sixthiterationlogs | "So You Believe You Are Pure? Perfect? Wholly Without Sin?" "None Of Us Are"

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"So You Believe You Are Pure? Perfect? Wholly Without Sin?" "None Of Us Are"

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: By the Fountain
WHEN: 1/26
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Talk of sacrifice and death

She crumpled the letter in her hands, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart. It had been over a week since she had first found it, but it sat no better with her now than it did when she first found it. The shock was the same, though she had suspected something like this was coming, but still she doubted what she had seen, even after the Specimen Room. Margaery tore a piece from the corner of the paper, well aware that if this was destroyed, it would simply come back again. The last town meeting had told her how this game worked. It wouldn't go away, not until the Observers either grew bored or she gave in.

In a different time and a different place, she might even have a candidate, someone who needed to be eliminated in her steady climb towards her far reaching ambitions. But this wasn't Westeros and she learned long ago that those underhanded means didn't have a place here. So what should she do instead? Sit on this directive and pretend it didn't exist? She had done that for over a week and none of it got better. All of her control of the situation was snatched away, replaced by a firm command from the Observers.

"Kill and see home."

She could see her grandmother again, she could see Highgarden and the bramble maze about the keep. Gods, she could feel the sun and smell the roses in the air. Nothing came close to that here. But even before she became swept away with the memory, she forcefully reminded herself how impossible it was. She was dead. The Observers could offer her anything else, but this? This was suspect.

Margaery sat on the edge of the fountain, tearing off more pieces of the letter. No, she would need to think of what to do, how to answer and how to make this go away. These sacrifices weren't just to see home. They had been attached to other things in her visions, and while one was true, it was hard to say if the others were. There was a grand design and she was missing it and that was the most disturbing thing of all.

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Loras was never far. While he'd been making small progress, making an effort to speak to new people and learn this new place, Margaery was his Safe Place. He haunted her like a shadow. Quiet and lingering with his gaze cast downwards, it wasn't all that surprising to find him going to sit beside her.

His wandering off this time had, at least, lasted a little longer than usual.

"You're upset." It wasn't a grand observation. Anyone could see by her mannerisms that something wasn't right. "I suppose you'll tell me it's not my place to calm your worries."

His need to stay by her side at least helped him, even if only a little. For herself, it reminded her that her brother was here, something she didn't think would ever happen and sometimes wondered if it should. Though, however much she was grateful for him, seeing that haunted look in his eyes only reminded her that her choices had brought him to this state. He suffered the ramifications more than anyone in their family. He was her causality, her victim.

Which was why she kept most of her thoughts to herself, though that was no different from her youth. Her only concern was furthering the family. She didn't have a desire or thought that didn't somehow benefit her family. Everything that troubled her or pained her, she carried alone. Though now, it was meant to spare him and keep from breaking further.

"A little, but it isn't anything I can't solve." That was how he knew her best, a woman who could overcome difficult circumstances and obstacles. "I know you worry and I wouldn't tell you it's not your place. I will tell you that you don't need to worry. We're safe here." She would see that they were.

"That's the diplomatic way of saying it's not my place."

In his voice, there's a hint of a smile, but it's not really reflecting in his face. He's not even really looking at his sister. His eyes are always on everything else, like he's looking for some ambush or some unseen terror to take them.

"So you won't tell me what that is?" He means, of course, the paper she's ripping. They've never kept anything from one another, Loras isn't sure he likes the thought that she might start. Even if it's well intentioned.

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it."

She linked her hand with his, searching for a glimmer of her brother, the man she knew and loved more than anyone. There was a shadow over his heart, blotting away that golden light that had kept her warmer during her darker moments. However much depended on her, he had given her so much strength and resolve to do what needed to be done.

"It's something from the Observers." She had wanted to spare him about the reality of their situation. He had been imprisoned, he had been subjected to torture both psychological and worse. He had only just escaped the Sparrows, she didn't want him to feel that he was back under someone else's grip. "Sometimes we receive gifts from them. This is a letter they sent with instructions."

Her words didn't bother Loras much, if only because he chose not to think too much about it. It sounded like something to be focused on once he finally settled. For now, though, he still felt too much out of his skin, and too much like he didn't quite know who he was. Worry about that first, he figured, then worry about all the other things.

Despite the chill, he found a warmth in her hand, and gave it a light squeeze as their fingers twined together. A reminder for himself that she was really here.

"Not good instructions." Again, not an astounding observation. Margaery did not hide her inner dilemma well in this instance, but Loras could see more of her thoughts and feelings than most others. A Tyrell gift, truly. "You hesitate more now than you used to."

"No, not good instructions." There was a lot she had learned about the Observers over the span of a year. Loras didn't have that time to slowly acclimate to this world and the unknown watchers that occasionally sent them gifts or disturbing letters. For all he suffered, this was a poor place for him to try and heal. There was too much that would feed into his trauma and paranoia. For now, she would leave the letter at that and share the rest when he seemed stronger to take it.

"Do I?" She hadn't thought very much about how she had changed, only aware that she had. Ambition wasn't such a blinding passion anymore and she felt steadier and quiet in her decisions. Hesitation though? That was a surprise. "I don't know who I am facing. Cersei was easy to predict because I knew her, I could read her. I don't know anything about the Observers."

And now she had more to worry about, not simply her life but Loras' as well. Everything she did had to factor in his safety. "I have been here for over a year. After so long, I don't think I can go back to who I was." She shrugged. "Or if I should."

That was an odd thing to think about it, and Loras had a hard time wrapping his head around it. How they could die at the same time, and yet it took him so long to join her. But that was why he could see the differences in Margaery so easily - it was as if he'd only just spoken to her in Westeros.

"Is it easy for you now, being here?" A pointless question. Loras knew well enough that the both of them were skilled in adapting to their situations. Or he had been, once, but Margaery certainly wouldn't have lost it. But fitting had always been her strong suit. Loras was convinced that Margaery did not change to suit places, but that places changed to suit Margaery. "I can't imagine it ever getting easy for me."

Time was difficult to explain here, but she had become accustomed to the strangeness. It was only in talking to Loras that she was reminded how everything would seem for him. He was just pulled from their world, everything would be fresh for him. While for her, it was a distant memory. It struck her how lonely that must be and how isolating, not something she would want for her brother.

"I think that I know what it feels like to be happy, instead of simply being content." She didn't think there would be much of a difference between satisfaction at fulfilling ambition to actual happiness, but now she knew. "Everything I have, I earned and made for myself. It wasn't based on House or birth. I grew my orchards myself, I reared my animals and herded them. I have made my own clothes and learned to cook. It should be humiliating, but I feel stronger for it."

She turned to look at him, troubled by that sentiment and concerned for him. "It will with time. Everyday you put between what happened and now, you will feel that pain leave you. It helps to channel it into things you can control."

He made a face, squinting as he scrunched up his nose while looking at nothing in particular. Happy. He hadn't been happy in so long, he wasn't certain he could remember the feeling.

"You've never been humiliated in your life, and you know it." There was a lightness to his voice, and, yes, despite it all, this was Loras making a joke. He even ducked his head to hide the smile that forced its way on to his face. "If you'd taken up farming back home, then soon every lady highborn or not would follow suit. You'd have started a trend in a matter of days."

Hadn't she? She couldn't remember, if she was being honest. There were moments that had been Cersei's attempt to humiliate her, but it only had served as an annoyance and a hindrance for her plans. She could remember that look on Cersei's face as the Sparrows dragged her away, taking satisfaction in Margaery's downfall. But it hadn't humiliated her, it had only enraged her, pushing her to fight and seek retribution. If it hadn't been for Loras, she wouldn't have altered her game to include the Sparrows.

For all the good it did.

The sudden joke caught her off guard, lightening the pressure on her shoulders, helping her feel at ease next to him again. She didn't need to worry about what she said or what might remind him of the past. He was smiling, comfortable by his own doing. "It would have worked especially well if I had told them that men enjoy dirt under a woman's nails. You had the same talent as well."

"When I wanted to." And never in the same way that Margaery did. Loras could remember all the women in King's Landing starting to dress like Margaery, more daring and less conservative, hair style and all. "But who wouldn't want to be us?"

They'd had a remarkably charmed life. In theory, Loras knew they could have that here, too, if they put in the work. It wouldn't be the same, but it would be something. Second chances were not to be scoffed at.

"Even living like farmers, we could still be stylish and envied." Her mind moved in a similar direction to his. While they had been given a great deal in their lives, much of the charm and good fortune had been because of their ambitions and hard work. How was that different to what she was trying to achieve here? She was trying to recreate her pleasant life, even if it was forged by her own hands?

It was a second chance for them, a chance to keep from making the same mistakes, learning from them instead. "First, I need to make you new clothes. Something green and gold?" It might help him find his way back to his old self again.

Margaery detested the cold. The fact of it was so implicitly a part of her character that one needn't be told to know — She was a hothouse flower that flourished in the warm lushness of spring and recoiled at the chilly fingers of winter, and had made no secret of it. To find her seated purposely outside in the middle of winter, particularly next to the fountain where the chilled spray would be constant, was more than a little alarming.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Robb scuffed across the stone pavers of the courtyard and stopped beside her, blinking a moment at the swirl of tiny pieces of paper around his ankles.

"What's happened?" he asked, frowning down at her and what was left of the crumpled page in her hand. He could guess well enough without reading it, however; they all knew about the letters.

Her hood had been pushed back from her face, letting her hair remain free against the elements. Beads of water glistened against her auburn curls, frozen by the cold and woven throughout her hair. She had forgotten the temperature around her or the fountain's spray that wet her cloak whenever the breeze rustled around her. It was only when Robb spoke that she was pulled from her thoughts.

Her eyes were dark, bearing a measure of annoyance and fear. It took a moment for that feeling to pass, that she was a wild creature, cornered in its nest and threatened by a looming predator. This wasn't something he should witness, it wasn't because of him that she felt the need to fight or flee.

"My vision was right." She rubbed her hands together, having left her gloves at home. "The letter is instructing me to sacrifice someone. In return, I can see home."

"What?"

That seemed a sizable jump from what he'd heard of previous letters, not to mention that it seemed to fly in the face of the experiences they'd had here. There were so many opportunities to kill any of them, and yet it scarcely happened, and seemingly by accident.

Robb reached to pull the letter from Margaery's grip and frowned as he read over the contents.

"It doesn't say you have to sacrifice a person," he pointed out with some measure of relief, although the idea of killing anything for the sake of it seemed more than a bit macabre.

"It doesn't matter whether it directly says it or not. It's what I saw. It's what someone will do."

She had jumped to that conclusion, lingering more on the vision and the small connection to it than what was actually written. She knew how that would look, especially to Robb. She was already lingering near madness with her paranoia, all of it centered on this ability that had seemingly come from nowhere.

Maybe she was overreacting? Deep down, she knew that had to be the case, but the shock and the reminder of what she had seen made her feel sick.

"If it doesn't happen, it means I'm mad. If it does, it means someone will die."

"You're not mad," Robb was quick to counter, his frown deepening at the thought. "You're a great many things, but mad isn't one of them. So get that out of your head. If you've seen something, it isn't your fault, it's the people who put us here."

This particular conclusion had been a very long time coming, but seeing her laid up in bed, in pain, unable to so much as recall his name... The time for being willfully oblivious had passed. His hand had been forced and his beliefs with it. If these watchers were gods, they were fickle and cunning and most certainly not his own.

Still, the crux of what Margaery was saying remained no less true, madness or not. What were the odds that someone else received such a letter and would act on it in such a drastic way?

"We need to tell the others," he concluded. "We need to know if you're the only one." He paused, pulling in a breath, and then reached for her. "But first we need to get you out of the cold. Here, put these on." He passed over his own gloves.

She knew the ways of men, both in war and in love. Blood lust was a powerful trigger, stirring inside their hearts, buried beneath a measure of reason and calm. Press a sword into their hands, trigger the right wound and the beast would seize to the surface. In the wilderness, the excuse to kill was flimsy at best. All some might need was this letter to give into their baser instincts.

He was right. She had sat on this for too long, having ignored it for a month, the images from her vision cycling about her mind. Instead of taking preventive measures, she had wallowed and likely left things worse.

She nodded, pulling herself to her feet. Somewhere in all of this, she had forgotten the cold. Her hands were numb, but it slipped her notice. Still, without objection, she took his gloves and slipped them on. "I can't be the only one." But like her, no one had said anything. "This one is different, Robb. Everything is different surrounding it. The letters don't stop when a new set are sent. These have continued for over a month."

"Come," he said, a terseness underpinning his voice as he reached to pull Margaery closer. What he wouldn't give for a properly-fought battle that obeyed the laws of gods and men. The strangeness of this place preyed on his patience as it blunted his ability to shelter the people he cared for from harm.

He led Margaery instinctively back toward the Stark home, his thoughts wrapped up in the puzzle they found themselves entrenched within. By the time he realized they were headed that way, there was nearly no point in turning round.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down to her there in the crook of his arm. She didn't seem much less stunned than when he'd found her. "I simply started walking. Would you rather I take you to Loras?"

It was only himself and Father knocking around their house now. They'd come to an uneasy truce, and he was loath to burden the man, but Robb's first impulse had been to ask his father's guidance. However, Margaery might be easier with her brother.

Her mind rested in a state of suspension, her thoughts halted as she focused on each step and the weight of his arm around her shoulders. She felt safe with him and comfortable, protected against the onslaught of dread and anxiety. He guided her along and she accepted the destination without thought, enjoying the sensation of him caring for her and shielding her from these recent troubles.

When she looked up and saw they were nearing the Stark house, she simply smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "You wanted to take me home. This is your home." It would likely be easier for him as well. Loras was still trying to recover and beyond that, he was not fond of Robb in the way that she had hoped he would be.

Better they go to the Starks. "I have been trying to keep this side of the village from Loras. After what we experienced in the Black Cells, I don't want him to have to face this. Violence and mental games meant to keep us pliant and faithful." It had taken her time to discover what would take her back to Westeros, but she knew now. What would return Loras? Earthquakes? Or something else?

"No, let's see your family. It won't be awkward for you? For them to see us together like this?"

"Well, unless someone has come for a visit, it's only Father and myself in the house now," Robb replied as he led her the remaining distance to the front walk. The grass and shubbery was still gnarled and brown from winter's cold, but it was all neatly-tended.

"What he might think of it, I couldn't say. He's fond of you, I know that much, and he might prove better counsel in all of this than I could." Their relationship wasn't any real secret regardless; it was only the extent of it he'd tried to mask, out of a perhaps misplaced sense of propriety. No one here honestly seemed to care, his family include.

Inside, though, the house was cool and still, with no scuffing of distant footsteps. No great surprise; there was always a lot to do and only themselves to do it.

"Sit, I'll fetch some wood and make you a fire," Robb said, motioning toward the sofa.

"I nearly forgot. Jon lives with your aunt and Sansa is with her new husband." A part of her still kept the memory of the Starks together, preferring that to them separating in the village, even if they were still close. They were a tight knit family, they belonged together. It was where their strength resided.

She flushed, looking away from Robb as she glanced around the bungalow. His words summoned memories of Ned during his illness, a confession she didn't think to hear and had little intention of sharing. Aye, Ned was fond of her. Though it was not nearly as awkward as she had feared it would be. Things seemed to have passed, even though there was still a concern in the back of her mind, making certain not to flirt as she used to.

She rubbed her arms as she took a seat on the couch, removing her damp cloak from her shoulders. "Thank you." She hadn't realized how cold she felt until now. "Could I have a blanket as well?" At least until the fire heated the room enough. "No one else has said anything about receiving letters like this. There is a chance that it hasn't been spread." Unless they were keeping it secret as well?

"It's possible, I suppose," Robb allowed as he opened the linen cupboard and pulled out a couple of blankets. "Or you might be the first." To his mind, knowing what he did about this place, that seemed the more likely scenario. These things were seldom one-off.

"Here," he said, spreading one of the blankets about her shoulders and then draping the other over her legs. It still amused him a little how cold Margaery could become when he himself seemed to barely feel a chill, but he was in no fit mood for teasing her now.

"I'll only be a moment," he insisted, and stepped quickly through to the kitchen and out the back door. There was no worry that there might be a sufficient supply of firewood there; between them, he and his father kept it impressively stocked. Winter was always coming.

"The only way to be certain is to speak to others," he resumed as he carried the wood back into the front room and began arranging it on the hearth. It might be difficult for her, he knew, if only because she hated admitting a weakness, and the news would spread quickly in their tight-knit community. But if there was another way, he couldn't imagine what it might be. "Someone has to be the first."

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to stave off the chill but finding it trapped within the warmth as well. Her cloak had been soaked by the fountain and seeped through until it wet her gown. The fire would dry her after a time, but knowing that didn't stop her shivering.

Instinctively, she moved closer to the fire, bringing her bundle with her. Her face was thoughtful and dark, debating the wisdom of his words. Instinct wanted her to ignore the letters and keep the rest to herself. Her fears were weakness and this was an uncontrollable situation, all of the things that made her feel helpless and out of sorts. But the more rational part of her that had developed in the village bucked at the thought. He was right, someone had to be the first and alert the rest.

She rubbed her hands over her face as she let out a deep sigh. "Not everyone knows about the visions. It will sound like madness if I tell them everything." Was it fair to leave it out when it played a part in all of this? She had seen what would happen, if the letter was sent to the right person. "I know you are right. I should tell them about the letter at least."

Her eyes flicked up to him, curious and soft. "Would you want to see home that badly?"

Robb supposed he ought to have expected the question, but found himself surprised all the same, pausing in using a poker to push the logs around on the now-blazing hearth. He immediately knew his answer, but he needed a moment to consider how to frame it.

"No," he said, matter-of-fact, and shook his head as he glanced up to Margaery, huddled now in front of the fire. "There's nothing for me there now. It isn't home anymore. I have a better chance of seeing the people I love here than I do there, and..." He sighed, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "I'm not anything there, anymore, really. Just the idiot who threw away the North's victory and got himself killed doing it."

Jon was King in the North now, and likely better at it besides.

"Would you?"

He wouldn't blame her if she would; yes, they both of them had died, but her life had been vastly different from his own. She seemed pleased enough with her new role in this place, had often described her contentment (and occasional surprise at such), but more than once he had wondered if she missed the woman, the queen, she used to be.

She smiled softly to herself, pleased at how similar their thinking was. For all of their differences in upbringing and culture, they were alike in their views about seeing home again. He didn't need to worry about how to answer or explain his answer, she understood completely from the beginning.

"It's the same for me." She raised her hands up to the flame, letting the heat lick at her skin and fill her again. It was only when a flash of green appeared in her mind that she pulled back, shivering now from memories rather than the cold. "I lost and I have moved away from the past. There is nothing there for me now, only 'what ifs' and 'could haves.' I wouldn't want to see Highgarden in the state it must be, now that Cersei has the power."

She reached out to entwine her fingers with him, pulling him close. "Robb, you are not an idiot. You made a mistake, but you shouldn't blame yourself for everything that happened. A trap was being set for you, if that hadn't worked, they would have tried another. All of them dishonorable attempts."

He had heard of the letters people were receiving here, apparently by a mechanism unknown to him from Rome, where letters were delivered by courier, rather than mysteriously appearing with no witnesses to their arrival. And at home, a letter once destroyed would stay that way, unanswered. Not without consequences, certainly, but not reappearing mysteriously the way they have here. But Gaius hadn't yet seen one of the letters; he didn't realize that was what he was seeing as her passed by the park on his walk and saw the young woman Margaery sitting by the fountain tearing up some paper.

He had the hood of his cloak up over his head, because there was the same persistent chill in the air here today as there had been for much of the winter, but as he changed direction to approach Margaery, he lowered it, so the fabric no longer partially obscured his face.

"You seem to be troubled," he said as he came near. "Could I help in some way?"

She tried to smile wanly at Gaius, retreating to the familiar mask of congeniality, rather than acknowledging what troubled her. Though, she knew this wasn't a matter that needed to be kept secret. So many others received these letters as well. It stood to reason that there were some floating around the village that detailed the same instructions she received. Others had to be aware of how much this had escalated.

She was dressed in her blue cloak, the hood down and her gloves left behind in her haste to go somewhere and think. She had forgotten the cold after she had opened the letter, now it was only a secondary thought.

"It is the letters," she answered honestly, pushing herself out of her comfort. "I keep receiving the same one."

There'd been a time when he'd been known in Rome as a man of the people. He wasn't only their elected representative, there to defend their rights against the abuses of their aristocratic magistrates, he'd made himself a man they could speak to, who could sympathize with them and understand their problems. He'd been disadvantaged in doing that in this place because he could not, at first, speak the language. Now, though, he could understand almost all of what was said around him. He could certainly understand the woman's reply. He returned her smile easily and moved to sit, making sure to give her enough space for propriety between a married man and a woman he hardly knew.

"Does it ask for you to do something?" That was what had been said about the letters at the meeting, that they demanded a theft, as if whoever had left them were trying to destroy the wellbeing of this place by disrupting what order it had.

"I have not received one, but I have heard of them."

It was easy to remember those who had some sort of difficulties after arriving. Gaius wasn't the first man she had seen who didn't understand the common tongue when he arrived in the village. But after enough time, he seemed to be able to follow her, though she made an effort to talk slowly and carefully for him.

"It wants me to make a sacrifice of some sort." Animal or man, it didn't specify. But she knew what she had seen and she knew how some men's hearts turned. It wouldn't take much for their bloodlust to be called to the surface and allow a minor feud to sway their minds. "If we do, we will get a glimpse of home." Which might be an incentive for others, but she knew would only make matters worse for her. She had become complacent to her situation. Seeing Highgarden now, it would only take her back to everything she had lost. Her pain and guilt returned, only after being set aside.

"They are escalating. First it was stealing something important, then it was harming someone, and now this."

"To make a sacrifice?" he repeated her words carefully, searching for the meaning he was missing in what she'd said. To him, being asked to make a sacrifice in return for a benefit as large as being able to see their homes again was only natural. Sacrifice was what the Roman gods asked for their favors and their continued goodwill.

He was aware, of course, that the people here did not share his religion, but the idea of a sacrifice as worse than a theft or an assault only made sense to him in one context, and that was if the sacrifice were not of a goat, cow, or other animal, but of a human. If that were the case, would she not have said so?

"A sacrifice is worse than hurting someone?" he asked, his diction careful despite his still-thick accent. He'd understood all the words, he was certain, but he was less certain about their precise meaning.

"It depends on what is being sacrificed." She didn't mind eating meat or what was needed to acquire meat, but this was slightly different. This was killing for the sake of killing. It seemed like something Joffery would prefer, a game to exert power over smaller, gentler creatures. It made her feel sick to consider, though that might be because she had become attached to her animals, the creatures she had raised for over a years.

"They didn't specify what should be sacrificed." And while others might assume animal as well, it was what might lurk in darker hearts that frightened her. "There is a chance that someone might take this as an invitation to remove someone they dislike or feel at odds with. Someone might want to harm someone else in the village."

There was nothing saying that could happen, but she hadn't believed that someone would actually be mad enough to light wildfire and blow up the Sept of Baelor.

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"So You Believe You Are Pure? Perfect? Wholly Without Sin?" "None Of Us Are"

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