The screams of men filled Margaery’s ears. They were of surprise, not pain, and she was glad to not hear Harry’s voice among them. Coming back to the Red Keep had been a terrible mistake, and there was a good chance it would cost her life.
Even if she knew how to fight, Margaery was completely unarmed. She’d seen her brothers throw plenty of punches—and she’d thrown a few of her own when she was little—but she doubted that she’d make much of an impact against any of these bandits. Maybe she could surprise one… but these men vastly outnumbered them. No, she had to rely on Jon Snow and his direwolf, Ghost.
As panicked as she felt, Margaery didn’t let it show on her face. Jon was looking terribly grim as he drew his blade, his eyes scouring the middle bailey back and forth. Distantly, Margaery could see more men up on the walls, but all of the structures here would provide her, Jon, and Ghost some cover. If they could make it to the Lower Bailey, they could perhaps find refuge in Maegor’s Holdfast. That is if the bridge was lowered and the keep wasn’t already claimed by the bandits. The journey would be dangerous though. Surely there was somewhere closer—
As Jon took a step forward, a shadow burst out of the kennels to their left. A man in red Lannister armour threw himself at Jon, lunging with the longsword in his hands. Margaery barely had time to open her mouth and scream a warning before Jon quickly snapped his blade into place, battering away the thrust. The man’s exertion was so great that he tripped over his own feet, and it was that stumble that saved him from Jon’s follow-up strike. The blade clipped across the boiled leather that sat atop chainmail, but it also gave the final push needed to knock the man into the dirt.
Before Jon could do anything more, Ghost pounced on the man, silently snarling as he ripped open the man’s throat. Screams unlike anything Margaery had ever heard came from the poor man; everything he cried out in some foreign language came out all gurgled and wet as blood spilt out of the corners of his mouth. It was horrifying and worse than anything she’d ever seen at a tourney, but there was no time to process anything. They had to move.
But as the thought crossed her mind, Jon felt the same thing.
“Move!” He shouted, and Ghost darted forward past them. The middle bailey was quite open besides the abandoned carts of wheat and vegetables and fruits that were necessary for the castle’s continued lifespan. Jon ducked between the carts as Ghost darted along the edges of the buildings, hiding himself within the shadows.
Margaery did her best to follow Jon, lifting up her skirts enough so that she didn’t accidentally trip over herself. He moved as well as any seasoned warrior that she’d ever seen, but the cries rising from beyond their positions was troubling. Just how many men did the enemy have here?
Oh, how her heart flared for Harry. He was off fighting alongside a Martell against who knew how many men. The majority of the evildoers would be caught near the main entrance to the keep. As many as Margaery faced, her love would battle against two or three or even more times as many.
It was a horrifying thought, but she couldn’t let herself get distracted any longer. She and Jon had barely stepped foot within the middle bailey, and there was quite a ways to go to find any area of solitude.
“The Maidenvault!” Margaery shouted, knowing that was where her love and his father resided.
Jon had barely taken a step before Margaery interrupted him.
“Wait!” She shrieked, desperate to see him halt.
And halt he did. Jon Snow came up upon his heels and quickly doubled back to the mild cover they had around the close portcullis.
“Outlaws have found my love’s father in there,” she told Jon as they examined the building from a distance. The sound of armoured men rushing towards them rang in Margaery’s ears, but she couldn’t let herself be distracted. “We need somewhere safer.”
“My father always told me that Maegor’s—”
“That’s too far,” Margaery interjected.
She’d studied the Red Keep less than she’d liked to, given the current circumstances that she found herself in, but she knew enough to understand the general layout. She could see men climbing the far wall above the barracks that the gold cloaks slept in; none of them could be trusted. Either they were a part of this bandit’s play or they were genuine soldiers. The latter could’ve been bought by gold, and the former were a death sentence were she to cross their paths.
They needed to find something close for cover. A tower would be best, if they could climb to the top and utilise the spiralling staircase’s natural shape to provide protection, but given that the Tower of the Hand sat above a barracks of the gold cloaks, it wasn’t safe to assume that the tower wasn’t compromised as well.
That left the Armoury, which was bound to already be raided given the number of bandits rising from the castle’s walls; the library, which was barely fit to hold a dozen men or more; the Sept, which no unholy man would spare a second thought about desecrating; and the Godswood that was empty and treasonous in the way that its pathways weaved and intersected.
In short, there was only one clear choice.
“We need to get to the Godswood!” Margaery exclaimed.
Jon looked torn between being taken by her enthusiasm and dealing with the pragmatic reality that tens of outlaws were heading in their direction. Margaery could hear their footsteps pounding the dirt as they came from ahead, and the sounds of bolts being set within crossbows sent a chill down her spine.
They had few places to go, and they needed to make a decision now. Jon was still struggling, glancing over each shoulder as he tried to examine the situation.
Margaery ran forward and grabbed him by the collar much like a mother would her pup. He let out a surprised sound as he was hoisted to his feet, but the second that Margaery pointed out the Godswood, he started sprinting towards it.
A pair of men burst out from the Tower of the Hand, intent on interrupting Jon’s charge.
Margaery held back as Jon raised his blade in a thrusting position. He dug his heels into the ground, ready for the two men coming towards him. They slowed as they drew close, wielding blades and shields.
“This doesn’t have to end like this,” one of the fake Lannister men said. He spoke with a Dornish accent. “Drop your sword and we’ll take you captive.”
Jon lowered his blade a touch, and for a brief moment Margaery feared that he would surrender to them. But as it turned out, his motion was nothing but a distraction.
The two men also relaxed their stances, believing that Jon was ready to throw down his blade, only to realise too late that they had a threat at their backs.
Whilst he was hidden among the shadows from the towering walls and other buildings in the bailey, Ghost had been making his way around the outer perimeter of the yard. He was a surprisingly quiet beast, barely making any noise even from his feet as he trod about. When those two men came out from the Tower of the Hand, Ghost had made his way around to their backside. And as they challenged Jon, Ghost began to sprint towards them.
With his paws outstretched, he knocked one of the men cleanly to the ground. The second took a reactive swing of his blade towards Ghost and nicked the poor direwolf. The blade cleaved through his midsection, but it clearly wasn’t deep enough because Ghost immediately assumed a threatening position out of reach of the man’s blade, his body low to the ground and his fangs bared.
The man opened his mouth to call out for aid or to shoo away Ghost, but all that came out of it was Jon’s blade as he stabbed through the back of the man’s throat.
“Ahhh!” The man on the ground screamed. He scrambled for the sword he dropped, only belatedly remembering that he had a dirk on his hilt. The longsword was too far for him to reach, so he resorted to the dirk, only to be stopped short as Jon sliced cleanly through his midsection where his mail raised up on his body.
The bailey was empty again but not for long. Margaery could hear the pounding footsteps heading their way, but Jon was worried about his pet. Ghost still refused to make a sound and simply trembled in pain as Jon examined the cut along his midsection.
“The steps to the Godswood aren’t far!” Margaery told Jon sternly. “We need to go now. You can help Ghost up there.”
Jon rounded on her angrily. “The cut’s deep, and there’s not going to be anything up there to help him.”
Clanging ringing out from the distant walls held him up. Suddenly, a thick stream of men appeared in the distance, coming out from behind the armoury to head towards the outer yard where Harry and Oberyn were. They clearly spotted Margaery and Jon as they ran, but they seemed to be a secondary concern to them at the moment.
Margaery understood why the second that a slew of men appeared from the winding stairs that led down towards Maegor’s Holdfast. There were nearly ten of them, far more than Jon and Ghost could fight on their own.
They needed a safe refuge! Margaery second guessed herself because there was a fair chance that the Maidenvault was empty of any enemies. They were a bit further away from it than these men were but if they ran quickly… maybe they could make it before them. Maybe. They could climb higher and take up a position upon the staircase where they might have an advantage, but the reality remained that without Jon and Ghost, there were no other fighters coming to their aid.
The Godswood was still the best chance they had. They could lose their pursuers and hide out for as long as possible before going to find safety.
Margaery didn’t wait for Jon this time. If he was going to play the part of a heroic fool and stand guard against all of those men, then that would be his fate. She’d given him plenty of warning and made her mind clear on where they needed to go. So, she started sprinting towards the staircase leading up to the Godswood.
But just as she hit her stride, she was forced to come to a screeching halt as five men emerged from behind the nearby sept. Their spears and axes and blades were all in their hands, ready to cut her down if she dared try to run past them.
Maybe she could make it past them if her feet granted her the speed that she needed, but it would be a risky gamble, and Margaery didn’t enjoy gambling like that. She committed to things that were clearly within her control or outrageously in her favour so that she didn’t have to truly worry about any risks.
There was no escape from their position. Even if they tried to run behind the Tower of the Hand to escape, they would be caught back at the portcullis that was blocking their way out. The Tower of the Hand was a possible escape route, but given that a pair of men had just left from there, it was safe to assume that the entire tower was under control by these outlaws. Still, there couldn’t be many men still in there. It might be a better proposition to try to fight them and take up a defensive position rather than dealing with the forces that were quickly flooding the bailey.
Margaery spun on her feet and sprinted back towards the Tower of the Hand. Ghost was standing tall and proud, appearing utterly unbothered by the cut on his side. Jon was torn between fretting over his direwolf and the men that were coming their way.
“The tower!” Margaery shouted at him desperately.
He turned towards it instantly, and Ghost followed swiftly behind him.
They were mere steps away from the doors when they were thrown open and four men stepped out.
This was it, Margaery realised. She should’ve been terrified in this moment with all of these strong, armed men bearing down on her, but all she felt was regret. Her time with Harry had been so short.
Jon forced a dagger into her hands as he grimly realised how poor the situation looked. Still, he remained stalwart with his blade raised.
A few of the men chuckled at him as they formed a loose ring around the three of them.
“Drop the blade, boy,” one of the men said. He was the only one who looked like he actually could be a real Lannister soldier with his blond hair and fair skin. “No need to make this difficult.”
“And you’ll just let us go if I do?” Jon replied sarcastically.
“Maybe,” the blond man grinned.
“After we’ve had a bit of fun with her that is,” another one added in. Chuckles went up around the group.
Margaery would rather die than let anything like that happen to her. She tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger. With a quick lunge, she might be able to surprise one of them and bury the dagger in their throat. The one who made the lewd insinuation would do nicely. At least if she proved herself to be a threat, they’d be more likely to kill her in retaliation rather than leaving her alive to suffer whatever they had planned for her.
The distant sound of clattering blades and shouts from where Harry and Oberyn were gave Margaery hope that they still might appear and rescue them. Surely Harry’s magic might be able to be of some use here. The only way she could hope for such a thing was to buy time.
“You’re all bandits, yes?” Margaery asked them, deliberately making it sound like an insult to provoke them to answer her.
“What of it?” A man behind her asked. “Looking to join up?”
Another round of laughter went up.
Margaery merely smiled at them. “Then how would you like to become rich? My family has a lot of gold—”
“Save it,” the blond man interjected. “We’re already bought and paid for, and we don’t go against our word.”
“Is that so? I had no idea that bandits could be so honourable. Nor so foolish.”
“Watch it, little lady,” a dark-skinned man gestured at her with the tip of his spear. “Insult us one more time and I’ll—”
“Enough,” the blond man snapped. “We’ve already wasted enough time here. We need to secure the rest of the castle. Drop your weapons and we’ll make this quick or fight back if you’d prefer.”
Margaery glanced around. There was still no sign of Harry, no help to come… wait.
There, up in the Godswood, she saw someone moving beneath the shadows of a thick oak.
It was Harry! It had to be him!
As her face lit up, Margaery shook her head at the bandits surrounding them. “I’ll offer you all the same agreement: drop your weapons and your deaths will be painless. Choose to fight back, and I can’t guarantee a thing.”
Margaery smiled pleasantly as the men laughed at her. Harry was near the staircase now, about to step into the light and come down to save her.
Only, it wasn’t Harry after all.
Margaery’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw Harry’s father, Stannis, standing at the top of the staircase. Then Eddard Stark came up at his side, wielding a long blade. He held it low with the point towards the ground, but he seemed more dangerous than any other of these predatory bandits. Stannis had a blade of his own, but his body had a resignation to it; he saw the situation for what it was and understood that even if he and Lord Stark joined in the fight, they were still grossly outnumbered with a nearly-defenceless lady to protect. It was a poor situation, one unlikely to resolve in his favour, and yet he stood firm.
“In the name of King Robert, I command you all to disarm at once,” Stannis’ voice boomed out across the bailey.
The bandits were caught by surprise, all staring up at the two men atop the staircase.
“The king isn’t in charge here anymore,” one of the men sneered.
“Yeah, we’re in control now. We have over a hundred men here in the Red Keep. If the two of you lay down your arms, we’ll hold you prisoner until we can ransom you back to your families,” the blond man declared loudly.
“Don’t do it!” Jon suddenly shouted. “They mean to kill us!”
“Quiet,” one of the men lunged forward with a mailed hand to strike Jon across the face, but he was so focused on his target that he didn’t see Margaery’s dagger come right up from below.
As the man’s fist connected with Jon’s cheek, Margaery buried the dagger Jon had given her into the bottom of the man’s jaw. She was surprised at how easily it cut through his flesh. The dagger ended up buried to the hilt, and as she jerked it back down, hot blood sprayed out across the top of her hand. Her body revolted at the sight; her stomach threatened to release the slice of meat pie and gravy that she’d had only a couple hours ago back at the tourney grounds.
But before she could despair further, chaos erupted.
Seeing blood being spilt, Ghost threw himself against a man and bit another one’s leg. The two of them went down in a heap as Jon made a wide slash, connecting with at least one man. Stannis and Eddard came sprinting down the staircase as several men rushed to meet them.
Margaery wanted to play her part too and turned to find a man screaming as he charged at her with a curved blade.
She’d seen her brothers’ practice their swordsmanship countless times and been to many tourneys where battles and duels regularly took place. She hadn’t hesitated when she’d stabbed that first man, but now that someone was charging at her, wielding a blade that could mean her death, Margaery’s limbs froze up. It felt like she’d been tied up in place, unable to move at all.
The man reeled back and slashed at her, and at the very last possible moment, Margaery’s body went limp and she began to fall. She raised her hands to protect herself, dropping the dagger in the process, and felt something collide against her palms. They were torn sharply to the side as she collapsed onto the ground, rolling with the motion.
Feeling returned to her limbs as her senses heightened significantly. She kicked out, striking the ankles of the man who attacked her. He grunted loudly but didn’t fall, and he raised his bloody blade up to the sky.
Margaery brought her hands up to protect herself again, only faintly realising in the back of her mind that her hands felt wet like something had spilt onto them. As the man brought down his blade, Ghost lunged in, tearing at the man’s wrist. He screamed as he fell to the ground next to her, and the direwolf placed himself between the man and Margaery as he continued to tear at his enemy. The curved blade came spinning out of the man’s hands, and Margaery grabbed onto it instinctively and buried it into the man’s side. He squealed and cried and begged for death as Ghost ripped the skin from his face. Margaery shook the blade back and forth, trying to dislodge it from the man’s side, but it seemed to be stuck. Still, whatever she and Ghost were doing was enough to make the man’s screams end.
“Thank you,” Margaery tried to say to Ghost, but he was already on the move. He limped a bit as he darted away from her, spilling blood from another cut on his hind leg.
Margaery tried to stand by planting her hands on the ground, but she suddenly cried out in pain. The sharp stones mixed in with the dirt seemed much more painful than ever. She feared that one had gotten lodged into her skin.
But as she raised her palms to her face, she saw the truth of it. Both of her palms had been slashed open by the man’s blade, running horizontally from just above the meat below her thumbs across to below her smallest fingers. Blood was dripping freely from her now dirty cuts, staining her pale skin.
Instantly, Margaery’s heart began to beat faster and faster, as did her breathing. She rolled over onto her side and saw Jon, Eddard, and Stannis all battling men close by her. They were trying to form a perimeter to keep her safe from harm, but they were outnumbered. For every blow they managed to strike, they received one in return. Stannis was limping from a cut to his leg, and Jon was holding his ribs with his free hand. Only Eddard remained unharmed, but Margaery didn’t know how long that would last for.
Whatever chances they had at succeeding though faded the moment Margaery saw more men coming from the pathway that led down to Maegor’s Holdfast. A runner must’ve gotten word to them that there were armed combatants fighting their men. There were only eight more coming, but given that they were already outnumbered, this was a disastrous addition.
They could fight as bravely as they wanted, but the sheer numbers meant that they truly had no chance.
No one could save them. Maybe not even Harry.
Her love.
A tear came to Margaery’s eye as she imagined him now, fighting for his life against countless bandits. He was strong, but it was a rare thing to defy the odds. Usually it required some special trick or a secret tactic.
Or simple magic.
Margaery remembered well the day they spoke at the Arbor. They had been standing along a terrace, watching the setting sun. When their fingers touched, something had run through Margaery’s body. It was an overwhelming sensation that’d been unlike anything she’d felt except a few other times that she was with Harry.
She latched onto that indescribable feeling unconsciously. Despite how shocking the feeling always felt, it left her with a comforting warmth that lingered for a long time in her belly. It was almost as if she could feel it right now.
Blood dripped from her hand onto the ground. How she wished she could deal with these bandits herself.
Margaery heaved as something within her shifted. There was a tremble that began with her but then moved into the ground beneath her. Everyone struggled to maintain their footing as everything around them shook, and then the earth tore asunder.
Thick vines unlike any that Margaery had ever seen rose from the ground. They twisted and spiralled around one another with thick, sharp thorns to protect itself. The vast greenery stretched from the Tower of the Hand all the way to the Sept, rising higher than three men standing atop one another.
It was such an impossible sight that Margaery believed that she had to be dreaming, but as another drop of blood spilt from her palms, one of the vines from the wall suddenly shot out with such force that it made the entire wall tremble. The vine wrapped itself tightly around one of the poor bandits and lifted him from his feet. Before anyone could react, the man was hurled downward back to the ground, his body squelching as it made contact.
Panic erupted as everyone, including Margaery and her allies, scrambled away from the wall of vines. More vines broke away from the wall, but this time the men were ready. Everyone swung at the vines with their blades, trying to cut through the thick roots. Some succeeded while others merely got their blades stuck within the vines, but even having a section of them lopped off didn’t stop the vines from snatching bandit after bandit and slamming their bodies against stone walls or the dirt below their feet.
Margaery was utterly transfixed by the sight. The initial rush of fear she felt faded the moment she saw that it was only her, Jon, Eddard, and Stannis who remained standing. The three men and Ghost formed a protective wall in front of her, but it was unnecessary. Margaery could feel the vines will! She understood that they only wanted to protect her!
Cringing at the pain from her palms, Margaery climbed to her feet and pushed past the men even as they tried to hold her back. Vines shot out to embrace her, pushing away the mens’ grabbing hands. Margaery was brought right up to the wall of vines and touched them with her palms. The blood upon them seeped into the vines, and the pain rapidly faded away. When Margaery removed her hands and examined them, she found no sign of any cuts or other damage.
She turned back to everyone with a brilliant smile on her lips. Whatever magic Harry controlled had somehow protected her. However, their job wasn’t done yet.
The vines slowly slithered back into the dirt, disappearing without a single trace of them left to be found. Behind them sat the sickening sight of eight crumpled bodies of the men who’d come to reinforce the bandits. Eddard and Jon looked utterly dumbfounded, but Stannis had an unreadable expression on his face. Margaery couldn’t pay that any mind though, not when her love was still in danger.
“We need to help Harry and Oberyn,” she declared.
“And so we shall,” came a voice from the Godswood. Lord Baelish stepped forth with a slim smile on his lips. He almost seemed embarrassed at joining them now that the fighting was done. “I know of a passageway we might take. Come.”