The room where the Queen resided was not a prison cell, but the former Most Devout's quarters. Before a conviction, no one could throw the Queen into a cage.
Two Septas stood outside the door.
"Tyene?" asked one, tall and sturdy, with eyes as sharp as flint, the very picture of a shrew. "Why are you here?" The other Septa was as sturdy as a farmhand. "No one may enter without Your High Holiness's command."
"It's none of her business. I forced her to bring me." Tyrion stepped before them. These were Margaery's guards—the poor, delicate Rose of Highgarden stood no chance against them. Not even he himself, unarmed, would likely prevail against these two fierce women.
But he had his sword, and he could feel the chill of the ice. Clearing his throat, he declared, "I am Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, heir to Casterly Rock, Warden of the Riverlands. I wish to speak with the Queen. I expect you to make way."
"Without the High Septon..." The Septa hesitated.
"This concerns not the gods, but the realm." Tyrion's expression was stern, his tone unquestioning. "The gods above have no right to meddle in the affairs of mortal kings. Step aside, both of you, and keep well back. I wish not to offend the servants of the gods by breaking mortal law." He touched the hilt of his sword.
The two Septas exchanged glances. They had undoubtedly heard Tyrion's name. After only a few seconds of hesitation, they stepped aside.
"Go to my guards. They're just around the corner," Tyrion said, knocking on the door before pushing it open.
Margaery Tyrell sat with her back to the door, dressed in a long white gown. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, bathing her in a dazzling white glow.
Pale and beautiful, she was only sixteen, yet twice married and twice widowed.
"You're back," she said without turning. "This window faces south, toward the High Court." She turned, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she did not weep.
Tears and weeping were not the same thing.
"Those bastards. Did they torture you?" Tyrion reached out to touch her, but his arm froze midair, unable to go further.
She was the Queen. The Queen was inviolable. A pity neither he nor his elder brother had ever learned that.
"I'm with child. They dare not harm me," Margaery said softly. "They merely brought me here. They question me daily, that is all. I shall not utter a word unless they have proof. The rose is harder to bend than they imagine."
Tyrion quietly opened the door a crack, confirmed no one was outside, then closed it again. "Serpent's venom," he whispered.
"You know?" Margaery frowned.
"Only I know," Tyrion said. "Grand Maester Pycelle might suspect, but I've threatened and bribed him. He'll keep his mouth shut."
"You should have killed him," Margaery said, sending a chill down his spine.
"I'll consider it," Tyrion lied. Pycelle might have his faults, but he was a Grand Maester loyal to the Lannisters. He'd deceive the Mad King for Tywin and deliberately let Jon Arryn die. Tyrion found himself reluctant to part with the maester; he needed more time to think it over.
"The High Septon made me swear. If I'd take an oath beneath the gods, he'd let me go."
"Simple enough. Go swear it," Tyrion said immediately. "Once, twice, a thousand times. It's no hardship for me." His heart skipped a beat at the thought—this world had gods.
"But what about me? What should I do? I'm not you." Margaery's voice was sorrowful. "I did those things. How could I lie before the gods?"
Tyrion fell silent.
"Loras is dying. He was too reckless, falling for Cersei's bait," Margaery said suddenly. "I beg you, bring him back to me. He is my brother. Can you do that?"
"If his health permits, I will find a way to bring him back," Tyrion nodded. "I swear it," he added.
"And those damned pirates," Margaery continued. "Why don't they attack Lannisport? Because Lord Tywin himself is stationed there? And because Willas isn't strong enough?"
"Euron Greyjoy is a dangerous man," Tyrion said. "I'll find a way to deal with him."
"He threatens the realm," Margaery said. "Highgarden may be well-stocked and well-defended, but danger surrounds us. From every direction—the sea, Storm's End, the Dornish, King's Landing. Our allies dwindle, and we stand alone."
"You think too much," Tyrion reassured her. "Those men are mere... flickering candles before me. What matters most now is you—your safety, your honor, and..." He paused.
"Our..."
"Mine!" Margaery cut him off sharply.
"This is my son. He is the king." Margaery Tyrell stroked her belly. "I will not lie before the gods, nor will I abandon this. I've already sent word to Brightwater Keep. Garlan will return to aid me."
Power is an aphrodisiac, and this woman already possessed a third of Cersei's cunning, a thought that pained Tyrion deeply.
"You should send word to Lord Mace," Tyrion said. "He still commands thirty or forty thousand men. And Randyll Tarly—he holds Maidenpool with three or four thousand..." Tyrion paused. "Or perhaps you need no one. You still have me. I can help you. I brought my men-at-arms, the Gold Cloaks. Bronn has returned to Storm's End, and Rosby Castle is loyal to him. I have money. I am a war hero. Sellswords and hedge knights would gladly rally around me..."
"What would you do?" Margaery smiled faintly.
"Do what?" Tyrion was caught off guard. "Besiege the sept, confine my sister, rescue you..." He nearly blurted out, Our child. "Your child... would be king, and I his Hand of the King..."
"Tyrion, are you a fool?" Margaery said. "Have you learned nothing from Joffrey?"
"I..."
"These Septons? Twenty guards would suffice. But if I do that, my child will be haunted by vicious rumors all his life, just as Stannis slandered Joffrey." Margaery said. "Before he is born, I will settle this. I will handle it, not you."
"But you refuse to take a false oath..." Tyrion was confused. "Then call in the army..."
"I haven't called the army. I only need Garlan." Margaery turned to face the window. Sunlight spilled across her delicate face, her brown hair shimmering like gold.
"I demand a trial by combat."
...
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