Pov Maerya Targaryen
Maerya sat astride her horse, the wind gently tousling her hair as she traveled down the King's Road. With careful maneuvering, she'd managed to obtain two dragon eggs, now safely secured in a bag resting near her. Her destination was Winterfell, and she hoped to find Catelyn Tully there. Maerya had encountered Catelyn Tully at Bitterbridge, and their meeting had been unexpected but fortuitous. Now, as she rode towards Winterfell, she harbored a glimmer of hope that Catelyn might offer her shelter and safety within the walls of their ancestral seat.
Maerya, despite any hesitation or fear, continued on her path towards Winterfell, her horse's steady pace carrying her forward. The thought of turning back crossed her mind, but she knew the danger that lurked behind her in King's Landing. The risk of being discovered, of her true identity being revealed, drove her onward. The realization that her true identity might be unmasked weighed heavily on Maerya's mind. Her ability to conceal herself for decades was at risk; they were closing in on the truth, inching closer to uncovering her secrets. With each mile that separated her from King's Landing, she felt a sense of both liberation and vulnerability
(Flashback)
Maerya sat amongst Margaery and her handmaidens inside the carriage, the movement of the vehicle gently rocking them rhythmically. Margaery's voice cut through the air, her question breaking the momentary silence. "Have you heard any news on your dragons eggs, Mae?" she inquired, her words carrying a hint of curiosity. Maerya's gaze flicked up from her hands, which were fiddling with a piece of lace.
Maerya shifted her gaze away from her hands, her attention now directed outside the carriage. Her voice carried a hint of disappointment as she responded to Margaery, "No, I haven't heard anything yet."
Margaery's handmaiden pointed out a building, drawing Margeary's gaze towards the exterior. "This is the orphanage the High Septon told you about," the handmaiden explained. Without hesitation, Margeary called out, "Stop the carriage," and the vehicle came to a halt. Margeary's attention was now focused entirely on the orphanage before them.
Margaery smiled briefly at Maerya before stepping out of the carriage. The handmaiden closely trailed behind her, attempting to caution Margeary, "My lady, we should have guards." Ignoring the warning, Margeary responded confidently, "Why?" As she stepped outside, she nearly collided with someone unexpectedly.
The man's stern expression and appearance seemed quite intimidating, causing Margaery to stumble into him accidentally. She quickly offered a polite apology, uttering a soft, "Pardon me." Moving forward, Margaery continued her path, bypassing the man and heading towards the orphanage.
"And why are we going to an orphanage?" Maerya inquires, curiosity clear in her voice. Margaery responds with a dismissive reply, "To help them." As they approach the orphanage, the handmaiden urges caution, "Stop, my lady. You'll ruin your dress." But Margeary pays no heed to the warning, replying casually, "I have others," before continuing into the orphanage without hesitation.
"Yeah, she has others," Maerya chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. She exchanges a knowing glance with her handmaiden, acknowledging Margeary's penchant for lavish wardrobes. As they enter the orphanage, they step into a world of simplicity and need.
Margeary takes a seat in front of a young orphan boy, her gaze filled with tenderness and concern. The boy relays his story, his voice quivering with sadness. "He was a soldier," he begins, "he went to fight on the walls when the ships came into Blackwater Bay... he never came back" Margeary's eyes soften further as she continues her conversation with the young orphan boy. Her gentle voice inquires, "And your mother?" The boy responds quietly, his voice filled with vulnerability, "She died when she had me." The sorrowful truth behind his words resonates, painting a poignant picture of his difficult upbringing.
Margaery's handmaiden hands a small doll knight to the young orphan boy, placing it gently in his hands. Margeary gazes at him with a warm smile, her voice filled with a motherly fondness. "Bad men wanted to come into this city and do terrible things," she begins, "but your father stopped them." She continues, her next words carrying a profound message. "Whenever you look at this knight," she says, "remember your father." The doll knight serves as a reminder of his father's bravery and sacrifice.
Maerya observed Margeary interacting with the orphans, a soft smile gracing her lips. A pang of nostalgia tugged at her heart as the sight reminded her of an old friend, Lyrae, whose striking resemblance to Margeary was unmistakable
"He wasn't a knight, he was just a soldier," prompts Margeary to interject gently, her voice carrying a gentle firmness. "And what do knights swear to do?" she asks, pausing for emphasis. "Protect the weak and uphold the good," she continues, her words carrying a conviction that resonates. "Your father did that," she affirms, "and you should be proud of him." Margeary's response acknowledges the essence of true duty and honor found not in titles but in actions.
Margeary turns her attention to another boy, asking gently, "Was your father a soldier too?" The boy nods in confirmation, and Margeary responds softly, "Then you should be proud too." A warm smile graces her lips as she recognizes the shared sense of pride and bravery found in the fathers of these children, soldiers who fought and sacrificed for their city.
Margeary surveys the room, her gaze encompassing all the children before her. Her voice carries a sense of authority and compassion as she speaks, "Under King Joffrey's leadership, your fathers saved the city. They saved all of us. From now on, we're going to take care of you," she affirms, her words echoing a promise of protection and provision. The children listen intently, their eyes fixed on Margeary with a mixture of hope and trust.
Margeary exits the orphanage, flanked by the children, with Maerya following closely behind. She addresses the caregiver firmly, her voice carrying a tone of determination. "Come to me for whatever you need," she instructs, "to feed them, clothe them, or house them. Directly to me." Margeary's directive emphasizes her commitment to providing for the care and welfare of the children, establishing herself as the contact person for any support they may require.
Maerya's attention drifts towards a corner, where she notices Joffrey watching them. Their eyes briefly meet, and she forces a smile, waving in his direction. Despite the facade, a pang of unease tugs at her consciousness, as she remains keenly aware of Joffrey's presence. Margeary extends an invitation to Maerya, her voice carrying a lighthearted tone. "Sweet Mae, come," she calls out. Without hesitation, Maerya replies, "I'll come," her words echoing a willingness to follow Margeary's lead.
The evening air carries excited whispers as the king and the queen mother have arranged a dinner with the Tyrells. Maerya stands out in a dress of white and red, the combination enhancing her natural beauty "Your Grace," Margeary greets them, standing up as Cersei and Joffrey enter. She smiles warmly, her tone laced with a hint of jest. "Please, sit, sit. I do apologize, my lady," Joffrey continues, a tinge of irritation evident in his voice. "At what point does it become treason to waste the king's time?" With a mix of sarcasm and annoyance,
King Joffrey takes his seat, his gaze lingering on Margeary's attire. "That's a lovely gown," he remarks with a slight nod of approval. "Yes, it suits you perfectly. I imagine you might be rather cold," Cersei insinuates subtly. Margeary responds nonchalantly, "The climate is a bit more forgiving back in Highgarden, your grace." In a sarcastic tone, Joffrey offers, "Shall I have them bring you a shawl, my lady?" Margeary counters with a playful response, "I'm touched by your concern, your grace. Luckily for us Tyrells, our blood runs quite warm, doesn't it" Margeary casts a glance at both Ser Loras and Maerya, a smile playing on her lips. "Yes," affirms Ser Loras, his voice carrying a confident tone. In agreement, Maerya adds, "It does,"
Joffrey's question hangs in the air as he turns his attention to Maerya. "And you, Lady Mae Tyrell," he inquires, "do you want a shawl?" There's a hint of curiosity in his tone, perhaps amused by the irony of her family name. Maerya responds graciously but firmly, saying, "No, your grace, I would not" The weight of her hidden identity as a Targaryen continues to weigh on Maerya. It still feels strange to hear the name "Tyrell" associated with her, a name that holds no allegiance to her true heritage.
Margeary praises Queen Cersei's gown, pointing out the exquisite details. "Loras isn't the queen's gown magnificent?" she muses, impressed by the craftsmanship. "The fabric, the embroidery, the metalwork - I've never seen anything like it" Cersei's words linger in the air, her gaze firmly on Margeary. "You might find a bit of armor quite useful once you become queen, perhaps before," she says, her voice hinting at a deeper meaning. She mentions Joffrey's information about Margeary's stop in Flea Bottom, adding, "Joffrey tells me you stopped your carriage at Flea Bottom on your way back from the sept this morning"
Margeary smiles warmly as she responds to the question, "Yes, I paid a visit to an orphanage the High Septon told me about." Loras interjects, vouching for her charitable work, "Margeary does a great deal of work with the poor back in Highgarden." Margeary adds thoughtfully, "The lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a change and approach them with an open heart." Her words reflect her compassionate nature and her dedication to helping the less fortunate, both in Highgarden and beyond.
Cersei's voice takes on a cautionary tone, her eyes locking with Margeary's. "An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear. Not long ago, we were attacked by a mob there. We had a full complement of guards, but they didn't stop them. The king barely escaped with his life," she warns. Her words carry a warning,
Maerya's smile appears forced, and her words carry a hint of mockery. "Seems a bit dramatic, doesn't it?" she remarks. Cersei's irritation rises, and her response is sharp. "It isn't a bit dramatic," she retorts, her eyes narrowing as she addresses Maerya.
Margeary offers an apology to Cersei, her tone carrying a hint of diplomacy. "My apologies, your grace, for my sister. She's accustomed to being in places where politeness is paramount." Loras chimes in with a cover, stating, "Oh, yes, that's true. Mae was away for a long while, but she recently returned to Highgarden." Cersei's curiosity is piqued, and she questions Loras, "How does that come?" Maerya responds with a simple yet enigmatic, "To the Night's Watch." Cersei, with a hint of disbelief, questions, "Why?" Her tone betrays her skepticism. Maerya continues, her voice tinged with a sense of nostalgia, "Because I needed some wise advice from an old friend." She offers a brief explanation, referring to her time spent at the Night's Watch and the wisdom gained from their interactions, especially with Maester Aemon.
Cersei's words carry a dismissive tone as she comments, "I hope you got the advice you hoped for, I assume you didn't get much, as they're thieves." Maerya is on the verge of responding, but Joffrey's cough intervenes. With a sarcastic glint in his eye, he adds, "My mother has indeed a penchant for drama. Facts become less and less important to her as she grows older. Our lives were never truly in danger." Joffrey's words attempt to downplay the seriousness of the situation,
Maerya's smirk widens as she reiterates her previous assertion, "As I said, a bit dramatic." Cersei rolls her eyes in response, her patience visibly wearing thin. "You're right, of course," she concedes, "but you are your father's son. We can't all have a king's bravery" Her words carry a mixture of sarcasm and resignation,
Margeary glances at Maerya and then at Loras, her expression sincere. "Hunger turns men into beasts," she observes. She continues, "I'm glad House Tyrell has been able to help in this regard. They tell me 100 wagons arrive daily now from the Reach – wheat, barley, apples. We've had a blessed harvest, and of course, it's our duty to assist the capital in time of need." Margeary's words convey both compassion and responsibility, highlighting the role House Tyrell has taken in alleviating the capital's hunger through generous donations.
Joffrey interjects, his manner nonchalant. "Well, as Ser Loras said," he repeats, "Lady Margeary has done this sort of charitable work before. I'm sure she knows what she's doing." Despite his laid-back demeanor, there's a hint of skepticism lurking beneath his words.
Cersei fixes her gaze on Maerya, her curiosity piqued. She remarks, "Mae, I wonder, why you do not have Tyrell features. Normally, a Tyrell would be brown-haired, and yet your hair is silver-blonde." Her observation hangs in the air,
Margeary, quick to respond, offers an explanation, "My great-great mother also had really blonde hair." She lies smoothly, adding, "She must have gotten it from her." Cersei listens intently, her brows slightly furrowed as she contemplates the information. After a moment, she nods slowly, seemingly accepting Margeary's response.