Chapter Text
Summary: The years pass in a series of short snippets.
Notes: So, here we are. 21 months, 430,000 words, 5.5K Kudos, 1.4K comments and 1.5K bookmarks later (as of my time of posting this last chapter). I wanted to say thanks for bearing with me through the slower than anticipated updates that I promised. I also know my spelling has, on occasion, left a lot to be desired (and I can only blame my dyslexia so much) so also a big thank you for your understanding and patience.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
For those of you frantically awaiting updates on my other stories... UTW will update shortly, as will Everything. Cupcake (my latest story – HP Fanfic) updates will be sporadic. KB will be my priority. Until next time!
302 AC – The Sixth New Moon: Olenna Tyrell
“He was, I think, a better man than the Seven Kingdom’s deserved and a better man than many will ever know.”
She hummed, turned away from the window and tightened her arms around the babe she was clutching to her chest. Little Aemon Targaryen peered up at her with violet eyes and gurgled happily at her as he raised a pudgy arm. She leaned her head back for experience had taught her already that the babe, despite his small size, had a tight grip and loved nothing more than to yank on any hair he could grasp.
“He killed his King and his father.”
“And what men they were,” Daenerys replied tightly. “A man who would have murdered half a million people in a blink of an eye and a man who ordered the murder of a babe and a child barely capable of walking.”
“It does not matter,” she remarked. “He was a Kingslayer and a Kinslayer. He fucked his sister and past his bastards off as the King’s legitimate children. He crippled Brandon Stark. He killed Ned Stark’s men. The good he did does not outweighed the bad in the eyes of Westeros. And you cannot act kindly to his children simply because of it. Whilst the crimes of the parents should not pass onto the children, many still think they should – and you are the Queen.”
“You are saying I should not do it.”
“I would not presume to tell you what you should do, Your Grace.”
Daenerys scowled at her then pushed herself away from the wall. There was a brief pause where Olenna thought she may flounce out of the room but then Daenerys sighed and crossed over to her. Together they stood in silence for a moment and stared out at King’s Landing.
The rebuilding of much of the city was still going on. There was a huge crater where the Great Sept had once stood and the streets around it still held a tinge of green – an after effect of the Wildfire. Even from the distance away they were, and with her slightly failing eyesight, Olenna could still see wisps of green on the ground. As the moons had gone past, it had become slightly easier for her to gaze upon the city but even now she could not help but feel she had failed again – Garlan had still died in this accursed place, despite all she had done to try and prevent it.
“I know what he did,” Daenerys said eventually, her voice soft. “And I know that the good does not outweigh the bad.”
“He saved Jon Snow’s life and died for him,” she replied. “Your opinion on Jaime Lannister has always been influenced by what he has, or has not, done to, or for, others.”
“And what did he do to you, Lady Olenna?”
“I do not know what you are talking about, my Queen.”
“I know it was you that gave him the Sweetsleep for his father so that Lord Tywin might pass peacefully.”
She paused for half a second and then inclined her head, knowing that Daenerys was watching her without needing to turn her eyes to gaze upon the young girl. “No matter what Tywin Lannister did, and no matter how many people believed he deserved to be handed to the Dornish or to face the Queen’s justice, sometimes offering mercy is the best option.”
“That does not sound like the Olenna Tyrell I know.”
“Someone once offered me a similar kindness,” she murmured, eyes locked on the Lannister ship docked in the harbour. “Tywin had lost. He knew that. He was already broken enough. More respect was earnt by offering kindness than the alternative paths that could have been taken. House Lannister – Tommen and Myrcella and Tyrion – will remember what you did.”
Daenerys was silent for a long time before she lifted her shoulders slightly, indicating she would like Aemon back. Olenna relinquished the babe immediately into the safety and warmth of his mother’s arms. “So, Lady Shireen’s request?”
“I would allow it,” she said cautiously. “If Lady Myrcella is amenable – which she seems certainly to be – and Lady Shireen wishes for the company, I see no harm in letting two children who have suffered so much find solace in each other’s company.”
“I had thought to have Myrcella to marry into a House I could trust.”
“And you can still do that. Let her stay in Storm’s End with Lady Shireen. Let them be each other’s company. There will come a day when Lady Myrcella wishes to marry – I am sure – and when that day comes, give her Evenfall Hall.”
“Lord Tarth is not yet dead and is young enough he may sire more children.”
“The man is nearly sixty name days.”
“And you are nearly seventy-five name days.”
“I shall not take offence that you seemed determined to kill me off, my Queen,” she remarked. “But Lord Tarth has lost his wife and all his children. There are no Tarth’s left in Westeros and whilst the island is pretty, it serves very little purpose. Myrcella is twelve name-days it will be several more years before she can wed.”
“And who would you wed her to?”
“Humfrey.”
“Your good-daughters brother? Is he not several years her senior?”
“Five years.”
“As a Hightower he could be trusted and he grew up in Old Town so he knows ships – and more ships on Tarth would be helpful,” Daenerys mused, turning away from Olenna again to look at the harbour in the distance. “A reward for the Reach – for all they have lost. I would meet him first.”
“Of course.”
“And Tommen?”
“I had thought you had a candidate already in mind.”
“I would still hear your advice.”
“You need to learn to trust in your instincts,” she murmured. Then she sighed and shifted slightly, her legs cramping with the effort of standing for so long. “I shall speak frankly.”
“I would have it no other way.”
“He needs to wed a Northern girl. You cannot give the Reach too much power – although we are allies now, when I am gone and Willas is gone, it may not always remain so. Other Lords will look to your throne, and they will look at the Lannisters and they will see opportunity.”
“By that logic, I cannot trust in the North either.”
“I would think you could trust in the daughter of Maege Mormont.”
“I would not inflict Lyanna Mormont on anyone, let alone a boy as sweet as Tommen seems to be.”
“Lyanna Mormont will do her duty, and she would do it gladly for you,” she said, her voice sharper than she had intended it to be. “Her loyalty is to House Stark and to House Targaryen – she will ensure her children are likewise raised to have that same loyalty. She has older sisters who will inherit Bear Island before her and this is the best match, politically, she can hope for. The Iron Born may be quiet now, but they will not be quiet forever – and you need someone you can trust in Casterly Rock.”
“Some would argue her children will be Lannisters and their loyalty will be to themselves.”
“They are fools who have never met a Mormont.”
Daenerys laughed brightly. There was another brief pause and then Daenerys turned to her and leaned down slightly to press a kiss against Olenna’s cheek.
“I shall miss your advice,” Daenerys murmured quietly, as she pulled away. “You have been a good friend and ally.”
She tried to stop the small smile that she felt flicker across her lips but was unable to and so, in the end, let it bloom. “I am only going North, my Queen – I am not dead. Yet.”
“No, Lady Olenna, you are not.” Daenerys grinned at her in a manner that Olenna had never seen before – impish and full of cheer – and said softly, “you have always seemed so indestructible. Sometimes, I think that you will outlive us all.”
312 AC – The Eighth New Moon: Olenna Tyrell
“I did not know for the longest time who it was,” Benjen Stark said quietly, coming to sit next to her on the bench she had claimed for her own in the glass gardens of Winterfell. “But it could only have been you.”
Outside, the summer snows kept falling and she was silent for a moment as she watched little Olenna and Jon Stark chasing each other around the Weirwood tree. Eventually, she turned her attention away from her two favourite great-grandchildren – because how could they not be her favourite, after all that had happened – and toward her companion. “Speak what you mean to say or be gone.”
“You are the one the Gods gave the second chance to,” he replied, his voice still soft. “The Children told me that someone had been given a second chance, but I never worked out who it could be until now. It was you, was it not?”
“Are you quite sure your latest brush with death has not addled you?”
He smiled at her – the same smile that Jon Snow and Robb Stark so often gave her – and then sighed. “My brother and my nephew have filled me in on all that happened whilst I was Beyond the Wall and sworn to the Nights Watch. They told me of the aid you gave all those years before and of the promises you made to House Stark. At first, I thought it was simply a coincidence.
“Then I started to think about everything that had happened. You were the one who convinced my brother to tell Jon about Lyanna – although I am not sure if you knew what you were doing. But you were far too invested in him – a bastard boy – for someone who did not know him.
“You sent men to aid Daenerys Targaryen –when she was a child. You secured her and the Unsullied. You secured Dorne. You protected House Stark and House Tully. You wed your granddaughters to Lord Edmure and Robb when there were better options.
“Then there were the men who died so I might live – Reachmen who were only at the Wall because of you. The soldiers that you sent North to help ‘gather crops.’ You sent Wynafryd Manderly back to the North because you had already secured it against a threat none could have known was coming. You had men ready to extract my brother and niece from King’s Landing. You always seemed to be one step ahead...and it’s because you were. You knew what was coming.”
“And if I were to deny it?”
“I would call you a liar and I would thank you.”
“Though I am glad that the fates of the children of House Stark changed because of what I did, I did not do it for you.”
Benjen Stark was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on her and his lips pursed. “Who did you do it for?”
She closed her eyes and turned away from him, unable to keep them open for the fear that she might – finally, after all these years – cry over what she had failed to do. “I did it for House Tyrell. To save my grandchildren and my children.”
“I am sorry.”
“That I failed. Or that I did not?”
“I am sorry that, despite knowing what was to come, you were not able to save them all. I am sorry for Loras, for Garlan and for Mace.”
She nodded and opened her eyes. “And if I said I knew what happen to your brother and niece should they go to King’s Landing. And I knew what would happen to Bran. And that I did nothing but instead I let it happen.”
“Did you wish for absolution?”
“No. But do not offer me pity because you feel I lost so much whilst House Stark was preserved. I let terrible things happen. Everything I did, I did for my House. Yet, my son is still dead. Loras is still dead. Garlan is still dead. Maege Mormont is still dead. Paxter Redwyne is still dead. So many are still dead – because of me,” she murmured. “Some would argue I failed.”
“Aye. Good men and women died. But good men and women lived,” he replied quietly.
“If I had my time again,” she murmured. “I could make it better. I could.”
“I cannot imagine why anyone would wish to live their life three times, even if they have lost those they love,” Benjen said sharply. “There must be a balance, Lady Olenna. Leaf taught me that. No matter what happens, some of us are destined to die too young and some of us are destined to live far too long.”
He was silent for so long that Olenna began to believe that, perhaps, he would not speak again but eventually she saw him shift slightly out of the corner of her eye and turn to face her more fully – straddling the bench completely. “I was meant to die in the North,” he said quietly. “You are the reason I am alive. You are the reason I am to be a father soon and you are the reason my brother and my nieces and nephews live. It is little consolation, I know. But for all you have lost, you have also gained – have you not?”
Her eyes drifted away from where they had been fixed on the Weirwood tree in the distance, watching as the snow began to settle on the branches. “I’ve cursed them for what they did,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I curse them still.”
Benjen did not reply and together they watched as Margaery and Robb, arm in arm, appeared through the entrance in the far end of the Godswood and began to shepherd the children inside for their evening meal. She thought he might leave her there, festering in her own thoughts and grief, but he did not leave her. Instead, Benjen Stark sat with her as the summer snows grew heavy outside the Glass Gardens. Darkness spread across the North as the evening sun was swallowed by dark clouds, and Benjen kept her company whilst she let the tears she had held in for nearly a decade fall.
318 AC – The Sixth New Moon: Olenna Tyrell
It was slow progress, taking more than an hour for them to get to the edge of Winterton from their initial location of Olenna’s chambers. She was old now and she could feel in her bones that she would not live to see another winter. She supposed the bright side of that was that they had only just had a winter, so hopefully she had a few more years left.
“Oh look,” she remarked as Margaery drew her to a halt at the edge of Winterton, “a field. I think that might even be the same field I can see from my solar. Imagine.” She cast her eyes around. “Oh look! Over there. Another field.”
“Grandmother,” Margaery said quietly, gripping her arm tightly – as though she thought Olenna may run back to the warmth of her solar and had quite forgotten that Olenna struggled to walk these days, much less run.
Several long, painfully cold, minutes passed in silence as they waited. Around them, the hustle and bustle of Winterton gave her enough to listen to that she was able to forget the cold – at least for a moment. She tightened her cloak around her and shivered slightly, burrowing her face down into the thick fur to try and stave off another shiver.
“Do you suppose your Lord husband drags his ailing mother around the countryside for no reason?”
“Lady Catelyn is hardly ailing and nor are you.”
“Why am I her-”
She cut herself off, watching as a procession began to appear over the hill in the distance – wending its way up the King’s Road. Then, out of the clouds above the procession, two dragons appeared, letting loose roars that she knew to be joy and flying fast toward Winterfell.
“Oh.”
**
“I always knew you would find a way to get Tyrell blood on that bloody throne.”
She turned slightly, raising her eyebrows as she did so. “Tyene.”
“Lady Olenna,” Tyene replied, inclining her head politely and smiling at Olenna as she slid into the seat next to her. “You look well. I had half expected the confusion of having two Olenna’s in the room to have aged you prematurely – but you look much like I remember.”
“The Northern air is good for me.”
“Apparently so. I was sorry to hear of Lord Wyman’s passing.”
She inclined her head, showing her thanks. “And how is your Lord husband?”
“He misses Dorne, as do I,” Tyene replied. “But Runestone has much to offer us, and his position is one he could not turn down.”
“No, I imagine being Warden of the East and Defender of the Vale is not something one can pass up easily.”
“I know you had a hand in it.”
“Of course,” she agreed, inclining her head again and watching as her great-granddaughter danced past with Prince Aemon Targaryen. They truly did make a beautiful pair. “Who else could have succeeded after the unfortunate actions of House Arryn during the war? Lysa Arryn is lucky she kept her head.”
“Some would say you and the Queen are fools for letting Dornish blood into such a prominent position.”
She turned slightly in her chair and raised an eyebrow. “Given your father and uncles loyalty to our Queen and my great-granddaughters fondness for your sister, I cannot imagine the Queen has much to worry about from the Dornish these days.”
“Elia’s loyalty is easily bought.”
“Elia is not easily bought,” she returned. “That your sister has not left King’s Landing in a decade has not gone unnoticed. Even if Hellholt was not screaming for her to return, your sister’s choice to stick by our Queen’s side, and then Olenna’s, has been remarked upon.”
“You have heard the rumours, even here?”
“Nonsense of course,” she remarked blithely. “Olenna is very much content in her match – just look at her. Her fondness for your sister is a genuine friendship and I am glad of it.” She paused and then said, “or perhaps genuine terror that should she force Elia to return to Dorne that she will have lost the best protector and best friend she has.”
“Dynasties have been bought down by less.”
“The Queen is a dragon, and your sister is a Viper – let the Lords and Ladies gossip, they are nothing but sheep.”
“I never thought Elia would be content in such a place,” Tyene said a few moments later. “I thought for sure that she would move the Hellholt and rule it – she always talked of it.”
“She was a child. Children dream of foolish things,” she replied. “Look at Margaery – she wished to be Queen, once.”
“I must be the only one who did not wish to be Queen,” a high-pitched voice said. Then, before Olenna could turn around, a short, dark-haired woman round with child slid into the seat on the other side of Tyene. “Sansa. Margaery. Desmera. Daenerys. They all wished to be Queen.”
“Some would argue you were the only intelligent one of them, Arya,” she replied.
Next to her, Tyene let out a loud cackle and several nobles nearby looked over.
“I had no wish to be Queen either.”
“As I remember it, neither of you wished for motherhood either nor to run your own Keeps,” she said, looking at the two women. Arya scowled at her and Tyene smirked. “And here you are now, the Lady of the Twins and the Lady of Runestone. Both with children – children who are of a similar age, if you had not noticed.”
“And here you are, Lady Olenna, meddling as always.”
She smiled at the two of them and fell silent, watching as the two women who had so much in common struck up an easy conversation about the trials and tribulations of marriage and plotted how they might run away together and sail West. Every now and then they drew her into conversation, and she joined in and thought that, perhaps, Benjen Stark had been right about something – she had lost much, but she had also gained much.
320 AC – The Ninth New Moon: Olenna Tyrell
“I hear that Lady Shireen is with child again,” Daenerys murmured softly. “If it is a boy, I plan to betroth him to Rhaenys.”
She sipped on her watered wine and then leaned back further into the comfort of her chair. Warmth enveloped her and one of the thick pelts that Robb Stark had had made for her slipped from around her shoulders and fell forwards, covering her arms and legs. She leaned forward and put her watered wine on the table and then wrapped the pelt more carefully around her and basked in its warmth.
“It would be a smart move,” she agreed, closing her eyes. “Lady Shireen has Targaryen blood in her bones as does Monterys. It was a wise match you found for her. Targaryen and Velaryon. The blood of Old Valyria. She is happy?”
“Most content,” Daenerys agreed. “As is Monterys – his uncle rules Driftmark in his stead and he has shown no desire to re-claim it.”
“Why should he? Driftmark is all well and good, but his wife is Lady Paramount of the Stormlands and through his match with her, he has become Master of Ships and if you speak true, his son might one-day be King. He has risen high.”
“So, you agree?”
“Should you not be asking Olenna and Aemon?”
“I am Queen.”
“And yet you ask me.”
“You are my Hand.”
“I am not your Hand. Your Hand is in King’s Landing. Or at least he should be,” she remarked, opening her eyes to look at Daenerys.
“He’s in Riverrun, if you must know.”
“I suppose I must expect another great-grandchild shortly then. Although I must admit I find it to be in poor-taste since Luthor wrote to me not a week ago and told me that Visenya is with child. Imagine, having a sibling the same age as your first-born.”
“It’s nice though,” Daenerys murmured, her eyes fixed on her own glass and decidedly wet in a way that made Olenna’s heart tightened slightly in her chest. “That my children are all so happy. That they have families of their own. That their families love each other. It is more than I ever thought I would have.”
“You are growing sentimental in your old age.”
“Perhaps,” Daenerys allowed. “Some days I wish I had more than three.”
“I found three to be the perfect number.”
Daenerys glanced at her and blinked heavily, as though she were fighting back tears, and murmured, “as do I. But I have regrets all the same.”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of in that, Your Grace. You forget you are human, not a dragon – no matter how much you wish to believe otherwise.”
Daenerys was silent for a long moment, looking at her with her brows furrowed before she glanced away. Olenna watched as the Queen poured herself another glass full of Arbor Gold and then tilted the mug toward Olenna before she put it down when Olenna shook her head.
“What did you think of the wedding?”
“Bethany looked beautiful. Jon looked terrified.”
Daenerys laughed brightly. “He is so much like his namesake, is he not?”
“Cowed by a strong woman?”
“I could have you whipped for your impudence.”
“You would not inflict such damage on an old woman.”
“You have been claiming to be an old woman for so long, Lady Olenna, that I am half surprised you are still walking and talking – one could be forgiven for thinking you must have died a thousand times by now.”
“Do you speak to all your subjects this way?”
“With such fondness?”
“If that is what we are to call it.”
“I speak to my subjects as they deserve – just as I speak to my friends.”
“A poor choice indeed, to claim I am your friend,” she murmured, unable to stop the smile that flickered over her lips. Her mind flickered to true the reason for the Queen’s visit North. “How is Lady Sansa?”
“She misses Domeric.”
“It is a cruel thing, to lose your husband so young,” she said quietly. “But she has the children and is but a week’s ride away. Lady Catelyn will stay with her for a while.”
“I suppose I must call for Aenar,” Daenerys said, rising to her feet and stretching slightly. “Without Edmure around, I fear for Jon.”
“He was not made to rule, was he?”
Daenerys grinned widely at her. “He did not learn at your hands.”
“I suppose not everyone can be as lucky as you.”
“No, they cannot.”
325 AC – The First New Moon: Olenna Tyrell
“DRAGON!”
She glanced out of the window of her solar, just in time to watch as the largest of the Queen’s dragons flew over the battlements of Winterfell. His tail just skimmed over the top of the men who had all instinctively ducked and he let loose another roar. As he turned, she caught sight of a rider on his back and bit down a smile. A few moments later, the black and red dragon of the Queen swooped past her window.
Ninety-eight name days. It had taken nearly a hundred years – more if she counted her previous life – but, finally, she had achieved what she wished.
She rose to her feet, grasped her walking stick tightly in her hand, and pattered slowly over to the door. Her back ached with the movement and her legs felt like heavy rocks. Ninety-eight name days she may be, but she was a frail ninety-eight. She knew it. She would not live to a hundred. She did not have much strength left, nor much time, but she had strength enough for this.
“Grandmother.”
Margaery’s voice carried a touch of fondness and a touch of rebuke – as though she both wanted to be frustrated but was also deeply saddened. She knew what it meant. She always knew.
“I would see her,” she said, her voice frail, weak and pitiful.
By the Gods, she hated what she had become. A frail, weak old woman – the woman she had once spent years pretending to be. A woman who had to rely on her granddaughter to help her walk further than her chamberpot and who had to rely on servants to help her bathe and clean herself and dress herself.
Another roar split the air.
It was worth it though. By the Gods, it was worth it.
Margaery was gentle and slow as she helped Olenna navigate her way down the master staircase in Winterfell and into the Great Hall. They walked together through the bustle of the Great Hall – pausing briefly to greet Ned Stark and several others who had gathered already despite the early hour – and from there, down the steps into the courtyard. In front of them, dozens of people ran about preparing for the arrival of the dragon-riders, but she and Margaery walked past them both. Together, they walked slowly out of the Keep.
As they crossed under the main gate, another roar split the air, and she heard someone scream. Then someone laughed loud and bright. There was another roar and then the huge cream and gold dragon that had been rumoured to have vanished into the depths of Dragonstone years ago launched itself back into the air and flew off toward the North. As it took off, it exposed the second dragon behind it and the graceful form of the Queen slowly clambering down.
“GRANDMOTHER!”
She turned so sharply her neck creaked and took half a step forward, away from Margaery, knowing instantly that that voice’s owner was calling for her, and not Margaery – despite Margaery being her actual grandmother, although Olenna would not dwell on precisely what that made her – and opened her arms.
Within seconds, a body slammed into her, making her topple for a moment – although Margaery’s steading hand on her back stopped her falling completely – before she regained her balance. She squeezed her eyes closed and wrapped her arms tightly around the girl who was clinging to her.
Eventually, she pulled back and held Margaery’s eldest granddaughter at arm’s length so she might inspect her. Little Rhaenys Targaryen, born nine moons exactly after her mother’s wedding to Prince Aemon Targaryen, was all Tyrell. Her light brown hair was the exact same colour as Margaerys’ – and as Olenna’s had once been – and her nose was a bit snubbed at the end, her front teeth a bit crooked and her shoulders skinny. Only her bright violet eyes gave her away as being a Targaryen. Thank the Gods for her eyes.
Behind Rhaenys, she could just make our Daenerys who was clad in dark red and black furs. Their eyes met and the other woman gave her a dry smile. She stood up, pushing Rhaenys away slightly so that she might greet her actual grandmother, and turned toward her Queen. Daenerys was older now, as they all were – her silver hair beginning to show some light shades of grey, and with laughter lines around her eyes – but still just as beautiful and just as graceful as she had been the first time Olenna had met her, all those years and lives before.
As soon as Rhaenys was cuddled up against Margaery, Daenerys strode forward and greeted Olenna as she always did – with a soft kiss upon her cheek and a hug that decreed them family. Olenna let her – having long ago given up on any pretence of not truly caring for her Queen.
“How did it happen?” She asked.
“Because she is more Tyrell than she is Stark and certainly more Tyrell than she is Targaryen.”
“I see.”
“Olenna is beside herself,” Daenerys continued blithely, as though she had not just informed Olenna that the eldest daughter of the heir to the Iron Throne had manipulated her way into claiming not only the only dragon in the known world that was free but also the largest. “We found her trying to sneak into the Dragonmont. Apparently Viserion called to her. And who was I to disagree with that?”
“You have always claimed you could feel them. There is nothing to say she could not feel them as well,” she murmured. She cast another appraising look at Viserion in the distance. “How does he feel, my Queen?”
“Happy,” Daenerys whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “It is the first time I have felt such from him since before the war.”
**
“Are you proud of me, Grandmother?”
“Very,” she acknowledged quietly. “Although we must keep it between us.”
Rhaenys nodded her head furiously – grinning at her through gapped teeth. “Daella said that father is mad. His dragon is not even half Viserion’s size.”
“Your sister is talking nonsense,” she replied tartly, leaning back in her bed. “Your father will be pleased and proud that his daughter will be so protected. But you will remember what I said, won’t you?”
Rhaenys nodded again furiously, her hair bouncing up and down. “Dragon’s do not win wars nor hearts. People do.”
“Good girl,” she murmured.
Rhaenys continued talking, telling her of all that had happened in King’s Landing and the gossip she had learnt from the servants. She spoke of her friends in the Red Keep – the children of the Lords and Ladis that spent their time there, primarily little Minisa Tully who she claimed to be her best friend. She spoke of their adventures in the dungeons and crypts – chasing cats and looking at the dragon skulls. She spoke of Aenar and Rhaegal and how Viserion would hover for hours above the city with her on his back and how she felt at peace. And she spoke of how happy she was.
“Come, Rhaenys, leave your grandmother alone – she needs her rest,” Margaery said eventually, cutting through Rhaenys chatter easily. “Why don’t you go and find your grandfather – he was with your cousins when I saw him la-.”
“-but I don’t like my cousins. Eddard is mean.”
“Eddard is two name days,” Margaery muttered under her breath, then she glanced toward Olenna, as though checking to see if that was what Olenna wanted.
She nodded and smiled softly, leaning back in her bed and feeling her eyes drift close. There was a beat of silence before wet lips pressed against her cheek, followed by hair hitting her in the face as Rhaenys turned quickly and ran out the room.
“She will be the death of her mother,” Margaery said once the door had slammed shut behind Rhaenys and they were alone. “And you shall be the death of me. Telling my granddaughter to claim a dragon? Sending her after Viserion! I knew I should have read the letters you wrote to her! And I know you had help! Was it Elia?”
“Daenerys,” she whispered, her voice dry and cracking.
“Foolish!” Margaery scolded. “Both you and the Queen!” There was a small pause and then Margaery said more quietly, “she will be fine, grandmother. Daenerys tells me they have already agreed to a match with little Stannis Baratheon. You worry needlessly and you need not. Daenerys and I are preparing for Rhaenys rule - you taught us well. We will be fine. I promise.”
There was a beat of silence and then Margaery’s cloak rustled slightly before her granddaughter pressed her lips against Olenna’s cheek.
“I love you, grandmother,” Margaery murmured. “We will be fine. Sleep.”
She tried to get the words out herself, but she could not. Her mouth was dry, and she was too tired to form the words. But she knew Margaery knew what she wished to say for her granddaughter’s hand around hers tightened slightly.
They stayed like that for a while; Margaery sitting on Olenna’s bed, clasping her hand and keeping her company, and Olenna trying desperately to fight to keep her eyes open a bit longer. Eventually though, as the sun began to set outside and she lost the warmth of it from her face and the early evening call of the direwolves in Winterfell began, she realised this was not a fight she would win and so, Olenna closed her eyes.