Chapter 42: A Flower in The Garden
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Chapter 43 (The Melee), Chapter 44 (Leaving Highgarden), Chapter 45 (The North), Chapter 46 (Winterfell), Chapter 47 (Alyanna Dayne), Chapter 48 (A Feast in Winterfell), Chapter 49 (A Confession of Love), and Chapter 50 (A Fight in Winterfell) are already available for Patrons.
The following day, Jaehaerys was strolling around the garden accompanied by Ser Arthur, who was wearing his helmet. Three Days later, the Melee would start, and Jaehaerys was thinking about whether or not he should participate. He hoped that Ser Gerold had found his relatives.
His thoughts went away when from a corner appeared The Golden Flower of House Tyrell—wearing a green dress.
"Lady Margaery, what can I do for you?" Jae spoke respectfully to the lady, who smiled softly at him.
"I would appreciate a walk in the garden, Lord Jon."
"Who am I to deny a request from a beautiful lady like you," Jon said with a charming smile. The lady in question returned the smile, her eyes glittering with hope.
Jon wondered why Lady Margaery was seeking him out like this; either she didn't like the bastard prince's company, or she saw something interesting in him.
"You can go back to my father, Ser Art," Jon told his kingsguard, looking over his shoulder. Arthur gave him a look that said, 'That's Not Happening,' and kept close enough to Jon.
"Lady Margaery. I hope you don't mind the company of my guard. Ser Art stays five meters." Jon ordered the man, who reluctantly nodded, accepting the request. Giving them enough privacy.
Walking up to the lady, Jon kissed her knuckles; looking at her face again, he could see a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Your eyes are quite beautiful from up close, my lord." She said, looking directly at his rich purple eyes. Her eyes were brown but quite good-looking, with a hint of blue in the center.
"You're quite beautiful too, my lady. Tales do you no justice." Jon said with courtesy as they strolled around the garden, the place was like a maze, but Jon could tell she knew where they were going.
"I didn't have a chance to congratulate you on your victory, my lord. The mountain was said to be one of the strongest knights in Westeros. Is quite impressive for someone like you to defeat him." Lady Margaery spoke courteously, but Jae could tell she said with resonant scorn, one Jon had never heard from her before.
"You had something against the Mountain, my lady?" Jon asked as they entered a garden corridor. The sunlight was penetrating inside through the many small openings inside the garden, creating a road illuminated by rays of light. It was quite beautiful to look at, and the aroma of the flowers engulfed his nose with differing aromas.
Lady Margaery's mouth quirked before she showed him a smirk, a smirk as if she knew everything. "Dorne is not the only place happy with his downfall. So is the rest of Westeros." She spoke, her hand grabbing a rose that had grown on the side of the garden, and she leaned it close to her nose.
"Do flowers grow in Dorne, my lord?" Margaery asked, smiling, turning to look at him.
"We have Water Gardens, my Lady. They do grow there. We also have Lemon trees there. Quite good to look at and are good for a drink mixed with honey," Jon said, remembering the many trees around the Water Garden. Especially the lemon trees.
Jon squinted his eyes as they came out of the corridor garden to a small clearing. In the center was a fountain that looked like a kid with wings offering his hand to a crying girl. The fountain had multiple flowers sunk to the bottom of the water in the basin, from white to red, black to yellow, and numerous other colors.
"Once a year, people come here to put a flower in the water and stay here until the flower sinks to the bottom. They say is to have good luck for the rest of the year. I used to stay here for hours with my brothers." Lady Margaery spoke with a hint of melancholy in her voice, her eyes welling up, but she quickly looked away.
"It's wonderful, my lady," Jon said sincerely, and for the first time, he smiled at Margaery, a sincere one.
"I'm happy that you like it, my lord," Margaery said with her own smile, showing her beautiful teeth. She had to admit that Jon had perhaps the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, just the way he talked. His voice had strength in it, unlike Prince Joffrey, whose voice was that of a coward who was lucky enough to be born into the Royal Family.
Jon sat at the fountain's edge, the water gurgling behind him, with Lady Margaery adjusting her dress before sitting beside him.
"Can you sing a song for me, my lord?" She requested with a bright smile. Her hands were clutched together in her lap.
"Of course, my Lady." Jon accepted, his smile wavered a little, hearing the sounds of birds chirping all around them.
"Like the scarlet night veiling the dark
You can hide your fear,
can lie, my dear
Just dreaming forever like this.
Those bloodstained wings, spread them wide!
Like a fallen angel washed away by the wind of time and then fell.
Into the starry night just like a goddess.
Embracing me tight for eternity.
Fly into heaven
What's the lie?
What's the truth?
What to believe?
In my life
See the flowers breathing in the rain
Try growing to the edge of light
It's so far away to reach out to the sky
I'll seize, I'll seize the roses with my wings
We'll fly
Like a fallen angel washed away by the wind of time then fell
Into the starry night just like a goddess embracing me tight for eternity
We'll fly away. We'll find a way
You can hide your fear, can lie, my dear
We'll see the end. We'll be the end
Embracing me tight for eternity, fly into heaven
Clapping, Jon heard her clapping after he finished the song.
"Your voice is beautiful, my lord." Margaery complimented, wiping away tears with a napkin, her eyes a little red.
"My lady is too kind to me," Jon said. A bird flew just before his eyes, landing on the hand of the little boy made of stone and drinking water with his beak.
"I only speak the truth, my lord. I have yet to hear someone who sings like you." Margaery insisted before standing on her feet, wiping away the dirt from her dress with her hands.
"Shall we continue?" Margaery said, offering her hand to him. Jon grabbed it before they kept walking around the garden.
Later
"And this one?"
"That's a Dragonheart. I've been growing these for about three years now." Margaery stated rather proudly. There was not much she could say was truly hers in the Highgarden save for her clothes and jewels, but the little spot in the gardens her father had built for her was one of them.
"I've heard of these, aren't they supposed to grow only in humid areas in Essos?"
"They do, but it's not the heat that makes them grow. It's the soil." she pointed to the black dirt surrounding the flower. "My big brother gave me the seeds and a sack of ground they had dug up from Dorne; apparently, that's the closest thing we have to the areas they usually grow in Essos."
"You're quite knowledgeable on these things, aren't you?"
"I told you, didn't I?! There's no gardener in Highgarden better than me." she smiled, remembering the many times she and Ser Alyk had spent planting all of them, though it was mainly Ser Alyk doing all of the work, and Margaery simply stayed back and watched.
"I shall take your word for it." The Sand boy himself was informed on flowers as well, though that was, of course, from his sister, Tyene. She loved flowers.
"It must be very disappointing compared to the ones you saw in Water Gardens. I always wanted to go there, but mother and father never wished to travel to Dorne." for a moment, she could have sworn she saw the boy smile, if not for a second.
"Not at all," Jon commented. "The flowers in the Water Gardens are... extravagant. Luxurious, to say the least. You'll never find larger and more flamboyant pairs of fauna in all of Westeros. Yet beauty, I find, is often seen in more simple things."
"So you're saying you like my flowers better because they're simpler." she teased the boy.
"They're beautiful, and the aroma is quite pleasant." he showed his hand towards the five little Dragonhearts that had all sprouted. They were crimson flowers with a circular shape consisting of five blood-red petals with the stem coming from the middle. "You can have as many flowers as you want, in as fancy of a castle as you want, yet what does that mean when they were all done by someone else's hands."
"Have you ever planted a garden?"
"I have—a pair of blue winter roses. I would take care of them, water them, and tend to their roots. When they had finally bloomed, it felt as if I... I don't know. They felt like Home."
"They are popular in the North, I heard. Every time we would have a tourney, they would make a crown of them to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty." In the South, they were always so rare in the South, which is why the tourneys had always prized them so much, but in Winterfell, they felt a part of everyday life for the tenders.
"They're loved in the North. I heard... When they had finally fully grown, I tried to make a crown of them, but it did not go well." Margaery giggled. "But I managed to save one. When blue roses are plucked, they turn cold, yet the petals only wither months later if not watered, so they retain their color and shape for much longer."
"I envy the girl you gave that rose to."
"You assume I gave it away?"
"Don't play coy with me. Why else would a boy put so much time into a rose bush?"
Jon huffed in amusement as they looked at the red flowers before them. "You are right in one regard. I did give it away, eventually. But those days I spent tending to them all were ones well spent in my eyes."
"I'll not ask who you gave it to then. If you ever wished to tell me, you would have told me by now. I trust you in that regard, my Lord."
"Then the feeling is mutual, my lady."
The dark-haired boy observed the other flowers with his purple eyes. Margaery had thought very little of it at first, always thinking that she was boring the boy, but soon she learned it was not the case, simply how he always looked. They sat there in silence, and while Jon continued to stare at the flowers haphazardly, she could not help but stare at the boy's face.
"You mentioned the roses got colder once you plucked them," Margaery said to end the silence. "Here, let me show you something." She gently grabbed the boy's hand and guided it just above the flower.
"Warm..." Jon murmured, his brow raising slightly.
"The flower emits warmth from its petals. Apparently, they dated back all the way to ancient Valyria, and dragons liked their scent."
"Interesting."
"During the night, the warmness attracts Dragonflies and Lantern Bugs. It gives quite the sight when the moon comes out."
"Never would have thought of you as the type of girl to sneak out during nights."
"Please, I see it clearly from the balcony in my room. And if I want to sneak out. I can just order a few guards to walk with me."
"And your Lady Mother is very supportive of it, I'm sure."
Margaery smiled. It was not as if her mother had an iron grip on her or her siblings. It was simply just that it would not do for the Golden Flower to be up and about in the middle of the night.
After a while, their little trip to Margaery's private gardens was over, and they walked along the more public areas of the Garden. They were eventually sitting down in a pavilion not too far from the Highgarden's own godswood. It was a small acre of the old elm, alder, and black cottonwood trees, yet she never really visited it, at least by herself.
As they sat beside one another, at a small table between them, a servant brought a plate of sweetcakes and two cups of tea. Jon was very fond of tea, it seemed, while Margaery liked to indulge herself in sweets every now and again.
"Will you leave to Dorne after Highgarden?" Margaery asked coyly, taking a bite out of a delicious biscuit, melting in her mouth. She let out a pleasant sound from her throat. It tasted delicious.
Jon's smile wavered slightly. He wondered why a lady like her wanted to spend time with someone that, to her knowledge, was a bastard of Dorne, not only that but a bastard of Oberyn Martell, someone who they thought was to blame for Lord Willas's accident and almost losing the use of his legs entirely. Is this a game? Does she have any suspicions of my true heritage? Jaehaerys didn't know, but if she knew the truth, it would be quite a seat back.
"I don't know. We will return home." Jon answered sharply, his answer short, making it clear that he didn't really want to answer that, his voice going back to blank. After drinking his tea, the Prince stood up from the chair before moving it back as he addressed the lady.
"Thank you for spending so much of your time with me, Lady Margaery. It was a Pleasure." Jon said with courtesy, bowing his head, his hair falling in front of his face, blocking half of his face.
Lady Margaery looked at him from up close. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen someone as handsome as Jon. Many of her friends often said that Loras was perhaps the most attractive boy in Westeros. To Margaery, her brother didn't hold a candle to Jon.
Margaery looked dejected before she quickly put up a smile. "The pleasure was mine, Lord Jon." She said with a grin and fluttered her eyelashes, looking at him flirtingly. A green boy would have perhaps felt his knees weaken or mayhaps the need to grab something to prevent falling, but Jon had learned from a young age the art of seducing, and his father had brought him to many brothels to watch and learn.
Jon saw her face lean a bit closer to his, her face flushed like a strawberry, but he pulled back, making the boundaries clear.
"Have a Good Day, my Lady." That's all he said before leaving, almost in haste.
Daenerys Targaryen - Before
"We need to go," Viserys remembered Ser Darry saying as he shook him awake, "My prince, take your sister. We must leave now."
Viserys, half asleep, stumbled out of bed and accepted the bundle handed to him. His sister was very small and seemed very light. The wind blew harshly and was strong and cold outside. Daenerys, his mother, had named her and died.
'It'll be all right, my little dragon-prince, she'd said, catching him as he stumbled on the docks. It'll all be all right. You'll see.'
"Where are we going?" he asked plaintively. Ser Darry shook his head and looked back and forth in the hallway before beckoning Viserys out of the room. He paused. "Should I take..."
"Hurry, my prince," Ser Darry said, "There's no time."
Viserys held Daenerys close against his chest and followed the old knight as he limped through the dark hallways. It was unpleasant here, dark and dank, and Viserys was sure there were ghosts living in the walls somewhere. "Where's her wet nurse?"
"Already at the ship," Ser Darry said in a rough voice. "Waiting for us. Hurry! The garrison here is less loyal than I'd hoped."
All betrayers, Viserys understood darkly. They were all treacherous and small-minded. Wasn't that what his father had always said? He hurried faster. His little sister seemed to grow heavier and heavier the further they went.
They stumbled across the beach in the dark just as Daenerys woke and started to cry. He tried to hush her, but she wouldn't be quiet. The boat was just ahead, and the wind buffeted him back.
Ser Darry lifted both of them into the waiting hands of the men already on board and then leaped on himself. "Cast off," he said in a rush, "Now! Do it!"
No one took Daenerys from him for a while. Viserys held her even though his arms were starting to ache. The shore seemed to recede quickly, and the waves heaved the boat from side to side, making his stomach lurch.
"Are we going back to King's Landing?" He asked when Ser Darry found him again and finally took Dany.
"No, my prince," Ser Darry said and looked out at nothing in particular. "Not just yet."
In Lys, for the first time, their welcome began to fade.
Even after Ser Darry's servants had driven them out of Braavos, Daenerys had cried, but they were cold. Her tears made no impression they had been welcome at noble house after noble house, each remembering the old blood of Valyria and the longevity of the Targaryen's reign.
The gifts were lavish, and the houses were great. The women cooed over Daenerys's beauty, and the men questioned him about his plans to return to Westeros. Soon I will retake Westeros, he assured them, and return as the rightful ruler. Westeros cries out for the hand of her true master.
It sounded grand enough, and he was still young.
But that faded. Robert sat firmly on the Iron Throne, and the Free Cities knew where its money came from. A prince with nothing to his name but a crown, some heirlooms, and a younger sister was not worth much in their greedy, small minds.
In Lys, with the lady Aylinah, even Daenerys noticed their disdainful glances and whispers behind their hands. "I don't like it here," she said in a small voice. "I want to go home."
"We will," Viserys said tightly. She had let them in, true enough, but with the air of allowing strays over her doorstep. "Soon, we'll go home," though Daenerys didn't know the home he meant, too young to remember anything of it.
"I haven't much room here," Aylinah said after a week of minimal wining and dining and leaving them to their own devices, "And I have a business to run. I think it would be best for you to move on."
Viserys drew himself up. "We are the blood of the dragon," he reminded her, voice still cracking. "Do you forget?"
"You are the dregs of the blood of the dragon," her faintly disgusted gaze seemed to say. Nothing more. "You're no longer welcome here," she said, much less delicately, and Viserys balled his hands into fists and breathed in through his nose. I will remember you, he thought, we both will, Dany and me. We'll not forget our enemies when we return home.
Ser Darry was nine months dead when they had to sell the first of their heirlooms. Just him and his little sister, crying that she was tired, she was cold, she wanted to go back to the little house with the red door. "Don't whine," he told her, "A princess doesn't whine," but that only made her sniffle the more.
Viserys found a likely-looking shop with finely wrought silver and gold in the window. He'd brushed out his hair to a shine and dressed as well as he could, but he still felt the weight of the shopkeeper's gaze linger on patches where fine silk was wearing thin and weighing, judging.
He swallowed to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.
"How much would you pay for this?" He asked immediately, laying the ring on the counter. It was his, wrought for him when he was small in the shape of a dragon. He couldn't wear it anymore, but...
The shopkeeper looked at him, then picked up the coin and examined it. His eyes brightened, small and greedy in his round face, and then he offered an insultingly low price.
"Fine," he said, "I'll take it somewhere else, then."
"Nowhere will offer more for something so obviously stolen," the man said with a grin full of teeth. Rage boiled up.
"This is an heirloom of the blood of Old Valyria!" he yelled, snatching the ring back. "Of my house! You dare, you dare-" he spluttered, lost for words. The shopkeeper looked unimpressed. "You will regret the day you crossed me," Viserys hissed, finally, and stalked out the door.
There was no other store of the same quality. Others offered even less. Danerys was beginning to go hungry, and so was he. He went back a day later and sold it for half the initial offered price.
Viserys lay awake at night in an inn in Norvos, staring at the ceiling. There was a soft rain falling, and he thought about going home.
He would get everything back, all the things they'd lost, his mother's crown, finally gone, and for so little. The land would rise up. The common people rejoice to see their king come home. They would drag the Usurper's dogs down, and Viserys would kill the Usurper himself.
Viserys wished there were still dragons in the world. What an entrance that would make! He smiled just a little.
Someone shifted on the other bed. "Viserys?" Daenerys said in a small voice. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. His sister. Ah, yes, his sister. Beautiful.. but way too young. Like everything else he'd taken. If his mother were here instead of Daenerys...
"What," he said.
"I'm scared," she said. "I can't sleep." Viserys clenched his jaw.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Tell me a story?" She said. "Like you used to. About dragons, or about the Seven Kingdoms,"
.
.
.
"We'll get home," he said after a few moments. "You'll see. Everything will work out as soon as we go home." As soon as he found his army.
Daenerys didn't speak again. Viserys wished he hadn't sold the crown. He should have kept the crown, kept the crown. It belonged to my mother, that last part, the only part I had of her, he thought, finally allowing himself to mourn.
His mother would never return. He had dreamed of her. If she returned, everything would be alright, but she never would. I will never see muna again, Viserys thought, allowing himself to cry.
Dany opened her eyes, her eyes barely making out the outline of the chamber she was in; looking around, she didn't recognize the place. The place smelled...like fresh flowers, her hands roaming around, feeling softness, very soft, Dany concluded. It felt like touching silk.
She didn't feel the usual aching pain in her neck, and her pillow was soft; looking around more, only now she noticed that Viserys wasn't around.
"Vis." She called out his name, panic seeping into her voice. The dim light from the red candle was the only light source inside the chamber. The candle cast a red glow around the room.
"VIS?!!" She called out yet again, only to hear approaching footsteps from behind the wooden door of her chamber. She crawled behind, hugging her legs, her back touching the bed's backboard, praying that Robert's assassins hadn't captured her, only for the door to open, revealing a woman with a long red dress, her red eyes almost glittering in the darkness like rubies.
"Is good to see you have woken up, Princess." The lady said, her voice soft as silk. Dany could barely make out the details of her face, but she knew the woman was beautiful, around her mid-twenties.
"Who are you? Where is Vis?" Dany asked with a shaky voice, no longer hugging her legs, taking a deep breath. A Dragon knows no Fear, she thought, remembering Viserys's words whenever she was afraid.
"Prince Viserys is sleeping in a different chamber. You do not need to worry. We would never harm you." Her voice sounded genuine enough to Dany, but she knew better than to trust strangers. No one would pick up two kids from the streets and decide to put them in comfortable rooms without reason.
"Who are you?" Dany asked, standing up from her bed, only now she felt the gown she was wearing, self-conscious she wasn't smelling like dirt in the streets. The princess could swear she saw the lady smile, but the darkness made it hard to notice anything.
"Forgive me. My Princess. My name is Kinvara."
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