Chapter 17 is here!
I hope you like this chapter, it's quite long, but I really enjoyed writing this!
Enjoy!
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Joffrey
I've decided that Arienne cannot be human. She must be an angel. She's too perfect to be anything else. She's beautiful, smart, funny and kind. Not only that, she's athletic and can hunt better than almost any man I've met.
When I heard the crowds in Kings Landing chanting her name, I wanted to jump down from my horse and kiss her right there. The common people adored her, they lined the streets six people thick all of the way through the city, women leant so far out of windows that they could have easily fallen out onto the people below. Children sat perched on their father's shoulders, waving and cheering enthusiastically. They cheered for her as if she were the Queen.
I'd gone out with Margaery once, we'd ridden to Kingswood to hunt. But the people had only stared at her, watching with curiousity as she waved and smiled awkwardly, desperately failing to win their approval. Not that I'm much better, the common people all glared at me with so much anger I believed they would easily drag me from my horse and disembowel me right there, on the street. They seemed unable to forget my past actions. I remembered the day when we sent Myrcella to Dorne, and how when we'd been walking back some peasant had thrown some horse dung at my face and hit me straight in the cheek. Then they'd attacked my men and raped some of my women. I'm unable to forget their actions either.
Another thing about Margaery is that she seems incapable of staying silent long enough for us to actually catch something. Whenever prey came into view, she would open her mouth and begin to ramble on, and not only that, but she's useless anyway, though she insists that she learnt how to handle a bow when she was young.
The days I spend with Arienne are glorious. We wake up early each morning, where we eat some of the fruit we brought with us. We climb onto our horses after that and leave the guards to pack our tents away. Then we ride through the trees for the rest of the morning, waiting for prey. Sometimes we're lucky, other times not. But just having Arienne in my company is reward enough. Then we sit down for lunch somewhere and talk about anything and everything. Sometimes we play games, Arienne's idea, where the winner receives a kiss. I am only too happy to oblige of course. Then we ride straight along the road for the afternoon, occasionally passing through small villages, where the children and women come out of their wood-and-mud huts and gawp at us. None of them recognise me, or at least they don't say if they do. To them, we must look like two high-born people, passing through their village on our way to whatever grand citadel lays at the end of the path.
Arienne is right about us not needing any help. We only call for the guards for them to pitch our tents and we take care of ourselves the rest of the time. Arienne is - to my delight - a brilliant cook. She makes delicious meals out of the simplest of ingredients, the meat we catch, herbs from around the forest and vegetables that she had purchased from the farmers in villages we passed. We hunted on our own and ate on our own and the only time we saw the men was when we called them to set up the tents and when they sat outside at night, guarding us from any attacks or dangers.
Every night however, just as she had done the first night, Arienne would slip into my bed beside me and we would just hug each other. The warmth of each other's bodies was a soothing comfort in the cold nights, and we would always fall asleep in each other's arms. Nothing more ever happened, I had more respect for Arienne than that. She was a lady and so I would treat her like one.
On the day we arrived in Arienne's village, it was baking hot and glorious sunlight poured down from above, lighting the trail that led into the village. I could sense Arienne's nervousness from the moment we woke up, she was strangely quiet and prepared our food in silence. Whilst I cleaned it up and talked with a few of the guards who were waiting nearby, she disappeared for a little while into the trees. I didn't try to follow her, knowing how difficult today would be and that it would be wrong of me to press her into talking if she didn't want to.
She returned with a bundle of wild flowers in her arms, and we sat down on the soft, green grass as she laid them out before her and began to organise. She didn't speak to me, just kept her eyes focused on the bouquets of flowers she was arranging. I watched intently as her delicate fingers wound around the stalks, clipping them and tying them together, inserting smaller flowers here and larger flowers there. She really is a woman of many talents. The sun gets hotter and I remove my cloak, but Arienne seems to be oblivious to the heat, though I can see a bead of sweat forming on the back of her neck. Her long brown curls are plaited today in an intricate braid that hangs over her left shoulder and reaches to just above her waist. Here and there, a few small curls escape, framing her heart shaped face perfectly. She looks like a forest nympth, her hair which is the same shade as the trees, and her eyes, so beauteous, which match the ianthine of the flowers she's arranging.
Finally, she seems to be done, removing a purple ribbon from her pocket and cutting it with the knife. She then binds the bouquets, 3 all together, and for the first time she turns to look at me, smiling sadly. "Thank you," she whispers, crawling over and kissing the tip of my nose. I don't bother to ask what for, instead I just kiss her back and then help her to her feet. She cradles the arrangements to her chest, whilst being careful not to crush the flowers, and as her hands are full I put my hands on her slim waist and hoist her without much difficulty onto her horse. She beams down at me, and I grin back, feeling slightly arrogant about how strong I am. Still showing off, I leap onto my stallion who lets out a gentle whinney, but he just returns to the grass he's been chewing.
"Ready," I give her the best supportive smile that I can muster, but even I feel nervous. What if she remembers things here that it would be better for her to forget? What if there is somebody from her childhood who recognises her? But my worst worry of all, what if she decides that she wants to live here and refuses to come back with me? What if I have to say goodbye to her forever?
As we make our way into the village, I reach over and clasp her hand. She turns and smiles weakly at me. "Joffrey, no matter what happens..." she begins to say but I shake my head. "It's ok, I know."
I watch her gulp slightly as she turns her gaze back to the scene ahead. Secretly, I cross my fingers that there won't be anything here to keep her from coming back to Kings Landing. Selfish, I know, but I doubt my heart could take it if I lost her now.
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Arienne
Joffrey acts like the perfect gentleman whilst I arrange my bouquets and as we enter the village. He doesn't press me for how I'm feeling, instead he just remains silent and allows me to mourn by myself. I wouldn't like it any other way.
It's been 13 years, but the village has hardly changed at all. I don't know what I was expecting, the buildings still to be burning, piles of dead bodies hastily thrown into mass graves and piled nearby awaiting burial. But it wasn't like that at all. It was exactly as it was before the attack happened, how I remembered it as a little girl. The animals in their pens lazily sleeping in the midday sun. The small yet homely wooden huts, all neatly organised into streets. The road that ran through and the smaller paths swept of dirt and clean from any mud. On the few grass areas, patches of flowers bloom and children play, laughing and joking. I used to play here, exactly as they did.
We climb down from our horses, I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like had the attack never have happened. I'd probably have been raised here by my mother, taught the simple, peasant life of cooking, cleaning, caring for the children and perhaps working a bit if I had a particular skill. I'd have grown up with the children here, and would have married a young man from this village. Right now, we'd probably be living in our own little hut, and my stomach would be swollen with a child inside. I'd tidy the house and make it nice for when my husband returned home from work, he'd kiss me on my cheek and we'd sit down to eat a meal of vegetable broth and bread.
Had it not have been for that attack, I wouldn't be stood here clutching the hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
A small crowd has gathered around us, staring at the newcomers. I remember that we didn't used to get many visitors to the village, except for those who were just passing through, visiting family or merchants selling exotic fruits and clothes to those who could afford it. From the gathered group, a man steps forward, probably about 35 years old. His hair is brown with streaks of grey, a matching bushy beard grows on his chin. He's rather fat and quite short, and his clothes are slightly more expensive looking than the rest of the people here. This man has money, clearly.
His face looks vaguely familiar, it seems to ring a bell somewhere in my past. He opens his chubby mouth and I notice that one or two of his teeth are missing, yet he appears to be friendly enough. "Welcome to Flintskeep. I am Herbos, village elder. May I ask your names?" His voice is warm, but now he has said his name I remember him. Herbos was a friend of my mother's, a charming man who worked in the village blacksmith, he always brought me a sweet to suck on when he came to see us. His wife, Lyrica, was the village healer and my mother's best friend.
Just as I'm about to beam and announce that it's me, Arienne, Lefa's daughter, a chuckle emerges from the crowd. They part to reveal Lyrica, no longer the fresh-faced young woman I remember her to be, but a mother carrying a toddler in her arms and with a daughter hiding nervously behind her skirts. Her hair is the burning shade of sunset orange that I remember, her smile ever as kind and warm. The years and children have taken their toll, lines beneath her eyes and mouth suggest that she is in fact older than she looks.
Lyrica sets the toddler down and smiles broadly. "There is only one person in whole of Westeros with eyes like that. Arienne Mordane, Lefa's daughter." I let go of Joffrey's hand and I can't help but beam back at her. "Lyrica!" I cry, and wrap my arms around her. She squeezes me tightly, laughing in disbelief. "How many years has it been Arienne, 13? You're so beautiful now! You look so much like your mother." She smiles at Joffrey though I'm certain she doesn't know who he is. He beams back with amusement, his arms crossed, clearly enjoying not being recognised for once.
I turn to him and beckon him over. "This is Lyrica, she was my mother's best friend. She saved my life when I was 5, smallpox." I watch Joffrey's face, he stares at me and Lyrica, as if he cannot believe that I almost died. My smallpox is something that I don't really remember, only snippets. The raging fever, the aching in my bones, the constant vomiting. Had it not been for Lyrica and her 24 hour care, I would surely have died.
All of a sudden, Joffrey drops down on one knee before Lyrica and graps her hand. "Sweet lady, I cannot thank you enough for saving Arienne's life. If she had died, I would never have known the happiness I know now. Please, name something, anything, and it will be yours." Lyrica looks slightly taken aback, but she smiles down at him and lifts him to his feet. "A castle would be nice!" She jokes. The people around us laugh, but Joffrey seems to miss the joke. He nods his head and grins. "A castle! I will send workmen as soon as I return home with the plans to build you the most beautiful manor the Reach has ever seen!"
Lyrica laughs at him, raising an eyebrow amusedly. "I like you already, are you our Arienne's husband?" She smiles at him warmly, and I stare with wide eyes. I can feel Joffrey looking down at me, waiting for me to tell Lyrica and the gathered people the truth. "Erm, Lyrica, this is Joffrey Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. He's the King."
Everyone is silent. Nobody knows whether I am joking or telling the truth. Then someone, I don't know who, begins to laugh. Slowly, more and more people join, Lyrica included. The only person who doesn't laugh is Herbos.
"The King! That's a good joke Arienne, I see that you still have your sense of humour!" Lyrica pats me on the back, but Herbos rushes to Lyrica's side. "Love, I fear that your laughing is incorrect. I once saw the King on a visit to Kings Landing, only from a distance of course, but he has the most rememberable appearance. Lyrica, this is the King."
The laughing cuts out, and people stand still, unsure of what to do. I whisper in Lyrica's ear "curtsey," and she looks grateful for the advice, because she dips into the lowest curtsey she can manage. The other's follow, men dropping to their knees. I can almost see them shaking with terror. They'd laughed at the notoriously murderous king. Joffrey stands awkwardly beside me, unsure of what to do. But slowly, he smiles. "Stand, my friends."
Lyrica is the last to rise. She's shaking slightly, clearly terrified. I put my hand on her arm and hush her. But Joffrey is the one who has to comfort her. "Your grace, I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she stutters. Joffrey shakes his head. "No, it's fine. It's an easy mistake to make. And anyway, I was serious about the castle." He winks at Lyrica, and she relaxes slightly. I smile thankfully at him and he just nods.
"Lyrica, I don't believe I've met these handsome young children!" I crouch down to my knees and hold my hand out to the little girl who's hiding behind Lyrica's skirts. "Hello, I'm Arienne, what's your name?" I grin at her, she can't be much older than 7 or 8. She's inherited her mother's red hair, as has her younger brother, he is much more enthusiastic than her to talk. "I'm Miki!" He burbles in his toddlers tongue. I turn my grin to him and he returns it happily. "I'm Arienne, nice to meet you Miki!" He looks at his mother then I, and then holds his arms out for me to pick him up. I laugh at his forwardness, but nevertheless scoop him into my arms and rest his body on my hip. It's a strange feeling, carrying a child, but I can't help but feel as if I've been born to do it.
Meanwhile, Joffrey has been coaxing the little girl into talking to him. She reveals her name to be Lefa, after my mother, and to everyone's surprise she allows Joffrey to pick her up. Seeing him with a little girl in his arms only makes me fall more in love with him. I even allow myself to think a dangerous thought that I know he is thinking too. What if in a few years, it was our own children in our arms?
Lyrica and Herbos lead us back to their house, the grandest in the village, in exactly the same place as I remember, beneath an oak tree. On the short walk, Miki chatters to me, and though I only understand a few words, I nod and ask him questions, encouraging him to talk more. Lefa seems to be getting on well with Joffrey, they've found a common interest in talking about horses. I begin to converse with Lyrica and Herbos, answering their questions as to why I'm in Flintskeep, though I'm sure that they already know.
We reach their house and as I set Miki down, he bows deeply at Joffrey and I, beaming at himself before running off. We can't help but laugh. Herbos pulls out some chairs for us, trying to cover one in cushions for Joffrey. However, Joffrey insists that he'll be fine on a stool and plonks down on a three-legged stool in the corner. I let out a small snort of amusement.
Lyrica prepares us some bread and meat and apologises that it may not be the fine food we are used to. We eat it anyway, though the bread is tough and the meat dry and over-salted. I tell myself that I have spent too long eating the fine dishes of the high-born. This is the food I was born and raised on.
When we've finished, Lefa and Miki disappear outside and I begin to tell Lyrica everything that has happened to me in the past 13 years since we met. How on the night of the attack, I ran to the Weirwood and found shelter in the hollow inside the tree. I told her about how my uncle and cousin had found me and taken me with them back to Dorne, where they raised me and taught me how to act like a high-born Lady. Then I recount the last 3 months of my life, living in Kings Landing, serving Margaery Tyrell, Joffrey's fiancee. I make no effort to hide the relationship between Joffrey and I to Lyrica, who would she tell?
They listen to my tale intently, and in return they retell the events of everything that happened after the attack. It's a painful subject for Lyrica, I can tell, but she perseveres and tells me everything. "I managed to hide, under the floorboards in here. The attackers were stupid and they didn't think to search for people hiding. They just grabbed anything that appeared to be of value and left. It was so awful Arienne, I still can't get the images out of my head. Everywhere you looked, there was the dead and the dying. Most of them were beyond even my skills. Every man they found was killed, thankfully Herbos was visiting his mother that night in the next village. They rounded up most of the women and children in the square, but they killed those who didn't do as they were told. Your mother..." she pauses and closes her eyes, a failed attempt to hide the tears that are streaming down her cheeks. I place a friendly hand on her forearm. "Please Lyrica, I need to know what happened."
She nods and I offer her my silk hankerchief. She stares at it for a moment as if she wouldn't dream of spoiling such a beautiful piece of fabric, but I insist that I have plenty more. She wipes her eyes wearily, and I tell her she can keep it, due to the dirt that has transfered from her skin to the hankerchief.
"Your mother was braver than the rest of us. From what I heard after the event, whilst they just took what was coming, she kicked and screamed, telling them that they'd be sorry. I think she was trying to buy you time to escape. Anyway, they tied her to a pole and..." she leaves off there, and I shudder. Joffrey places his arm around me, and I instantly feel stronger and surer of myself. "Then they used her as an example for what would happen if we disobeyed. They slit her throat, and she died there. There was nothing I could do after the event but stitch the wound and make her look pretty for burial. I'm so sorry Arienne."
She buries her head in her hands, but I don't comfort her this time. Herbos does it for me, wrapping his arms around his wife and hushing her, telling her that my mother died in an honourable way, standing up for herself. It shouldn't be Lyrica who needs consoling, it should be me. Yet there I sit, completely expressionless, ignoring even Joffrey when he tries to speak to me.
I jump to my feet all of a sudden, and fetch the bouquets which I had deposited near the door. Nobody makes an effort to stand as I fling the door open and storm out.
Like I promised myself years ago, I don't cry. At first it was hard because all I wanted to do was weep. But as I got older, and more and more time passed since that fateful night in the Weirwood, the urge grew weaker. Now I doubt I could remember how to cry.
My first stop is the house I used to live in. It's empty, nobody having moved in since my mother and I 'vacated' it. The door is firmly shut but unlocked. I push it open, not really sure what to expect. But I suppose I'm disappointed when I find it bare.
All of the furniture has gone, probably cleared a long time ago in order to make room for new tenants should they arrive. All that remains is the cooking pit in the centre of the main room, covered in dust from years of disuse, in the corner, a tiny stool, the right size for a small child, a toddler maybe, to perch upon. I rush over and flip it over, checking to see if it's what I think it is. And I'm right. There, carved in the bottom, are three sets of initials. Small, but intricate. 'LM, HC, AM.'
Lefa Mordane, Heinri Chestell, Arienne Mordane.
The initials of my parents and myself.
This stool was carved by my father before he died. It's the only piece of him that I will ever have, and it's worth more to me than portraits and jewels. He made this for me, for us. He made it to stay in our home, it's just terrible misfortune that he never got to put it there himself.
I pick it up and decide that I want to take it back with me, not leave it here to rot in the damp darkness of this uninhabited house. In the years to come, my children will sit on it and add their initials, then their children, and this stool will be passed through the generations.
I lay the first violet bouquet down at the closed door.
Next I make my way to the graveyard. It's where I assume my mother will be buried, and quickly enough I find her grave on the top of the hill, basking in the sunlight. I smile, she would have liked that. A small stone has been placed at the head and a hasty inscription carved into it. 'Here lies Lefa Mordane. Mother and friend. 258-288.' I bite my tongue and stare at the green ground in front of the stone. It's hard to believe that the woman who delivered me into this world, who nearly broke her back working to provide for us, who raised me and saved my life in so many ways, is now resting here, beneath the earth.
I kneel down and remove my cloak from around my shoulders. "Hello mother," I begin, unsure of what to add. I pray to any Gods, the old and the new, that someone will hear me and my mother will reply. But she doesn't. The ground remains silent, the only sign of life the grass swaying gently in the wind. I continue anyway. "It's me, Arienne. I'm so sorry that you died for me. I'm sorry that I didn't come back until now. But I'm going to do you proud Mother, there will come a day, someday soon, when you can gaze down from heaven and be proud of what I've done. Then oneday we can be together again in paradise." I bend down and kiss the ground in front of me, shutting my eyes and imagining kissing my mother's cheek. I try to recall her scent, but to my dismay I find it's been so long that I can hardly remember her laugh.
For a moment I just lay on my back beside her, staring at the clouds above. It's a nice view, I like it here. I'm not sure how much time passes by, but I eventually force myself to sit up and lay down the second bouquet. "I love you," I whisper, sniffing slightly in my sadness. I will not cry. I will not cry.
I repeat these words as I walk back down to the village and find Joffrey waiting for me. He's sat alone on a wall, staring out at the meadow in front of him and then the woods beyond that. When he sees me, his face doesn't light up as usual. He just gives me a supportive smile and when I'm close enough, he wraps his muscular arms tightly around me. "I'll never let anyone hurt you Arienne, I'd die for you, just as your mother did."
It's at this moment that I realise I've fallen uncontrollably in love with him.
Not caring who's watching, I jump onto my tiptoes and fling myself at him, kissing him passionately. I can almost hear his happiness as it buzzes off of him, radiating through the air. He pulls me close to him and kisses my hair. I wish I could stay like this forever. But I need to take him somewhere, I have one final bouquet, and I cannot rest until I've placed it.
"I want to show you something," I whisper gently into his ear. He runs a hand through my hair, but doesn't complain. He just stands up and lifts me to my feet. For a moment I wonder if I am doing the right thing, can I truly trust him with this, my most secret and personal place?
I already know the answer.
Taking his hand, I mutter "Do you trust me?" to him. He turns at me and with cerulean eyes glowing he grins. "I trust you with my life."
We trapse through the meadow, the long grass reaching to my waist. Joffrey doesn't try to open his eyes once, but he keeps a firm grip of my hand as we reach the forest edge. It's a journey that I never believed I'd take again, but I know now that I must. I need a sense of closure, finality, if I'm truly to embark on my life in Kings Landing. With the arrangement of flowers in my free hand, I lead us into the forest.
The journey is much more pleasant this time. I'm not running for my life and it isn't the middle of the night. Also, I have Joffrey's silent yet unrelenting support, the warmth of his body next to mine and the tinkle that courses between our linked hands filling me with happiness. Though it's been such a long time, I remember the route without any difficulty. I remember every tree and stream, every bush and ravine. No matter how hard I try, I doubt that I could ever forget this route.
The orange light of sunset slips through the leaves of the trees that tower protectively above us. Beside us, a stream of clear water bubbles along, complete with tiny fish and newts swimming lazily along, unfazed by our presence. Butterflies flutter about, one bold enough to land on my shoulder for a second before flying off. I lose it in the light.
However, as I look harder I begin to notice the signs that the forest is changing. Instead of the fresh green the leaves and plants had been in my youth, many of the leaves are changing to a crisp array of orange and red, the fallen crunching beneath our feet. There are fewer flowers now and those that do remain are wilting and giving up. In the branches above, various creatures scurry about, collecting food and supplies to create a shelter in which they can hibernate. In their eyes I see a panic, the cold is coming quicker than they first assumed and they're worried that they won't be ready in time.
This is the first time I see that autumn has fallen, and beyond that a long, cold winter lies ahead.
But Joffrey remains faithfully by my side, so I focus on the present. For now, the forest is alive, and so am I. We push on through the amber forest.
When we reach our destination, I can hardly believe how little it has changed. It's as if that this little piece of the world has remained the same through everything, untouched by the attack against my humble hometown, oblivious to the tyranny of Joffrey's rule before he met me, it's even been left alone by the war that has raged Westeros, resulting in the deaths of thousands of young men who believed that they were dying for their King, whoever they believed that was.
It's been protected because it's a holy place. It doesn't matter which Gods you believe in, this place will always be sacred. It's a place of sanctuary and protection, where nothing can hurt you.
I let go of Joffrey's hand for a moment, stepping over to the majestic tree and placing my bouquet at the foot, allowing myself to have a final minute of solidarity in this place that is so special. But I've come to realise that I want to share it. It saved my life, and I want Joffrey to see it.
Gliding back to him, I'm aware that he's probably never seen a Weirwood before. This one is the last one remaining south of the Isle of Faces. Hidden from the First Men, it was protected by our ancestors who planted a forest that stretches for miles in every direction to protect its secret, the Weirwood, which lies right at the heart.
I wrap my arms around him and place my hands over his. Ignoring the familiar tingle that comes whenever we're close, I rest my chin on his shoulder, and slowly move his hands aside.
He gasps at the beauty of the scene in front, and suddenly I'm seeing it again for the first time through him.
The regular trees which surround the clearing are dull in comparison to this beauty. A pure white, the type that cannot be replicated by man. It's smooth and sleek, shining as the sunlight reflects off of it. But in amazing contrast, the blood red leaves that remain that shades during summer and winter. The weirwood never dies.
He looks at me, as if asking for permission, and when I nod he tiptoes forward, almost wary, stroking the tree, as if he can't believe it's real. He presses his ear against it, and jumps back when he hears the sound that is almost like it's breathing. I laugh gently, Joffrey circles the tree, taking in every detail, only stopping to examine the face carved into it, and the small hollow in which I hid all those years ago. I join him there, gazing down at the spot where I was so terrified, yet I'd survived. The bush has grown so thick that it'd be impossible to get in now, and if I remember correctly, I'd be too big anyway.
Joffrey sits down at the foot of the tree, dipping his sword in the freshwater pond beside it. I watch as he examines the blade, watching the crystal droplets slide down and fall back into the main body of water. I kneel down beside him, and I gently take his hands into mine and roll his sleeves up. He watches curiously as I shut my eyes and slip his hands into the water with mine. The liquid is fresh and cool, I can almost feel its healing powers seeping through my skin and making me feel alive.
Joffrey is mesmirized as I shut my eyes, and I find my lips moving and a song coming out. The last time I sung this song was here, I was fearful to ever speak the words anywhere else. But here, now, with Joffrey by my side, there seems like no better time.
Little Angel,
Little Bird,
My sweet, angelic baby bird.
I raised you and fed you and now you are strong,
My sweet baby bird,
It's time to fly on.
Oh little bird, do not cry,
Your mama loves you
For you she will die.
She raised you and fed you and now you are strong,
My sweet baby bird,
It's time to fly on.
Sweet, baby bird,
For her you must love,
Prove your worth and rise again.
She raised you and fed you and now you are strong,
Grand majestic bird,
It's time to fly on.
I almost forget that Joffrey is here with me until he squeezes my hands and my eyes fly open. He's watching me with so much love and adoration that I can't help but smile slightly. "My mother used to sing that to me, I've never sung it since... but now seemed like the right time. It's because you're here. I love you Joffrey."
"I love you too."
For what seems like a lifetime, we just stare at each other. Neither says a word, because words aren't needed now. We're linked at the soul, neither of us will ever love another because we have sworn ourselves to each other here, on sacred ground. Nobody can come between us now, not Margaery, Cersei or any mortal being. We are soulmates, and we're destined to be together forever.
Joffrey releases my hands, but I find the spark doesn't disappear at the loss of touch. It burns ever brightly in my stomach, a fire that I'm certain could melt the Wall if it dared to stand in our way.
From his pocket he pulls a glittering silver chain. It's quite simple really, but it's the simplicity that makes it so breathtaking. From the chain hangs a ruby pendant, in the shape of the Weirwood leaf that flutter gently in the breeze above us.
"I'm not going to marry Margaery. I don't care if I have to surrender my throne, my family, my kingdom. So long as I can be with you, nothing matters anymore. I'm going to marry you, Arienne, and nobody will stand between us. You are my lady, Arienne, and I will love you from this day, until my last day." I know that he's spoken these words before, but I am the only one he means it. It's impossible to tell a lie here, in front of whichever Gods see the world through this tree.
Joffrey wraps his arms around me, and with my nod, he fastens the chain.
And for the first time in my sorrowful life, I feel complete. The hole in my heart has for the first time healed.
And with that, a crystal tear drop of unrelented happiness leaks from my eyes and cascades down my cheek.