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A Song of Blackjack and Hookers (chapter 18)
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 21:49:32 +0000 UTCMargaery
She knew she was dreaming. How else could she be in Highgarden, walking the carefully maintained pathways that lay beneath its walls of white stone? It was how true it felt that did not fit with it being a dream, for the scent and even the wind on her skin was like she was there…
Somehow she had found herself in the godswood, having taken her slippers off to feel the soft black dirt beneath her feet. There had not been a soul that she saw, not until she reached the center where the Three Sisters stood entwined.
There was a figure there bedecked in sleek yellow silks standing as still as the pool, their black hair pulled back messily.
There was only one man she could imagine doing all this. “Solomon?”
His movements were uncanny as he turned, proving her right. Solomon held out a hand as if welcoming her to join him, and she did not refuse.
“I could stay in this place for days,” he whispered as she neared. “Just watching the swaying of the leaves and listening to the songs of a hundred birds. There are few sights I have seen as beautiful.”
Margaery could agree, even though in her heart she knew a sight many times more beautiful. One she would see come to pass.
He took her hands in his own gently. “And I would have you know, my lady, that you have surpassed any expectations I might have had for the gift I left in your hands.”
Her heart beat faster at the words. “You know?”
Solomon only smiled at her. “I have not seen it with my own eyes, but perhaps you might change that?”
What did he mean? Then it struck her. This was her dream… it had to be.
She pictured her garden as she had seen it that morning, and like a curtain Highgarden had fallen away. Even the sun was now in the same position, providing her garden with nourishment, for it was known that all plants ate of the sun.
“Magnificent,” she heard to her side, his dark eyes fixated on her garden. “And this is only the least of it.” He still held one of her hands as he motioned with the other at the Red Keep. “Show me, Margaery. Show me what you see when you close your eyes.”
A nervous energy took hold of her. Could she truly bare her heart to him? What if he found it lacking? Or even dull?
Her eyes ghosted over him to find him waiting patiently, and so she let out a breath as she let those thoughts take her. They both watched as her garden tore into the red bricks, rooting itself deep into the earth as it spread further and farther, every part of the Red Keep turned into a flowerpot.
That sweet and heady scent it emanated descended upon the city, wiping away the frightful stench and filling the hearts of the smallfolk with thoughts just as sweet as it.
Her garden would not need much water either, and even if it didn’t rain for many moons, it would still thrive.
Solomon took it all in like the finest wine, her cheeks feeling hot for it.
“Would you mind if I offered some suggestions?”
Margaery nodded curiously, and the next moment she watched as the Tower of the Hand began to rise higher and higher, roses and vines and thorns taking the place of bricks. It reached high enough to touch the clouds when it stopped, higher than even the Hightower.
“Wouldn’t the wind topple it over?” she couldn’t help asking.
“I have seen even higher,” he whispered with a faraway look. Margaery tried to imagine something higher than even the clouds as he continued. “It will not be long now until I am back in King’s Landing. I would offer my knowledge and my wisdom, my lady.”
The suspicion came to her naturally, but he had not asked her for anything then and it did not seem that he would now. He barely even looked at her for all he had freely named her a beauty.
And yet she could almost hear her grandmother’s sharp disappointment if she did not at least ask…
He had only given her a fonder smile after her words. “If you would like to return the favor, there is something, yes.” Margaery imagined his nimble fingers pulling at her shift as he pushed her down upon that soft black dirt. “Varys’s flight from King’s Landing has left many of his little birds in the wind. They would be easy pickings for you, my lady. Even a thimble of kindness goes a long way.”
The children without tongues… she had seen one or two of them. They didn’t often venture outside.
“I will try,” she voiced.
“That is all I can ask. I’m afraid I’m almost out of time now.” He kissed the back of her hand, and then he and her triumph around them turned into smoke on the wind, revealing Lannister red curtains.
Margaery gave a soft sigh as she stared and thought a moment longer. Then she turned around to find the queen still sleeping, her satin shift stretching around her belly and her golden curls tumbling every which way. There was a softness to her now that seemed out of place.
The memories of the previous night soon returned to her. Cersei Lannister had been every bit the selfish lover she expected.
Lying back on the pillows, she thought about sneaking away, but with someone like her it could always be taken as some imagined slight.
When she did manage to escape, she went to find her brother with Ser Morwyn dutifully at her back, and to her surprise and joy she found him scratching something into a ledger with an expression like he had swallowed a Dornish lemon.
“You look as if you’re being tortured, Loras.”
Her teasing brought his eyes on her, though he only seemed to take her presence as a convenient distraction, practically running away from the ledger to her side.
“I was looking over the new inventory,” he admitted. “There’s still too many of the gold cloaks with sticky fingers that are stubborn to change.” He shook his head as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it, his soft brown eyes looking her over. “This is the first time you’ve come all the way out here.”
“I had a thought that couldn’t wait. With the master of whisperers vanished, it is only a matter of time until someone thinks to make use of his little birds. Better we than the Lannisters or Stannis Baratheon’s red priestess.”
The Lord of Dragonstone had surprised everyone with his return to the capital shortly after the news that Pentos had been sacked by the Dothraki had reached them, his ships flooding the docks here and at Gulltown in the Vale, all in search of any whisper of their missing master of coin.
Loras had a sly smile on his lips now. “Thinking of becoming our new mistress of whisperers? Grandmother would approve.”
Margaery snorted at the thought. “She is more like to say that it would draw too much attention.” He nodded easily as she continued. “A dozen men will do. Those with a gentler hand if possible.”
Her brother tugged at his curls as he thought. “They should not be too hard to find. The city has been a shade quieter since Stannis hanged the agitators from the docks. Would that he hanged more.”
There had been protests from the merchants for it, she knew, but His Grace had not cared to hear it.
“I shall leave Ser Morwyn with you then.”
The knight bore a pensive frown when she turned to face him. “My lady, you cannot return to the Red Keep alone.”
Margaery smiled at him. “I am sure my brother could lend a guard or two.” She neared to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Be gentle with them, ser. It is important that this be seen kindly.”
Her sworn shield understood, and that was why she had chosen him in spite of the tumultuous history between the Peakes and the Tyrells.
She left him with another smile, two of the Tyrell men-at-arms at her back as she returned to the Red Keep with its red bricks. For a moment she dared to close her eyes and imagine it again, her garden making every part of it its own.
Her thoughts had eventually turned to Solomon and what he promised her. It was him that had provided the seed for her garden, so her thoughts wandered far indeed.
Margaery spent the rest of the day peeking in on her cousins. None of them were as dedicated to it as her, but she had never expected otherwise. They were all seeds of her garden to come, watered with the blood of fair and noble maidens.
Even the princess had taken to it, the seven seedlings she had given her already having sprouted, growing strong as the singers might say if they knew, and soon they would bloom.
The better part of the next day was spent wishing Sansa Stark and her lady mother her farewells as they departed for Highgarden. It should make Grandmother happy, for she had already written a letter to her complaining at the delay and threatening to come to King’s Landing herself.
Stannis’s Florent wife had been there as well, and the red priestess also, watching it all with eyes as red as her robes of scarlet satin and blood velvet. Wherever she went, the heavy scent of smoke and spices followed.
The only ones of Stannis Baratheon’s retinue that did not give her any unease were Lord Guncer Sunglass bedecked in moonstones and Ser Triston. Margaery assumed that the master of shops hoped to soften the blow of bringing the red priestess with a man as pious as Lord Sunglass.
Though why then did Stannis not even make a show of taking counsel from his leal lord she could not say. It seemed the prudent thing to do, doubly so if one considered the rumor of him bedding the red priestess in lieu of his lady wife, even feeding pious men to the flames on Dragonstone to please her.
Not that she believed any of it. A man as Stannis Baratheon was as likely to be moved by a woman as Renly was, if not for the same reasons.
The day after that had seen Ser Morwyn return with thirteen children. While she did not believe these were all the little birds that the master of whisperers had under his thrall, it would have to do.
And now she would have to win their hearts…
Margaery first asked for all their names, each of them sounding from the Free Cities as she read them. It was a terrible thing to do to children, and it wasn’t as if no one had known. They had just turned a blind eye to it.
But not her. Not now.
She sat with them all in the dirt, asking them to tell her their stories. And while it took much coin in ink and parchment, she had counted it well worth it, for each had stirred her heart.
“You are no longer little birds,” she told them. “You are my flowers now, and I promise you that I will not discard you however tall you grow.” Margaery gave them a smile as gentle as she could. “Indeed, I would prefer you grow as tall as you can.”
Some of them had tried for smiles of their own, though they were sad, pitiable things.
No matter. These things took time. To expect otherwise would be to expect a rose to bloom in a day.
She caught Ser Morwyn with the shadow of a smile as she stood, the dirt sticking to her gown. “Thank you, ser. If you would have a favor of me, you need only ask.”
“I seek only to see your works, my lady.” Ahh, such loyalty stirred her heart as well.
Still, she would ponder on what she could do. Something for his widowed sister, perhaps?
One of the things Grandmother had made sure she knew was that loyalty should never be taken for granted.
Arianne
The arrival of the Targaryen siblings to Dorne was to be a subdued affair, as it must be. If the fat stag on his stolen throne of swords heard even a whisper, all of Dorne would pay the price.
To their good fortune, the stags seemed to have their own troubles to deal with for the moment, with the master of coin revealed to have murdered the last Hand and the master of whisperers vanished into the wind. There was no better time for Dorne to make such a move.
As she looked upon her father, Arianne still could not help feeling embittered that he did not allow even a word to slip into her ear of what he planned. No doubt it was the same stubbornness that had her mother return to Norvos.
What would he have done had something left the arrangement in the wind, her thoughts whispered to her unbidden.
“I thank you for bringing them safely to Dorne, Lady Greyjoy,” her father spoke. He had seemed more hale and hearty this past moon, even if he was still unable to walk. “We heard you had some troubles on the way.”
“Only Salladhor Saan playing his games,” the Greyjoy said with a shrug like a cat’s. “An agreement was made and he is returning to King’s Landing with that peacock now.”
“The pirate did not suspect?” he asked as Arianne spied a letter in her nimble hands.
“If he did then Solomon had forced him to reconsider,” she replied in a subdued voice. “He also asked that this reach you.”
With how pale she suddenly seemed and how awkward her steps were, Arianne wondered if perhaps the sorcerer had done more than simply pass a letter to her. Imagining him taking the ironborn princess like a Sand Alley whore amused some petty part of her.
The comely boy behind her seemed even paler, his sandy hair falling past his smooth cheeks.
Arianne stifled a sigh at the sight. If only her nuncle and Tyene were here and not lying in wait at the Red Mountains. She could almost taste the jest she wanted to make.
Her father had already broken the yellow seal and read the letter, his eyes on the heavy chest Viserys Targaryen was holding tightly.
Her betrothed. It still felt strange to think it.
“I am sorry that it has taken Dorne so long to act, Your Grace. The Usurper and his Hand have been watching us carefully.”
He was not an ugly man, she thought, even if his gaunt cheeks made him seem more like one of the smallfolk than the would-be king of a line of dragonlords. His hair had been dyed blue in the Tyroshi style, and so had his sister’s, younger and similarly thin, though it would be hard to see her as anything but a beauty.
“House Martell acted wisely,” he finally murmured. “It is for the same reason that I will not lay blame on Houses Darry or Tyrell.” He seemed to sigh as he said it. “My father and brother lost the war and left you leal lords with few options.”
Her own father seemed faintly surprised at the words. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace. I do, however, have a gift for you, a certain item my men were able to recently procure.”
Areo Hotah returned with a small box of carved dark wood, opening it for her betrothed. His eyes, first confused, turned wet at the sight, though he quickly brushed the tears away.
The memory was hazy since she had been but a girl, but Arianne was certain she had seen the very same crown upon Rhaella Targaryen’s brow. His mother.
“Thank you, my prince.”
Her father nodded graciously. “I will have both brought to your rooms, though you must forgive me for how meager they are. We must still maintain the ruse.”
Viserys did not argue. “Would it be too onerous to pay a visit to the city beneath your walls as well?”
“I see no reason why you cannot,” her father said after a moment, clutching the blanket over his knees. “It would seem more suspect if we kept you and your sister only to Sunspear.” His eyes found her. “Arianne can accompany you. It is past time the two of you had come to know one another.”
The way he looked at her, one would wonder if he thought she meant to bed her betrothed that very day. Hmph.
“Will you join them, Princess Daenerys?” he continued. “Or perhaps you would rather join my youngest and his cousins at their games? He is a sweet boy, if younger than you by three years.”
Was her father so greedy so as to try and see Trys wedded to a dragon as well?
The girl threw a quick glance at her brother, tugging on her fingers nervously. “I would be happy to meet Prince Trystane and his cousins,” she squeaked out. “I have not had many opportunities to make friends…”
Her words pulled at her heart. She would have to ask Elia to be extra sweet to her.
Arianne soon approached her betrothed, giving him a meaningful smile. “It seems I will be accompanying you, Your Grace.”
His own smile was awkward, but he still managed to take her hand and kiss the back of it. “The pleasure is mine, Princess Arianne.”
Two of the Martell household guard escorted them, though he had not asked to see the sweeter sights as she expected, but instead the poorer parts of the shadow city. The seedy stench of it did not even seem to bother him as they traveled down the narrow alleyways.
“When I am king in more than name, I wish to bring a change to places as this as Aegon the Unlikely had tried,” he whispered after a time. “All these people know is scratching a living from the stones, when instead they could be given good work and have good food in their bellies. The Free Cities or here or even in King’s Landing, it is all the same.”
Arianne scratched at the tip of her nose as she considered his words. It was a pleasant idea in theory, and yet even as fat as her father’s treasury had grown, it still could not give all these people succor.
“It is a fair goal, Your Grace,” she said instead. “I can only hope to help you when the time comes.”
He smiled at her, something less awkward this time as he took her hand again. They continued to the orphanage he had asked after.
The matron there looked at her presence as if she was an elephant, and perhaps that was not far from the truth. She never had a thought to come to a place as this.
The children that soon met them were skinny, their skin stretching over their ribs. And they were all in rags.
He produced a pouch of coins and told them he would give them a silver coin each if they would speak to him truly. Most of them were hesitant at first, but once there were a few of them with coins in their hands, the mood shifted swiftly.
Any good cheer she might have had vanished quickly at the first story, and it only worsened from there. Somehow he only listened quietly.
Arianne wondered if her father was just as ignorant of what was happening under his nose. Mother and Maiden, what the last girl said had her almost heaving her breakfast out onto the grimy stone.
When her betrothed quietly asked if she could have her guard apprehend the matron and the two men that worked there, she easily agreed. One of them had tried to fight, but her guards had steel and he had a club of rotted wood.
“It is not the first time I have seen such filth,” he admitted to her as they followed after the guards through the narrow alleys, her stomach still roiling. There was a nearby barracks that she remembered. “We must all start somewhere.”
When they were hung by their neck in her name, he did not look away as she wanted to, not as they turned blue and purple and not even at how madly they kicked their feet, as if dancing with the Stranger.
He only stared with a hard smile, and with how close she was, his eyes were no longer the sky blue they had seemed from afar.
Instead they were a pale and prickly lilac, and they seemed to like the sight.
Comments
Paradosi
Hey, if you're gonna be crazy, might as well be crazy in a somewhat positive manner, right?
Hydraswarm
yes kill the pedos
