The Wizard of Fury Chapter 12

The feast at the Arbor was everything that Margaery had come to expect of a host like Lord Redwyne. Sitting atop a hill, the Vinehall made up the central keep within Wynestead Castle, the seat of the Redwynes. The castle walls were far less grand and tall than those back at Highgarden, but they allowed Vinehall to have a remarkable view of the surrounding lands from the vineyards to Vinetown itself and its magnificent ports. The many ships in port had docked and sent its men ashore. Most were spending their time in Vinetown feasting at one of the numerous taverns that Lord Paxter prepared for them, but the highborn and esteemed knights were here in Vinehall. It led to a number of unusual faces about, and none were stranger than Harry Baratheon.

Even now, Margaery could barely focus on the mountains of food laid out before her. Even the honeycakes and delicate whitefish weren’t able to draw her attention away from the young man sitting only a few places away from her—not that she was so obvious as to stare directly at him. No, Margaery took her time surveying all of the lower tables before her, only occasionally placing Harry in the periphery of her vision.

She had the tiered seating of Vinehall to thank. Sitting higher up just below the true head table gave her a perfect view of almost everyone. Normally, when she visited another castle with her family, she’d be forced to sit at one of the low tables. She's as close to the head table as possible, of course, but it still limited her ability to keep an eye on everyone. Her grandmother always told her that secrets loved to come unravelled at a feast if one knew where to look.

But that was the exact issue she was facing! She didn’t know where to look to learn anything about Harry Baratheon!

The moment their eyes had met on the docks in Vinetown, Margaery had felt something most peculiar. Her body had tensed and become charged with energy, but she didn’t feel like she was in any danger. There was something mystifying about Harry that had made her unable to tear her eyes away from him until her grandmother had jostled her for staring too much. Later, she’d chastised Margaery about staring at his scar, but Margaery had barely registered that he’d even had one. There was just something about those dreamy green eyes that had kept her entranced.

Though she was still young, Margaery had experienced crushes before. Some of the young squires who’d come travelling to Highgarden with their knights had been quite handsome, and Margaery loved to come up with secret, forbidden love stories with Elinor and her other handmaidens, but none of those feelings resembled what she’d felt when she stared into Harry’s eyes.

It was hard not to surrender to the frustration of it all and just stare at him again until she had the answers she wanted. She needed to know if what she’d felt had been a fluke or something else. Then, she needed to decipher what that sensation had actually been. It was too visceral to merely be some kind of love… not that Harry wasn’t handsome.

Gods, what had he done to plague her mind like this? She was scarcely able to close her eyes for even a moment without seeing him in her mind’s eye.

Acting on impulse, Margaery speared a mouthful of lamprey pie on her fork and forced it into her mouth. The fishy flavour was muted against the rich, creamy sauce and herbs that were used to flavour it. Normally, it was one of Margaery’s favourite dishes, but she could barely stomach it tonight.

Pushing her plate away, Margaery glanced over at the musicians playing off to the side. Lord Redwyne had spared no expense for the king’s visit, and so he had several sets of musicians scattered throughout the grand hall all playing in time together. Most of them honoured King Robert, House Redwyne, and House Tyrell. They were playing A Rose of Gold, yet Margaery had no desire to dance along to it.

What did Harry think about—

Margaery bit the inside of her cheek until she couldn’t stand the pain anymore. She needed to stop this silliness. Perhaps she was just tired. Yes, that could explain everything.

Letting out a deep breath, Margaery turned with a smile to her brothers. Without his cane visible, Willas seemed as normal as he ever had before his terrible accident in the tourney against Oberyn Martell. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he regaled Lord Redwyne’s twin sons, Horas and Hobber, with tales of the tourneys he’d visited. They dreamt of being knights one day and promised that they’d fight in Willas’ honour against any Martell they came across. The idea seemed to amuse Willas, whom Margaery knew held no ill will to Oberyn for his injury.

On her right sat Desmera, Garlan, and Loras, right in between her and Harry. Desmera was Lord Redwyne’s only daughter, a sweet, shy girl of seven. From the moment Margaery had arrived at the Arbor, Desmera had latched onto her like a lost dog. She followed her everywhere, and Margaery had been more than accommodating with a happy smile. Even now, she was looking to Margaery for approval as she daintily ate her supper, remembering each and every proper manner as any good lady should.

“How are you liking the feast?” Margaery asked Desmera with a small smile. “Isn’t it so exciting to have so many guests around?”

“It is,” Desmera beamed proudly. “We always have guests visiting us because of our wines, but we’ve never hosted a king before. And there’s so many knights and lords I’ve never met too.”

Margaery leaned in with a conspiratorial look. “I heard from your mother that your lord father received an offer from Lord Tarly to have you betrothed to his son Samwell.”

Gently, Margaery helped tilt the young girl’s chin so that she was facing the table where Lord Randyll Tarly sat. The man was the lord of one of House Tyrell’s most important bannermen. Ruling out of Horn Hill, he maintained a powerful army and was well known as an excellent soldier and battle commander. Despite that, the man never seemed to smile and was reported to be quite harsh with his men. He reminded her of everything she’d heard about Lord Stannis Baratheon.

Evidently, Desmera had heard the same reports too, because she shuddered and looked away.

Trying to salvage the situation, Margaery made her voice more cheerful. “I hear his son’s a very nice boy. I met him once, a few years back. He loves to read, and he has a gentle heart.”

“That’s… nice,” Desmera said tentatively. “Truthfully, I was hoping that one of the knights here would fight for the honour to be betrothed to me.”

Margaery let out a peal of laughter. “Don’t we all? I’ve spent more than one evening dreaming about a gallant knight coming to me on his horse and picking me up into his arms before riding me off into the sunset.”

“Really?” Desmera’s eyes went wide with surprise.

“Really,” Margaery half lied. She had used to have such dreams before she began to truly understand the realities of her position as the only daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell. Her grandmother, Olenna, had helped her make the transition smoother.

Desmera turned back out to the crowd, glancing along all of the rows of knights who intermingled with their squires and the lords and ladies here tonight. “I hope my father changes his mind and lets me marry one of them.”

“You never know what’s possible until it happens,” Margaery replied ambiguously. She didn’t want to shatter this sweet girl’s hopes.

“What about you?” Desmera asked. “Has your father picked out a match for you yet?”

“No, not yet,” Margaery shook her head. It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. If it were solely up to her father, she would have already been promised to a high lord. However, her grandmother had stepped in and demanded that he hold off until Margaery was older yet. She argued that waiting would only make Margaery’s potential suitors all the more eager to offer House Tyrell whatever they could to make a match.

“Perhaps we could find a pair of knights to take us away together,” Desmera said, her face full of hope.

“Indeed,” Margaery giggled.

“I think a pair of knights would want women older than you two,” Loras commented from the side.

Margaery shot him an angry look as Desmera’s face faltered. Loras quickly realised his mistake as he set down the goblet of wine he'd been given with his meal and grimaced. He turned in his seat to face the two of them directly.

“Forgive me, my ladies,” he said penitently. “Those words were both untrue and unbecoming of me.”

“It’s fine, Loras,” Desmera said quietly, staring down at her plate.

One step forward and three steps back. Desmera would be sullen for a time now, and Margaery’s only conversation had withered and died. She continued to glare at Loras until her brother turned away, red cheeked and thoroughly chastised. Despite being younger than him by a year, Margaery often felt like an older sister to him, always helping to keep him in line.

Biting back a sigh, Margaery returned to meagerly picking at her plate as Loras and Garlan returned to their previous conversation about training. Evidently, with so many knights around, there were plenty of them willing to instruct her brothers on techniques that they weren’t quite as familiar with. Whenever the topic of battle and war came up, the two of them quickly became lost in their own world.

“Ser Jacelyn Bywater promised to practise with us on the morrow,” Garlan told Loras excitedly.

“Can he even still fight without his hand?” Loras asked sceptically.

“Of course not,” Garlan replied. “But that doesn’t mean his skill and wisdom left him.”

Ser Jacelyn was one of the many men knighted after the siege of Pyke, Margaery knew. He’d lost his hand in the fight but had been promised a great reward from the king for his valour in battle.

“I suppose,” Loras said, sounding uncertain of Garlan’s argument. “But how is he supposed to show us what to do if he can’t even do it himself? He’s a cripple now.”

“Cripples can do all sorts of amazing things. They’re better than you give them credit for.”

A shiver ran up Margaery’s spine as she heard Harry speak. His voice was clipped, like his father’s. It expressed frustration and disapproval.

“I suppose you’ve got some sympathy for them now after what was done to you by the Greyjoys,” Loras spoke brashly before anyone could stop him.

The topic of Harry’s lightning bolt-shaped scar had been heavily discussed amongst the smallfolk and highborn alike at the Arbor. It gave Harry a distinctive look that some found to be frightening. Others found it disgusting.

If anything, Margaery felt pity for him. To be captured by murderous men like Euron Greyjoy and then to be scarred for all time was a punishment unbefitting a boy of his age. Given that he was the same age as her, it was hard for Margaery not to imagine how she’d feel being in the same circumstances as him. Would she be mocked behind her back? Would others deem her unworthy of marriage because of a little mark on her face? Would her brother use it as a weapon in arguments against her too? Even Garlan seemed a little surprised at Loras’ gall. He placed a soothing hand on Loras’ shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off.

But, strangely enough, Harry didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by Loras’ insult. Either he had an incredible will to be able to hide any hurt he felt or maybe the pain of an insult was so little compared to what he’d gone through that it barely even registered with him anymore.

“I’ve always had sympathy for people who’ve suffered in life,” Harry replied coldly. “Clearly, you’ve never been through anything difficult enough to understand the concept yourself.”

Normally, being regarded as highborn and privileged was seen as a good thing throughout the realm, but here Harry was using it as an insult.

Loras kicked his chair back and stood up, staring down at Harry who hadn’t moved a muscle. Behind her, Margaery could hear the conversation from the head table come to a stop as they witnessed Loras confronting Harry like this, but Loras didn’t seem to notice anything.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through in my life,” Loras said with gritted teeth.

“Nothing that could engender feelings of understanding for the less fortunate, I assume,” Harry retorted. “If you had, you wouldn’t downplay Ser Jacelyn’s skill just because he’s lost a hand.”

“Did you lose your brains when you got that scar?” Loras snapped. “Without a hand, he can’t fight.”

Margaery wanted to step in and put a stop to this, but her body wouldn’t let her. Something about Harry’s aura was altogether dangerous and captivating. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him even though every fibre of her felt fear. But why? His frustration wasn’t directed at her. Was his mere presence enough to stun her like this?

“And yet he can still teach,” Harry replied. “At least, he can try to. You seem quite unwilling to accept what you do not already think you know.”

“Perhaps you’d like to see what I know on the training yard,” Loras challenged him.

“I’d be happy to. It’d be good to give you a reason to learn how to empathise with anyone else I defeat in the yard,” Harry said calmly, picking up his goblet of wine to take a small sip of it.

The goblet never made it more than a few inches above the table before Loras smacked it out of his hand. The goblet clattered off the edge of the table and fell onto the floor below, sending a spray of plum-coloured wine onto the plates of the lords and ladies below.

“Loras!” Mace exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing?”

Suddenly, Margaery snapped out of her transfixation on Harry. She knew it; she should have stopped this sooner.

Loras turned, hot headed and fuming. The sight of the entire high table staring at him cooled his temper slightly, at least until King Robert let out a laugh.

“Gods, this is the stuff I miss, Ned,” he said to Lord Stark, who sat at his side. “A little fire in our veins is good for everyone; even the children are getting into it. This rebellion was good for us, for the Realm.”

There were a few polite laughs that rang out along the table. One man who didn’t laugh was Stannis Baratheon. He was glaring a hole in the back of Harry’s head, who had simply picked up his fork and returned to eating the last few morsels of food off of his plate.

Was Stannis mad with his son? It seemed so, but Margaery found him hard to read. He always seemed to have a closed-off, stern look on his face.

“Go back to your food,” Robert announced loudly.

Margaery spun around to see the many tables hastily returning to their meals. Evidently, it wasn’t only the high table who’d chosen to watch the spectacle. Loras plopped back down in his seat, shifting his body so that he didn’t have to see Harry in his periphery.

“That was scary,” Desmera said quietly to Margaery.

She had to agree, but not for the same reasons that Desmera likely felt.

Margaery had barely picked up her fork to return to her own meal when she heard the scraping of a chair against the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Harry getting up and heading for the closest door out. No one moved to stop him.

Enough was enough, Margaery decided. She couldn’t live in uncertainty about this any longer.

“Pardon me,” she said politely as she delicately stood up from her seat.

“Where are you going?” Her father, Alerie, asked in confusion.

“Out onto the balcony to get some air,” Margaery lied. “I’m feeling a bit warm. I’ll be back shortly.”

“One of your brothers should go with you,” Alerie said.

“I’d hate to part them from their meals,” Margaery smiled. “I’ll be fine. Lord Redwyne’s home is a perfectly safe place.”

“That it is, my lady,” Lord Redwyne chimed in. “I have guards posted regularly throughout the halls. They’ll make sure your daughter is safe.”

“Alright then,” Alerie agreed reluctantly.

Tugging at her skirts, Margaery carefully walked behind everyone, following Harry’s path outside of the great hall. Her mother had prepared this beautiful green silk dress for her, with dozens of tiny emeralds sewn into the bodice. It was the finest dress she owned, custom made specifically for the king’s visit. Her long sleeves were made so thin as to be nearly transparent, giving her an airy look. She thought that she looked beautiful in it, especially with her brown hair done up nicely for the occasion. She put on her best subtle smile and pushed through the door out into the corridor.

Vinehall was atop the highest point of the hill that Wynestead Castle sat upon, and the exterior corridors that ran around the Great Hall itself extended out into small balconies and larger terraces that overlooked the surrounding lands. It truly was a beautiful place. Not as beautiful as Highgarden, but almost.

There was no sign of Harry anywhere she looked, so Margaery started walking down the corridor slowly, taking in the evening air. As Lord Redwyne said, guards were posted every so often along the corridor.

“Hello,” Margaery smiled at one as she passed. “Have you seen a boy running by here recently?”

“Oh, him,” the guard said with a grimace. “Yes, my lady. He came rushing by not a couple minutes past. I think he headed out onto the western terrace.”

“Thank you,” Margaery said before heading off in search of him.

When she came upon the western terrace, she found Harry standing near the edge of it, leaning against a railing. His silhouette was framed against the distant setting sun that was starting to fall behind the rolling hills further inland. He had something in his hands. A feather, perhaps.

 Margaery stepped out onto the terrace and saw his head twitch slightly as he heard her, but he didn’t turn to face her. She walked as closely as she dared, still remembering the feeling of fear inside of her from before.

“I apologise for my brother’s behaviour,” Margaery said softly. “You were right; he had no reason to question Ser Jacelyn’s ability to instruct the art of wielding a blade.”

Harry stuffed away the feather inside of his doublet and finally turned to look at her. Again, Margaery was struck by a feeling that seemed to overwhelm her mind and body. All of the air left her lungs as she stared into his deep eyes. She didn’t even realised that she’d stretched out her hand towards him until she saw it come up into her field of view.

“What’s happening?” Margaery asked him, terrified and awestruck.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. He sounded honest.

He reached out too, and when the tips of their fingers met, Margaery nearly collapsed from the shock that ran through her body. It was utterly unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, and it left her mind wheeling from the sheer foreignness of it all. And yet, Harry showed no signs of being perturbed at all.

The shock faded all at once, and Margaery staggered forward as her body sagged in relief. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her to lean up against the railing as he had been doing before. This time, there was no shock that ran through her body.

Panting, Margaery looked up into his eyes again. This time, that strange transfixation didn’t strike her in the same way. She still wanted to stare into his eyes, but not because it felt like her body was frozen in place. She could look away anytime she wanted, but she just didn’t want to right now.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologised sincerely. “I… didn’t expect anything like that to happen.”

“Neither did I,” Margaery admitted. A little worry plagued her mind. “You felt it all too, right?” She didn’t have the words to explain exactly what ‘it’ was.

“I did,” Harry nodded. “It was quite intense.”

“That’s an understatement,” Margaery laughed quietly. Now that she had a moment to rest, she was finally regaining her bearings and her strength. She managed to stand up so that she wasn’t slouching anymore, taking on the exact proper pose that a young lady should. “You know, you didn’t have to leave the feast just because of my brother.”

“I didn’t,” Harry replied as he glanced off at the setting sun. “I just needed to get away from things. I’ve had a lot on my mind these past few weeks.”

“I can only imagine,” Margaery said sympathetically. “All of the stares must get tiring.”

“They’re not so bad,” Harry said. “I suppose I’m used to them.”

That made sense. As the only daughter of Mace Tyrell, Margaery always felt eyes on her. Whether it was the guards around the castle, her family and handmaidens keeping watch over her, or even the smallfolk, there was always someone watching her. It was tiring, but she knew it must be the same for Harry.

“I wish you didn’t have to be,” Margaery told him honestly. “I don’t like everyone staring at me either.”

“Really?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “You seem to bask in it.”

“I don’t hate being stared at, but I do wish I had breaks,” Margaery admitted. “But there’s value in showing off too. My mother wanted me to make a good impression on the king and everyone else that’s visiting here.”

“To help find a potential suitor in the future?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Margaery again admitted.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of men seeking your hand eventually,” Harry told her.

She wanted to ask if he’d be interested in seeking out her hand.

“How long are you staying at the Arbor for?” Margaery asked instead.

“Not long,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my father has us set sail in the morning.”

“Oh.” She sounded sad when she said that.

Harry grimaced and offered a shrug. “My father isn’t enjoying his time here. And I’d expect that he’d rather return home. We’ve been gone for some months now.”

A powerful surge within her demanded that she keep him here a while longer. She didn’t want to see him off. Didn’t want to spend another day wondering about this strange connection they seemed to have.

“Are you sure that you’d have to leave?” Margaery asked. “I know our families have had a… difficult past, but what better way to move forward than to try to mend the bonds that have been broken.”

“I’m not sure if there were any such bonds to begin with,” Harry joked lightly. “And my father’s not a man to be so easily swayed, even by his son.”

Would he have her beg? Gods, what had become of her? How had Harry become so seemingly important to her?

“We could exchange letters,” Harry suggested. He must have seen the tears beginning to well up in her eyes and taken pity on her. Of course he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, not after what her family did to his.

Margaery felt herself spiralling downward as she nodded. A pain unlike any other welled up in her chest. Her heart was pounding so hard that she swore she could hear it in her ears. Harry could probably hear it too. She was making a fool of herself.

“That… yes. Certainly,” Margaery managed to get out as she turned her body away and crossed her arms around her waist. She felt like she was going to be sick.

“Margaery,” Harry said softly. “Look at me.”

It took everything she had to look up into his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely. “But I would really like to write to you. I felt the same things you did. We… have a special connection.”

A special connection? Did he mean…

No, she didn’t dare hope it could be something more.

“I’d like that as well,” Margaery, finally finding a true smile.

“Harry?”

The moment between them broke as Lord Stannis came storming onto the terrace. Margaery took a step back from Harry and subtly wiped away the wetness from her eyes.

“Yes, father?” Harry asked, turning to face him.

Margaery felt Stannis’ eyes scrutinise her for a moment. “We should return to our chambers. We’ll be leaving at dawn.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded dutifully. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

“You’ll be along right now,” Stannis corrected him.

Harry grimaced but obeyed. He turned back to Margaery and gave her a slight bow. “My apologies, my lady. I’ll write to you as soon as I return to Dragonstone. In the meantime, you can send any letters there that you’d like.”

“I will,” Margaery replied.

She watched him leave with Lord Stannis, fighting back the urge to run after him. Instead, she returned to the feast and tried to cheer Desmera up as much as she tried to cheer herself up, but she couldn’t help but keep eyeing Harry’s empty chair.

Later, when she returned to her bedchamber at night, the Tyrell guard stationed there had a letter from her.

“Who’s it from?” Margaery asked.

“I don’t know, milady,” the man replied.

Margaery turned it over and nearly gasped as she saw the wax seal of House Baratheon. She hurried into her room, slamming the door shut behind her as she opened the letter and read its contents in a rush. Then, she returned to the top and read it again, more slowly this time.

The letter said very little. It was nothing more than a promise to write to her later and an offer of thanks for the unnecessary apologies she’d utter on behalf of others, but it felt like the world to her. Just being able to see his neatly-scrawled script was worth more than a thousand times its weight in gold to her.

Instead of falling asleep dreaming of knights riding off with her, she dreamt of Harry Baratheon and of reuniting with him one day.