Upon one rested a round loaf, still warm from the ovens. Upon the other lay a small crystal bowl of salt..
Margaery accepted a small piece of bread, dipped it lightly into the salt, and ate. Across from her, Lady Olenna did the same without comment, whilst Lord Mace accepted his portion with a booming word of thanks.
Lord Mace declared. "It is a splendid house. Splendid indeed. I had heard much of your manse, yet hearing is one thing and seeing quite another."
"You are kind, my lord." Arthur answered with an easy smile. "I thank you for gracing my humble abode."
Margaery felt her heart stir despite herself. That same smile of his came as freely as ever, warm enough to chase the evening chill from the courtyard. Yet his eyes told another tale.
There were faint shadows beneath them, scarcely visible unless one looked closely. Margaery did. They spoke of too many sleepless nights, too many councils, too many burdens accepted without complaint.
He truly has not rested, she thought.
"Humble?" Loras muttered beneath his breath.
Margaery heard him and judging by the slight twitch at the corner of Arthur's mouth, so had he.
Mace said with a laugh. "If this is humble, I would like to know what you call magnificent."
"The great castle of Highgarden."
That drew a quiet chuckle even from Lady Olenna. "The boy has wit," she observed. "A rare enough thing."
Arthur inclined his head. "I have been told I inherited it from my mother."
As they proceeded inside the entrance hall opened into a great chamber whose proportions surprised Margaery. It was much smaller than the halls of Highgarden, yet built with such elegance that it seemed grander than many a lord's castle. Tall windows of coloured glass admitted the last pale traces of evening, whilst hundreds of candles cast warm pools of light across polished marble floors.
"Ser Arthur," Margaery spoke with a graceful curtsy. "Your house is beautiful."
"Thank you, Lady Margaery." Arthur's greeting was simple. Yet hearing her name spoken in that calm voice pleased her more, "The beauty of my manse has seldom been so honoured."
Lady Olenna snorted. "Flattery will get you everywhere, boy, especially if they have a face like yours."
Arthur smiled, "Faces like mine are common enough and what I say is no flattery, only truth. Lady Margaery possesses enough wisdom to know the difference."
Margaery felt warmth rise to her cheeks. "I fear you overestimate me, ser."
Arthur's smile broadened as his sea-blue eyes stared into hers and he said, "I do not think so, my lady."
Lady Olenna glanced sideways at her granddaughter. Margaery only smiled trying to hide her fluttering heart.
As they walked, Margeary's gaze wandered upward. The walls of his manse were hung with rich tapestries, each woven so finely that the figures seemed almost alive. One told the ancient tale of House Manderly's flight from the Reach, proud knights and frightened children riding north beneath banners bearing the silver merman. Another showed the building of White Harbor, ships crowding its harbour beneath soaring white walls.
Then her eyes settled upon the largest of them all. It stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. Arthur stood upon the deck of a great ship whose white sails billowed beneath a grey northern sky. Around the vessel rose immense creatures from a dark green sea. Leviathans.
They dwarfed the ship itself. One surfaced with its broad back glistening beneath pale sunlight. Another lifted a vast tail from the waves whilst seabirds wheeled overhead. Their size had been rendered with such magnificence that they seemed half mountain and half beast.
Without realizing it, Margaery had stopped walking and stood gazing upward.
Arthur, who had been quietly moving behind them, noticed. He followed her eyes to the tapestry and smiled.
"These are merely exaggerated views of the artist, my lady," Arthur said as he came to stand beside her. "The leviathans we saw around the Sound were beautiful, calm creatures who wished only for cold weather and a plentiful ocean."
She looked at him and said, "You truly saw them?!" Not able to hide the astonishment from her voice.
"I did." Arthur replied, gently.
Margaery looked back at the woven sea monsters. Their jaws alone seemed large enough to swallow galleys whole. "Did they not attack your ship?" she asked. "I heard that leviathans break men's ships with their tails."
Arthur smiled, "No, my lady. They are very peaceful creatures, far gentler than men. If those ships were broken it was merely because the Levaithan was about to be harmed."
He studied the tapestry for a moment. "My grandfather instructed the artist to make them much fiercer than they were."
"So they are not monsters?"
"No more than horses are." Arthur jested.
She laughed softly. "Horses seldom grow large enough to swallow boats."
"They do not," Arthur admitted. "Though some of them, including my own, possess a considerably fouler temper than these creatures."
That earned a laugh from Margaery that came out louder than she expected. It sounded more like a snort than a laugh. For a moment she felt embarrassed yet Arthur seemed not to notice at all.
He appeared in thought, and said softly, "They surfaced beside our ship just after dawn. There were six of them, perhaps seven. They moved so slowly the sea scarcely stirred around them."
Arthur's eyes drifted to the tapestry, though Margaery suspected he no longer saw woven thread. "One came near enough that I could see its eyes."
Margaery asked curiously, trying to imagine such a scene, "Was it red and frightening?"
He shook his head. "It was… merely curious." There was something almost boyish in the way he said it. "As though it wondered what manner of strange little creatures sailed upon its sea."
Margaery smiled. "You speak of them as though they were wise animals from the stories."
"I would like to think that they were as such." Arthur smiled and replied, "Truth is always much deeper than we can see. Mayhaps these creatures could even be wiser than some men. Only the gods could tell it for certain."
Margaery paused and thought for a moment, she replied, "Mayhaps, but there is one thing I know for certain."
"What is that?" He asked, smirking.
"That they are magnificent!"
Arthur smiled and said, "You are right, as always, my lady. You know, there are places in this world where a man can know how small he truly is. This cold sea of the north was one of them."
She looked sideways at him. There was never any boast in his voice, when he spoke of his travels. Arthur spoke of them the way Willas spoke of rare books, or the way Garlan spoke of a well-fought duel, with a dear affection and a quiet remembrance.
Mayhaps travelling the unknown world was what Arthur Manderly sought the most, Margaery thought.
"I hope," Margaery said softly, "that I may see one someday."
Arthur turned to her. "I hope you do as well, my lady."
Margaery got lost in his eyes for a moment for some reason she believed he truly meant it.
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