GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Margaery POV )

"What do you mean, all of them?"

Her father's voice resonated through the Small Council chamber like that of a septon preaching his word in an abandoned sept.

"Only a handful of men managed to return, all Stormlanders, and a few of our own horse," Mathis Rowan said with a shake of his head, "Tarly, Merryweather and Blackbar were not amongst them. It is presumed that they have fallen, or been captured."

All members looked on, in silence.

Kevan Lannister only sighed deeply. The man had only stayed in the capital to try to save what little influence the Lannisters had over King Tommen.

Tommen Costayne, the old Lord of the Three Towers, named Master of Ships after Redwyne went to Oldtown, did not fare better. His son was in the battle, and was resisting the urge to break down in tears.

Mathis Rowan, the Master of Coin, was of the same mood. He already had news that Goldengrove's granaries had been pillaged by the Northmen, and that brigandry had increased tenfold around his lands. This news had essentially been the final straw.

Only Olenna, her grandmother, having taken the office of Master of Whisperers after the disappearance of Lord Varys, looked somewhat rejuvenated.

Margaery, for her part, was most of the same. Ever since the Second Battle of Riverrun, she knew that it was all over, and all they had to do was to see who would eventually come to claim their due, the Northmen or the Dornish.

Tommen, her husband in theory, was nowhere to be seen. Still young, without a care in the world, he preferred the company of cats and books, oblivious to the changes around him.

Margaery envied him, in a way, and every day the regrets of not having fled to Dorne haunted her.

"Surely," her father's voice took her out of her reverie, "we can reform a host to protect the capital!"

Tommen Costayne found his voice, "Tarly stripped every holdfast and every abled soldier from the Antlers to Nightsong. I doubt we can call on more than five thousand men, including the Goldcloaks."

"I will ride out to Highgarden, and gather the forces myself! I-" Margaery's father boomed, before he was cut off.

"Will get yourself killed," her grandmother replied with a scoff. "Tully's forces have cut the Goldroad, and it's a matter of time until they'll reach the capital. We are trapped behind his forces and the Dornish."

"Grandmother," Margaery finally spoke, holding back tears and trying to hide the fear in her voice. "Surely, there must be something we can do?"

"We can hope the Northmen and Dornish kill each other." Olenna scoffed. "'tis a foolish dream to hope for anything less."

"Unfortunately, I fear both hate us more," Kevan Lannister spoke up for the first time. "We are at their mercy, now."

Her father, stubborn as ever, continued to argue, "We can dig in for a siege!" "Lord Tyrell." Rowan sighed. "We have no forces left. Tarly was the last hope we had. After Storm's End, Riverrun, Oldtown, Highgarden and this new disaster, all of the Reacher's hosts have been spent. We only have Baelor Hightower's force, and they have to defend Horn Hill."

"Horn Hill?" Tommen Costayne asked, aghast, "I thought they were at Starpike?"

"Starpike fell a moon ago, Tom." Mace narrowed his eyes. "I thought you paid more attention than this. How about the Westerlanders? And the Stormlanders?"

"All the Stormlanders fell with Tarly." Olenna laughed. "And the few that we have left will no doubt defect to the Dragons. I have heard that Jon Connington is their Hand, and that the little Baratheon girl has added her few swords to their cause."

"Do not forget the ships," Costayne added. "With the Baratheon pirates, the Dornish and the Essosi, we do not have anything larger than a small fishing boat ready to sail. Dragonstone has been retaken a few days ago and…"

"I know!" Margaery's father had enough, and slammed his fist on the table. "There must be a way of dealing with this threat."

"Mace, you fool." Olenna shook her head. "It's over. All we can do is hope that they kill each other, bend the knee and hope they'll be merciful, or flee to Essos and live life on the run."

"I'd die before I run away like Connington!" Rowan growled.

"Aye, so would I," Kevan Lannister agreed, making Margaery grit her teeth. Didn't he want to run back to Casterly Rock a few moons ago?

"We could rile up the people," her father finally proposed. "Make them see that the Dragons are but pretenders. Aegon died in the sack, his face smashed by Gregor Clegane, we can say that he is but a fake. As for the Queen, she was only born in Dragonstone, married to a horse lord. We can say that she is an abomination, the Faith will support us."

Margaery could see Costayne's eyes start to shine a little more.

"Then…" her father stood up from his chair, pacing a little around the room. "Then, we could say that their armies are full of Essosi sellswords, Dornish raiders and other scum. We could arm the low-born, make them want to fight to the end…"

"And what of the dragons, Mace?" Rowan asked bluntly. "Ten thousand smallfolk with pikes won't last longer than a handful of moments when faced with a dragon."

"Do you think they would dare burn down the capital?" Margaery asked, shocked.

"We cannot underestimate the Mad King's daughter. They may offer terms, but if we do not bend, then they could burn the city down." Kevan Lannister sighed.

"At least in this case they'd offer terms…" Rowan glared darkly at Ser Kevan, who returned it without fail.

"If anyone has a better solution, then please, speak up!" her father slumped back onto his chair.

After a brief silence, the Lannister spoke, "I may have one, but it is not one that you will like."

"Speak your piece, Lord Kevan," Margaery's father encouraged.

"We could…offer peace to the Northmen."

The room fell silent, both the room and mood darkening all of a sudden.

Long gone were the sunny days of summer, now came the cloudy days of winter, but it wasn't a cloud which cast a shadow over the room.

"Continue." Margaery surprised herself by being the one to say the words none of the others would utter.

"We offer peace to them. We give in to their demands, before it gets worse…"

"Their demands are outrageous! The secession of three kingdoms, outright, would destroy us!" Margaery's father immediately cut in.

"Let him speak, Mace." Olenna narrowed her eyes.

Her father coughed, but let the Lannister finish.

"We make peace, on conditions," Ser Kevan pointed out. "If we were to agree to give them their independence, then we could sign a temporary alliance, to drive the dragons out of the realm, and bring this rebellion to heel. Only dragons may defeat dragons, as you said. Then let us have our own."

"This is madness…" Rowan shook his head in disbelief. "You'd think Daeron would go against his kin?"

"Kin he never knew and does not care for." Costayne contemplated the idea. "And besides, when has kin stopped the dragons from killing each other?"

"Wishful thinking," Rowan scoffed. "As you pointed out earlier, Ser Kevan, they both hate us more."

"But the Targaryens will wish to rule over all the kingdoms, and we might be able to convince the Northerners, Riverlanders, and Valemen, to accept that they will be a threat to them too, since they will not accept their independence." Ser Kevan straightened in his chair, trying to drive his point. "They will be forced to recognize that we are their best chance."

"And then?" Rowan asked. "Say we do defeat them. What happens next? We cannot conquer Dorne. We will be short four kingdoms, three if we retake the Iron Islands, and that is excluding the Riverlands too."

"Then we weave a web of alliances. We destabilize each independent kingdom. In a few generations, they will be at each other's throats, and it is then that we will pounce, taking them out one by one." Ser Kevan smiled.

"That would take…generations," her father gasped.

"It is the only path that I can see to lead us to victory. The Westerlands and Reach have bled. To unite the kingdoms under our banner in our lifetimes is a fickle hope. But we must consolidate what we have. The North and Vale do not bring much. The Riverlands' loss has been somewhat felt, but the Reach will be able to compensate for it in time." Ser Kevan let out a deep sigh. "I do not see a better option."

"It would be a good idea, Ser Kevan…" Olenna conceded, "you would guarantee that you could accede to their demands?"

"As long as they do not ask for all the gold in Casterly Rock, yes, I would sign on it," Ser Kevan said, without hesitation.

Margaery then froze, and remembered some of the demands an envoy had brought back. One of them was Cersei's head for her part in the execution of Eddard Stark. Does Kevan know? Surely, he has to. Would he sacrifice her to inherit the Rock? Myrcella was in Dorne and likely to stay there…

Margaery tried to think of a better solution, but found none.

"There is no shame in trying." Her father sighed, earning a death glare from Mathis Rowan.

"I shall send the envoys myself, if you so order, Lord Hand." Ser Kevan rose from his seat. "Pycelle, give me ink and a quill."

"At once, Ser Kevan…" the old maester rose and, with difficulty, stumbled to leave the room.

"On second thoughts, I better accompany you. It would not do to leave you alone." Ser Kevan shook his head. "Let me help…"

Margaery glared at them as they left. The two Lannister rats, hand in hand. Whatever they could be planning, gods only knew.

It wasn't long till her lord father adjourned the meeting anyways. Costayne and Rowan left, soon followed by her father, still bent on recruiting more members for the City Watch and Gold Cloaks, escorted by Ser Mandon.

She was left alone, in the dark, gloomy room, with no one to talk to but her old grandmother.

"Do you believe in Ser Kevan's plan?" Margaery managed to ask.

"No." Her grandmother's answer came down like cold steel. "It is smart, I shall give him that, but I do not see why they would suddenly break bread with us. Tully is eyeing castles that Ser Kevan will never yield willingly, Stark wants his blood for their weirwood trees, and Arryn…gods know what he wants, but surely something too. Their price will be too steep to pay, even if we do grant them independence."

"What will you do, then?" Margaery asked.

"Yield." Olenna sighed deeply. "Yield them the capital, save what can be saved. Our paramountcy, our lives…"

Margaery bowed her head.

"I have lost two grandsons already in this war, and for long, I thought I had lost a third." Olenna adjusted her seat closer to Margaery's. "I will not lose more."

"Floris?" Margaery suddenly asked.

Olenna stayed silent.

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