FLASHBACK
Margaery
'More golden roses, lovely,' thought Margaery when she was given one as a gift from an old lady. She did not resent the gift, but when even your chamber pots had them, you tended to get a little sick of them.
Even so, she tucked it into her hair as an ornament, accentuating her penetrating eyes.
"You are distracted, dear sister" a voice interrupted her musings.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. It is not wise to pretend to know what a woman is thinking, dear brother" she replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Then perhaps you could tell me a little about what I just shared with you?" He laughed sweetly at his sister's tactics.
"You were sharing Whitewing's recovery with me, brother Willas" she answered correctly.
"Glad that my words have not been lost in your sea of thoughts." He shrugged lightly at her antics.
"I, for one, expected you to be distracted with our lovely guest. Is she still trying to seduce you?" she asked courtly with the bluntness of a sledgehammer.
He laughed freely.
"You have certainly been paying attention to Grandmother's vocabulary."
"And you do like to stall your answer, brother" she said politely.
"Grandmother I can understand, but why are you so against the idea of a marriage alliance with the Martells?" he asked, a hint of curiosity on his lips.
Her eyes flickered to his leg for just a second before returning to his. Before she could muster an appropriate answer, he spoke again.
"Can I please style your hair?" he asked.
She accepted with a smile, for it had been quite some time since he had combed it for her.
"Have I ever told you the story of when you were born? Messy, poopy, the bane of our servants…" Margaery rolled her eyes at the familiar tale. "…but even then, I realized something. I hoped that the gods could one day take pity on me and grant me a daughter," he told her with a calm smile while he delicately combed her hair.
"Is that why you learned to comb my hair?" she asked, part curious and part fond.
"Indeed, sister. I hope that one day I can have a child of my own. A little spawn whom I could teach to call you 'Grandma,'" Willas joked, and she huffed.
He cut a nearby rose, adding it to her hair.
"Marg, marriage is a certainty in our lives. We need descendants, for they shall one day keep the legacy of our house. Just like our brother Garlan, we each have to follow that same path" he said softly.
"But brother, even Grandmother is against you and Arianne. Why would you even entertain the idea of that vile woman?" she asked reproachfully, for her brother was goodness incarnate and that woman was an evil viper.
"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, the Martell motto, if you remember your maester's lessons. But you see, this little snake has traveled alone. No guards, no entourage, nothing. What do you think this means?" he asked patiently while adding the finishing touches to her hair.
"They… they are not united" she offered.
He nodded, and she sat straight to look him in the eye.
"Indeed, dear sister. The Dornish snakes are divided. Their heir has run away, and a marriage could prove useful to our house." He smiled softly at her. "They will need to make a choice, for we are both the respective heirs of our houses. Without even mentioning the military and trade benefits, it will force their hand. Will they bow, will they bend, or will they break? For I will not be rejecting my position as heir, especially with our history." He looked down at his leg as he spoke.
"But brother…" Margaery realized the weight of his sacrifice.
He chuckled.
"Let me make the hard choices. I will be the Lord one day, and every choice I make will have far reaching consequences. I have accepted that, dear sister, as my truth and my burden. And as for you…"
He playfully messed up the well combed hair he had just finished doing, much to her annoyance.
"I heard those wolves are coming from the North. Meet them. Tell me if you like any of them, and if you don't, I can help you pick someone from among my bannermen. Tradition orders you to obey, I am asking you to choose" he said, beginning to fix her hair once more, sharing the silence.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Willas Tyrell
Highgarden's heir observed the reactions of the people around him. Surprise, elation, happiness, and the visible worry of both allies and enemies of his house. Him joining hands with Princess Arianne Martell would cause quite a stir, after all.
"Enjoying the attention?" she whispered softly.
"In the slightest. But alas… whom am I to blame, but me…" he shared with complicit fakeness, nodding to the masked bard.
"Oh, dear guests, it seems my time as an entertainer has come to an end. Fear not, for my sister will be in charge of this next part" the masked bard explained while the crowd felt only confusion.
He snatched a cloth from a nearby table, and with a swish where once stood a noble looking young man, now stood a breathtaking woman. Tall and poised, black hair swept into an elegant bun dressed in a striking red dress that revealed one shoulder with red gloves adorning her arms. Only the mask remained unchanged.
A few guests laughed in disbelief, others leaned forward, searching for the trick they had missed.
"Hello everyone" she said, her voice now smooth and velvety, touched with mischief. "My name is Sebastienee… and while that was entertaining…"
She tilted her head slightly, letting the silence stretch just enough.
"I think we could use a little change in the tune, shall we?
"Oh ma douce souffrance
Pourquoi s'acharner? Tu recommences"
(Oh, my sweet suffering /
Why should I keep doing it, you are doing it again)
A surprised Arianne looked at him with curiosity. "This one sure knows how to entertain. I can not recognize the language, high Valyrian perhaps? Where did you find her?" she asked in a naturally seductive tone.
"He came with the Starks" he offered amicably with a smile, taking notice of her lack of information surrounding the Stark's dog.
"A shame we won't be able to dance… the music hits just the spot" she shared in coy disappointment.
"At least not for long, my dear" he said, surrendering his cane to a nearby attendant.
"Oh my…" she purred as she was led to the dancefloor.
"Je remue le ciel, le jour, la nuit
Je danse avec le vent, la pluie"
(I am moving the sky, the day, the night
I am dancing with the wind, the rain)
He twirled her around the dancefloor, and she let him lead.
She laughed.
"And I was here worrying over your leg? Quite the exaggeration, in my opinion" she offered, her calculated doubt delivered in a husky voice.
He leaned slightly, his back covering her frame and giving the illusion of something else. She sniffed slightly, her eyes widening in surprise.
"For how long?" she asked, now with genuine worry for his leg.
"Does it matter? I, for one, would like to enjoy this," he offered with a smile, masking his intentions with true facts.
"Et je danse, danse, danse,
danse, danse, danse, danse"
The music became frantic, the other couples struggling to follow the rhythm as the two of them danced in calculated perfection.
"I haven't had this much fun since playing as a child in the Water Gardens" she shared in a cheerful, husky voice.
'Lies,' he thought.
"I am happy for you, my lady" he offered.
'More lies.'
"No you are not" she laughed unapologetically.
'True.'
"If you were in my place, would you be?" he countered as the music intensified.
"If I were you, truths and lies would not matter. Well, we wouldn't be doing that much talking, at least," she offered sensually, her hair leaving traces of perfume with every movement.
'Truth.'
He laughed freely.
"There, finally a proper smile," she said, a hint of amusement hiding in her eyes.
"Pray tell, have I not smiled enough for you, my lady?" he asked in faux hurt.
"Not until now" she purred.
"Likewise." His tone remained easy, almost careless.
Her brow lifted slightly.
"Est-ce mon tour?
Vient la douleur"
(Is this my turn?
Here comes the pain)
They danced together, all eyes on the couple for they were the only ones remaining. As most of the others could not follow the rhythm. The music reverberated in the room, reaching one last crescendo.
"Dans tout Paris, je m'abandonne
Et je m'envole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole"
(In all of Paris, I let myself go /
And I'm flying away, fly, fly, fly...)
And then, against all odds, Arianne twirled him instead, and he went along with the flow. With that, the music ended. Their heat collided with the ambient chill, beads of sweat falling slightly from them. They had both won, they had both lost, as everything was uncertain in this game of thrones.
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Author Thoughts: This started as a scene, and as I wrote... it was perfect as it was. I know I said I would finish highgarden with this one, but...
I HAD, to write about Willas and Arianne (since I teased it in the last chapter), the problem is that the ending I made was to good, and while short, this feels like a great fanservice (my fanservice to myself, mind you).
A little backstory, Arianne once read a letter from his father (where he said that Quentyn would one day be his heir). She ran to assure a betrhotal with WIllas, but Oberyn caught her before she could leave Dorne.
As part of this AU modification, she is older (19/20 like Willas) and Oberyn could not stop her.
The song is Derniere Dance from Indila
Next one Robb, Jon and if everything goes well (to finish the regular ball stuff) and progress with the story (from theon)