Author's Note: Highya kids.

I'll talk about it in the second a/n, deal?

As always, I hope you enjoy and review this (way overdue) update!

The capitol was chaos.

The Red Keep, oddly enough, was not.

The streets below were filled with smallfolk, merchants and minor nobility attempting to flee. The docks were mostly empty now, and the few ships remaining were only still there because their crews were having to repel others trying to board by the dozens. There had already been deaths, of this she was certain despite not being in the city itself, and there would likely be many others. Panic, she had learned, caused even the most steadfast individuals to act foolishly and dangerously. The smallfolk of King's Landing, never the most steadfast anyway, were acting very foolish and dangerous indeed. Even from her place atop Aegon's Hill she could hear the screams and rumbles and cacophony of chaos down below.

But the Red Keep was silent, save for the efficient marching of servants and the whinnies and snorts of horses being tacked or hooked up. There was no running, no panicked shouting about the fleet of men sailing towards them from Dragonstone. While fear was likely very much in everyone's hearts—it was certainly in hers—no one acted on it.

Tywin Lannister was to thank for that.

Margaery eyed the Hand of the King as she and her grandmother entered the Small Council chamber, looking for the slightest sign that he was human. The Lion of the West evidently was not, for nothing in his expression or in his pale green eyes was anything but tempered steel. His daughter, the Queen whom Margaery detested at times—most times—sat beside him, a younger, feminine copy of his countenance. The Red Viper of Dorne, olive skinned and dark of eye and always seeming as if he was ready to strike out, sat on the opposite side of the table from Tywin, face emotionless. Pycelle was present, the only non-noble in the chamber, as was Ser Meryn Trant. Baelish has been gone since the aftermath of the first siege, leaving only Varys absent.

Loras followed Margaery and the Queen of Thorns inside, then closed the door as his grandmother began to speak. "I hear we are about to be attacked. Stannis is making quite the ruckus for a defeated man."

Tywin's face never twitched, though any and all could tell he wasn't pleased. "He has the backing of the Iron Bank of Braavos. With that, he has purchased mercenaries and ships."

"Ships which are at our door. How many mercenaries is it then?"

"Uncertain. More than he thinks we have men in the capitol, or he wouldn't be advancing on us now."

She and her grandmother had taken seats as the latter spoke, Loras standing between and behind them somewhat protectively. From the brief glance Tywin spared him, it wasn't missed. Careful, brother. While all present know where your true allegiance lies, there is nothing to be gained by flaunting it. At least attempt to act like a proper Kingsguard.

Margaery spoke far different words than those, though. "And is it more than we have, Lord Tywin?"

Green eyes settled on her. They were vastly different than those of his progeny, despite the shared color. Tywin's were paler, hard and cold, always calculating, never giving away his true thoughts. Cersei's shared the hardness, though with the deeper emerald shade of hers came a fire that so often arose there when the Queen was displeased. Damon's, though they matched Cersei's shade exactly—and Jaime's, it should be noted—were immensely different from both of them. His held no ice nor hardness, and oftentimes gave away his true thoughts whether he wanted them to or not. Discomfort, fear, affection, pure unadulterated lust…she'd seen all of those and more beneath the king's golden brow.

And their shade turns as dark of a green as the forest when he is about to…

Margaery stopped that thought process immediately, hoping Tywin didn't see the color that rose to her cheeks. Whether he did or didn't, his answer came out controlled. "It is likely."

"What of all the armies we keep hearing about," Olenna cut in, tone unforgiving. "Surely one or more of them can come to our aide."

Tywin shifted his eyes from the rose to the thorns. "Most of my own forces are either guarding against Ironborn or marching North to the king. If your son's letters are to be believed, most of your own are doing the same, or advancing on the remaining rebellious Stormlords under Tarly. Stannis is nearly upon us in any case."

"And what of our newfound 'allies', Stark and Tully?"

"The Northerners and a large portion of the Riverlanders are also turning north with Damon. I have already sent my brother Kevan to rally a force at Harrenhal."

Margaery spoke again, mainly to try and keep anything too rude from escaping her grandmother's lips. "The Vale?"

"The Vale is unresponsive still. If Lysa Arryn didn't rally to her nephew's aide, I doubt she will rally to my grandson's. She will be dealt with in time, but not at this time."

Prince Oberyn, disarmingly charming but also reeling with danger in Margaery's limited interactions with him, spoke in his exotic accent. Her grandmother's nose instantly rankled; there was little to no love lost between the two families. "As for Dorne, the Princess Myrcella is safe in Sunspear. I have written my brother to back King Damon with spears as well, but Dorne is far. Word travels slow, and men slower."

The icy tones of Olenna barely let him finish. "The North is far, yet our boy king has found his way there quickly enough. Too bad it was the opposite direction to the one needed."

Tywin had apparently had enough. I'm surprised he let it go as long as he did. "Is your interrogation over? Excellent. I called you here to recommend you evacuate the city, and to offer you protection in doing so." He gestured towards the man across the table from him. "Prince Oberyn has elected to stay and help man the walls. I had hoped Tyrell forces would do the same, though I think it best for you yourselves until Stannis has been dealt with."

"Are you offering others protection, or just us?" Olenna cocked her head to the side. When Tywin quirked an eyebrow in response, Olenna plunged on ahead. "From the actions of your king, we are nothing more than vassals. No more special than House Rykker or Dayne or…Swyft."

Margaery, having expected nothing less of her grandmother than to address the unofficial nature of their agreement at a time such as this, watched intently for reactions. Tywin gave none. Cersei, however, couldn't quite keep the irritated twitch from her brow.

The Hand of the King at least didn't play dumb. "I have spoken to the king of the wisdom of marrying Margaery. He agreed."

She perked up at that. He did? Then why did he leave? Why did he say nothing of it in his letters? Why did a paramour go as his companion when his future queen was relegated to the role of a whore?

Pycelle attempted to cut in in his stumbling manner. "My lords, my ladies, this may not be the time—"

Olenna cut him off, paying the ancient maester no attention whatsoever. "Yet he rides out to treat with a Stark, and then rides North with said Stark to chase squids. All while a woman he agrees should be his queen awaits him in King's Landing, and a different woman warms his bed."

Queen Cersei's eyes promised murder, though her tone was admirably even. "You are speaking ill of your king."

Her grandmother was unmoved. "I spoke poorly of Renly too. I have hopes your son doesn't end up the same way as that one, but if he does I'll speak poorly of the next king we rally to."

Margaery didn't look at Loras, though she felt him stiffen at the mention of her former husband and his former lover. As it were, she dared not look to him, though her heart felt a moments pity. Instead, the Rose of Highgarden shifted her gaze to the Lion of the West. Olenna's words could, hypothetically, be considered treasonous. While all present knew the Lannister's needed the Tyrells—though not as much as they had needed them before Damon brought the Starks back into the fold—it was still an open and on the nose jibe. Tywin's eyes remained cold, but she did notice a near-invisible twitch in his jaw. He was far from pleased.

She tried to bring the conversation back onto the subject at hand. Or maybe that was the subject at hand, marriage and politics being considered by some to be more important than the death and destruction rowing towards them. "You think it best for us to leave, Lord Tywin?"

"I do. The walls are strong and we have armies in the vicinity, but there is a chance the defenses could fail."

"They have failed before, if I recall. The day the Mad King died." Oberyn, who was not a quiet man but had been strangely so of late, eyed Tywin as he said it. The Red Viper made no effort to hide the malice in his look, and Tywin turned to face this as well. The two men stared one another down, and Margaery had no doubt that the mutilated bodies of Elia and her children were on both of their minds.

"Yes, they did," the Hand finally said. "When helped from the inside. Is that a worry here as well, Prince Oberyn?"

The Dornishman snorted and stood to his feet. "A Martell has honor, unlike some. In defense of it, I'll fight for Daring and his city." He turned to the Tyrells, but instead of looking to Olenna he focused on Margaery. Her grandmother was head of the house for certain, whether Mace was around or not—and he wasn't, her father currently treating with the Rosbys and Rykkers on a land dispute for the Crown, which meant he had been sent out of the way so he wouldn't muddle the negotiations between Olenna and Tywin. Still, more and more of the responsibility of leading the House here in the capitol had fallen on her. Whether it was her grandmother's intentions or not had yet to be made clear.

"Our houses have a long and difficult history, my lady," Oberyn said. "But I could use your men in the defense. I ask that you leave those you do not need for your own safety. But, in that regard, I think it best for you to leave this city. Wars in King's Landing are treacherous for women and children."

The Prince of Dorne left without further preamble.

Olenna spoke as soon as the doors were closed. "Will that Dornishman be our commander?" The Queen of Thorns wasn't likely to like the thought; Oberyn hadn't been lying when he said the Martells and Tyrells had a long and difficult history. Most of it revolved around murder, bloodshed and scorpions.

"He is." From his tone, Tywin wasn't happy about it either. "I will withdraw to my base of operations at Harrenhal and rally a relief force."

"You think King Damon will lose the capitol, then?"

"I think our king is fighting another threat, and needs his family safe while he does it. Cersei and Tommen will be safest with myself and the Lannister forces, away from here. Hence my suggestion you leave."

"If we were to stay, we'd be prisoners of the same man who murdered a man he knew was his brother." Her grandmother didn't emphasize in a way that screamed her true thoughts, but everyone at the table knew the underlying insult. "I don't think that bodes well for us."

"Neither would abandoning your king's forces when he needs them here."

Olenna stood abruptly, and Margaery followed. "You can keep the men. They'll fight for you, though our boy king has given us plenty of reason to not. My grandchildren and I, however, will be taking our leave. Tell Damon his queen is in Highgarden, if he ever deigns to come look for her."

They made it through the door alive, which meant despite Olenna's unruliness Tywin wasn't quite as worked up as his daughter visibly was. Margaery had stolen a glance at her before the door had closed, and Cersei had been as red as her dress. Tywin, however, had maintained his calm demeanor and countenance, despite having been verbally insulted by two separate great houses.

She didn't mind the first; Cersei had made it clear early and often that she cared not for Margaery. But the second…well, the second had Margaery terrified. Tywin Lannister had once destroyed two entire families for insulting him, and he wasn't likely to be tempered by age. Their food and soldiers kept them safe for now, but Margaery knew Tywin wouldn't forget. He never did.

I need to be Queen now more than ever. And not just any queen, but Damon's queen. It had been hinted at though never outright spoken of that, were Damon to fall in the battles he seemed to seek, the Tyrell-Baratheon alliance would continue via a marriage of Margaery and Tommen. That, while still possible, was even more unappealing now that they had tweaked the lion's nose. Tywin was the power behind Damon's rule, none could dispute it, but the Lion seemed to have a large dose of respect for his grandson's wishes, if the Tyrell information was to be trusted. More so than he had had for the mad Joffrey, and more than he would have for a child in Tommen. If she could get into the confidence of the middle grandson, the only one the lion apparently found useful, she could keep her family relatively safe from any retribution.

She could control Tommen far easier, but Tommen couldn't control Tywin. And while Damon couldn't either, he at least tempered him to a great degree.

She waited until the quintet—Left and Right had fallen in silently, as they always did—were several minutes away before speaking. "You're trying to get us killed, grandmother. No good will come of insulting Lord Tywin."

"Nonsense. All of it, nonsense." Olenna had been in rare form since Margaery's 'incident' with Damon. "The boy runs off to defend a vassal who tried to assassinate him, leaving those whose men had died for him to his uncle. Foolishness."

Loras chimed in. "So we are abandoning the capitol?"

"intend to see Margaery wed to the king, and she needs to be alive to do so. Here doesn't seem a good place to be to stay alive. If Lord Tywin is leaving, it only makes sense for us to leave as well."

"Can Prince Oberyn even keep the city functioning in absence of the Lannisters?"

Olenna snorted. "I don't like them, but the Martell's aren't idiots, and that one is the most competent of them all. He may well hold Stannis back. But, victory or defeat, we will be in Highgarden

"Hard to marry a king hundreds of miles away, and Highgarden is even farther from the king than I am now."

Her grandmother stopped, turning to face her. "A wise precaution, judging from your recent actions. I should have kept you far from the king weeks ago."

She had the grace to blush. "I still believe it to have worked. You heard Tywin."

"I heard him say the boy agreed marrying you was a wise idea. Butterbumps knows it is a wise idea. That doesn't mean it will happen. You—"

"Perhaps this isn't the place for this conversation," Loras cut in gently, eyeing the very walls around them.

Their grandmother shifted her glare to him. "Stopping me before I can get to you, eh? Wise." But she said no more, instead turning to continue their journey to the Tyrell wing. No more was said, but by the time they returned to their chambers, servants were already rushing to prepare for a hasty departure.

Five hundred men made up their escort, led by Loras and their cousin Ser Garth. It was unusual for a Kingsguard to leave the capitol without a member of the royal family—and Margaery wasn't, not yet—but everything about his appointment had been unusual. It was during those rushed preparations that Margaery first conceived the notion. Much as her idea to seduce Damon had taken grip of her mind, this did too, rising in insistence until she could ignore it no longer.

She approached Loras about it, and he balked. And balked. And balked, until he could balk no more and gave in as he always did. Her brother was a great warrior, but he was clay in her hands and they both knew it. He made the arrangements, spoke to the right forces, and pointedly avoided their grandmother.

At dusk, under a heavy guard of knights from Houses Lannister and Tyrell, the Tyrell's left King's Landing.

And, unexpected by the remainder of the forces until the moment it happened, a contingent of 100 Tyrell knights and freeriders—led by a Kingsguard in white, and followed by the carriage Margaery had taken separate from her grandmothers—turned North.

Margaery Tyrell stared at the crowded, unknown rode as Loras and the others cut a path through it. It worked for Damon. It will work for his Queen as well.

Even she didn't know if it was a statement or a prayer.

A/N: Wow, it's been a while hasn't it?

I won't give excuses beyond life has been life. Work has taken a lot of my time, but even when it didn't I've struggled heavily with motivation for writing this story. I have written over the last half of a year, but mostly on original works, and over the last few months the well has gone dry on that as well. But I haven't given up on this and I won't. It may take years (it has already) but this story will be finished lord willing. I hope you hang around with me for it.

I hope you enjoyed the above. The story that would have been told two years ago when I started is vastly different than the story that would have been told one year ago, and that in turn is vastly different then the story that I'm thinking will be told now. At least in terms of details and the way we're getting to the end that is; the destination has never changed, I've merely altered the route more than is healthy.

Speaking of health though, I just want to ask all of you to be careful out there. People from all over the world used to read this, and people from all over the world are currently facing Covid-19. I am here in the States as well, though me and mine have thankfully avoided it thus far. Keep your hands washed, some supplies handy, and most of all keep your head on your shoulders and use your common sense. And if you pray as I do, pray, because that'll do more than the rest ever could.

Cheers folks. If any of you are still out there reading this, I'd love to hear what you think.

Also:

*tease in Tyrek's voice* That guy has six skins, Damon. Six. Skins!