He shifted his weight and stood up. He reached down and grabbed his heavy leather sword belt from the grass. The afternoon was officially over. Leaving a vicious, unpredictable loose end like Joffrey running around was not an option.
"But there is only one person who knows exactly where he went before that castle blew up," Alaric added, buckling the belt tightly around his waist.
Margaery let out a quiet sigh. She understood. She reached up and took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
"Then I suppose," Margaery said, smoothing down the front of her damp dress, "we need to go back and have a talk with his mother."
...
Sansa walked down the wide dirt path running through the center of the camp. The sun was starting to set, and the soldiers were busy lighting their campfires. She kept her eyes on the large Tyrell pavilion, but she didn't see Alaric anywhere. He had been gone all afternoon.
Arya kicked a loose stone on the path." He also has a Tyrell wife. And that Frey girl from the river. Doesn't that make you mad? You always wanted a prince all to yourself."
Before Sansa could answer, the heavy sound of hooves hit the dirt.
Sansa looked up. A massive black warhorse was trotting down the path toward them. Alaric held the reins. Margaery Tyrell sat right in front of him, sitting tall and perfectly straight.
As they got closer, Sansa noticed that Margaery's light green dress was slightly wrinkled, and the ends of her dark hair were still damp. Sansa wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what they had been doing out in the woods all afternoon. A few months ago, the idea of sharing a man would have made her cry and throw a fit. Now, it didn't bother her at all. Margaery was an ally, and they were all surviving together.
Alaric pulled the horse to a stop near the edge of the path. He looked down and saw Sansa.
"Sansa," Alaric said, giving her a short nod. "Are your father and sister settled in?"
Margaery slid off the horse before Alaric could help her. Her boots hit the dirt with a soft thud. She smoothed the front of her wrinkled green dress.
"Lady Sansa," Margaery said with a polite smile. "It is good to see you walking freely."
Sansa gave a short nod. "Thank you, Your Grace." She looked up at Alaric to answer his question. "My father is resting inside. And Arya is right here."
Arya didn't say hello. She just stared at Alaric, then at Margaery, and back at Alaric. Her hand rested on the hilt of her thin sword.
Alaric swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.
Arya moved the second his boots hit the dirt. She didn't shout a warning. She just drew her sword and lunged straight at his chest.
Alaric didn't even blink. He shifted his weight and caught her wrist in mid-air. He stopped the blade just inches from his tunic. His grip was entirely casual, but it felt like iron. Arya couldn't move her arm an inch.
"Let go of me!" Arya yelled. She pulled hard, her face red with anger. "You liar! You married the Tyrell girl! You used my sister!"
"Arya, stop it!" Sansa stepped forward and grabbed her little sister's shoulder.
Alaric let go of Arya's wrist. Sansa quickly pulled her back, stepping right between them.
"Let me go!" Arya fought against Sansa's grip. "I'll kill him! He made a fool of you!"
Sansa's face went completely hard. She let go of Arya's shoulder, pulled her right hand back, and swung hard.
She didn't get to hit her.
Alaric moved his arm and caught Sansa's wrist right before her palm struck Arya's cheek. He held her arm gently but firmly in the air.
"Don't," Alaric said quietly. He slowly lowered her hand and let go. "She's just trying to protect you. It's nothing."
Arya stood frozen. She stared at Sansa with wide eyes, completely shocked that her sister had actually tried to hit her.
Arya's eyes darted between Sansa and Alaric. Her face flushed bright red, her chest heaving, but the fight had completely drained out of her. She didn't yell again. Instead, she just spun around and ran hard down the dirt path, quickly disappearing into the crowd of busy soldiers.
Sansa let out a heavy breath, watching her little sister run away. She turned back to Alaric, her eyes immediately scanning the front of his black tunic.
"Did she scratch you?" Sansa asked, her voice tight with worry. She reached out, her fingers hovering over his chest. "Her sword is very sharp."
Alaric smiled. He stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
"I'm fine, Sansa," Alaric said quietly. "It didn't even touch me."
Sansa relaxed, a faint blush warming her cheeks at the kiss.
Alaric pulled back and looked over at Margaery. The Tyrell queen was standing a few steps away, watching the exchange with a quiet, amused smile.
"You already got enough love for today, Margaery," Alaric said, a teasing edge returning to his voice. "Let me have a minute with her."
Margaery let out a light, easy laugh. She smoothed the front of her wrinkled green dress one last time, completely unbothered by his bluntness.
"Yes, I suppose I did," Margaery agreed smoothly. "And I have grain reports and supply lines to check before it gets completely dark anyway."
She stepped past Alaric and looked at Sansa. She gave the Northern girl a warm, knowing smile.
"I will leave you to it," Margaery said pleasantly. "He is all yours for the evening, Sister Sansa."
Without waiting for an answer, Margaery turned and walked gracefully down the path toward the large Tyrell pavilion, leaving the two of them alone.
Alaric watched her go for a second, then turned his full attention back to Sansa.
Alaric watched Margaery walk away, then turned his attention back to Sansa.
"Come on," Alaric said, nodding toward his large command tent nearby. "Let's get out of the dirt for a minute."
Sansa followed him. They pushed through the heavy canvas flap and stepped inside. The tent was warm and quiet, lit by a small iron brazier. Over in the corner, Roslin was still curled up on the large bed, buried deep under a thick fur blanket. She hadn't moved since Alaric left her that morning.