Book Two: Chapter 2

White Harbour is a small, well ordered town to the south of Winterfell. They travel through the night, pausing only once at a tavern to exchange the horses for fresh ones, and allow the soldiers a chance to switch for those who have been resting in the wagon all day. Sakura stirs, but does not rouse properly until the morning light flickers in through the shutters on the carriage. She rubs at her eyes, red and sore from the tears shed into her furs, and swallows heavily. She is chilled to the bone, and the lantern has burned out, but she manages to pry open the shutters. She is greeted by the watery colours of the dawn sky, and the heavy smell of salt and fish in the air. White Harbour stretches out, well named with its white stone roads and small white houses. The roads are crowded with fishermen hauling in their morning catch and children selling muscles and prawns, but people part at the sight of the queen’s standard flying high over their caravan. When they finally stop, Sakura doesn’t wait for someone to open the carriage door for her and instead clambers out herself, breathing in the cold sea air and pushing back her hair to feel the morning sun on her face.

The harbour is bustling and busy, crowded with war ships and fishing boats and every vessel in between. Despite the fear and heartache that gnaws away at her, she feels a sense of wonder at seeing the ocean again. Winterfell is so far from the shore, the closest she has come to the sea in months is the reflecting pool in the godswood, but there is nothing quite like the smell of salt on the air and the caw of hungry sea birds above. She pulls in a breath, so deep it is as if she is trying to swallow the ocean whole, and only releases when the presence behind her clears .

Hyewon seems pale and ashy. “The ship will be ready the moment everything is loaded.”

Sakura nods, and she watches from her place on the docks, Hyewon a few paces away but quiet, as the harbour bustles. Fishermen wake earlier than anyone she knows, will have been awake for hours before this to bring in the first fresh catch of the day, so the harbour is lively. Girls in skirts that brush their ankles and cropped capes sell cockles and mussels from their baskets, and boys run with heavy whitefish held in their hands. No one dares to approach her, with Hyewon at her side, but after a few minutes a knight appears, bowing respectfully.

“My lady, the queen asked that this be given to you before you board the ship.”

“Thank you,” She watches as he opens the jewelled chest in his hands, revealing soft, plush velvet cradling a thin, wicked looking dagger. Sakura’s eyes widen, and she plucks up the piece of parchment that sits upon the dagger, peering at it curiously.

Be safe .

The words bring a thick lump to and she has to glance away, for fear that her tears will once again begin to fall. Carefully, she exchanges the parchment for the dagger. It’s small and thin, light enough that she can wield it easily and conceal it beneath her cloak. The pommel is inlaid with gold and swirling roses, shining brightly in the watery sunlight, and Sakura places it gently within the chest again.

“Have it taken onto the ship with the rest of my personal effects.”

“Of course, my lady.” The knight glances back at the soldiers hauling chests and barrels onto the ship. “I think they’re almost ready to leave, if you’d like to board now.”

The ship is a towering vessel, not quite a war ship but rivalling it in size and grandeur. She knows very little about ships, but she can tell by the shine of the wood and the sails rising like clouds from the ocean, that this is a fine vessel. The Stark flag flies proudly from its masts and when she crosses the gangplank, the sailors wait in an orderly line to offer her bows of their heads. At their head stands the captain, dressed in a fine coat and broad rimmed hat, with a neatly trimmed black beard and locks tied at the nape of his neck to keep them away from the sea wind.

He bows in greeting to her, giving a sensible, serious smile as he introduces himself. “Good morning, m’lady. Captain Argas at your service.”

“Lady Sakura, of House Tyrell.” She glances about his sailors with a polite smile. “Thank you for assembling your sailors so quickly, Captain.”

He bows his head, acknowledging her gratitude, before gesturing for her. “I’ll show you to your cabin m’lady.” With Hyewon at her back, she follows him through the maze of corridors to the small, opulent cabin waiting for her. She suspects it may be the captain’s cabin, with its wide windows and rich, mascluine furnishings. “The journey should take five days, if the winds stay favourable.” He tells her, and eyes her uncertainly. “Are you- eh- good on the sea, m’lady?”

“Yes,” Her lips twitch at his relieved smile. “I’ve sailed several times before.”

“Excellent,” He bows his head again. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your journey more comfortable.”

He leaves them alone, and Sakura turns once, examining the wide, soft bed and the desk pushed up in the corner. A few of her chests are stacked in the corner and Eunbi’s gift sits upon the table, waiting for her. There are a few tapestries hung around the room, blue and green, and a dish of fruits upon the table. The boat shudders into motion beneath them both, a cacophony of shouting coming from above them and from the corner of her eye she sees Hyewon grab the corner of the bed.

“Are you alright?” She turns to look at the soldier, and Hyewon gives a weak nod.

“I don’t like the sea,” She confesses, as the boat heaves again, artfully slipping from the harbour. “It’s just… bad memories.”

Sakura frowns, curious, but before she can inquire any further, Hyewon pushes herself away from the bed, and- looking distinctly green already- hastens to the door, mumbling her excuses. Slowly, she turns back to the table, eyeing the chest in which the dagger sits. The lid swings open easily and she runs her fingers carefully down the sharp blade, a shiver running through her.

—-

The captain’s estimations turn out to be right, and their journey takes them around five days of sailing day and night. They are fortunate; the wind favours them and the sea is calm, but still Hyewon’s stomach is unsettled and her mood dark for the duration of their journey. She often finds the girl on the deck, staring up at the sky and struggling not to heave up what little she has managed to eat over the side of the ship. The journey finds Sakura acting more as nursemaid than lady, feeding Hyewon water and thinly sliced bread in hopes of settling her stomach. Hyewon doesn’t see fit to explain her dislike of sailing, and in her state, Sakura has no desire to push for an answer.

They are both relieved to see the towers of the Red Keep rise from the shore, towering upon the high cliffs of the Blackwater Rush, and strikingly red against the blue sky. Behind it, Kings Landing sprawls out. Though she has seen the capital city many times before, Sakura leans against the railings of the ship’s deck, eager to take in the sight. It seems even larger than it had when she left, the red and white buildings a stark contrast to the stone and wood of Winter Town. Kings Landing sits within the city’s walls, tanneries pressed against fish merchants, taverns crammed between smiths and weavers. In the centre of it all rises the rounded drum of the Great Sept, dwarfed only by the Red Keep, its seven towers reaching for the sky. On one of the three hills within the walls, Sakura can see the abandoned dome of the Dragon Pit, and at the foot of that hill, she knows the slums of Flea Bottom sit.

Beside her, Hyewon draws in a low breath at the sight and Sakura glances over at her, watching the soldier’s fingers tighten against the railings. She cannot remember the first time she saw the southern capital, but she is sure it’s overwhelming for someone used to the quaint bustle of Winter Town.

The docks are crowded with ships and fishing boats, gathering against the many quays like birds around a carcass. People turn to stare at the mighty ship cruising past them, their eyes widening at the sight of the Stark flag flying high and point fingers, shouting to one another. On the shore, the children of the slums pick through the waste that washes up with the tide, and they look up from their task to shout and scream, running along the shore until the ship is out of sight. They round the corner, to the Red Keep’s private dock, and Sakura is ushered onto a smaller ship, Hyewon staying stubbornly by her side, to be rowed past the towering cliffs, towards the small, private beach. Here the water is clearer and the sand is clean and golden in the sunlight. Along the single, stone quay stand a procession awaiting them, though she recognises none of their faces. Her stomach swoops anxiously, dread wriggling into her bones and making a home there, and she can see Hyewon glancing at her from the corner of her eye, uncomfortable and unsure.

The boat is tied to the quay, a gangplank laid out and as she stands in the swaying ship, Sakura’s eyes find the waiting knights and lords. Lord Sunny Flowers, one of her father’s cousins, stands at the gangplank, and his ashy expression makes her catch her breath. Her fingers tremble when she takes his waiting hand, and is led onto the quay, and she opens to speak, but can’t seem to find the words.

“Lady Sakura,” The voice pulls her attention away, and she remembers those waiting on the quay for her arrival. Lord Pike of House Lannister is dressed in a fine red doublet, tall and well built, his skin shining in the sunlight. His mouth is set into a thin line and his eyes are grave and serious. Sakura’s fingers tighten around Lord Sunny’s fingers, and when she glances to her uncle, she finds that he is swallowing back tears of his own.

“My father…” Despite herself, her voice trembles on the edge of tears.

Lord Sunny bows his head, and there is a long silence. The words settle around them, like the winter snow in the north, but they do not feel real. Everything is far away, and strange, and Sakura lifts her chin, thinking of her mother and of Eunbi, all of those who would want her to be strong now, and says, quietly.

“Take me to him.”

They do as she says without hesitation. She is shown to an ornate carriage, and her uncle slides into the seat beside her. Together, they journey through the streets of Kings Landing in silence; though Lord Sunny is one of her closest relatives, she barely knows the man. He had been in Highgarden frequently when she was young, but when the War of North and South broke out, he and his sons spent many years fighting in the Reach for control of the North. Several of her cousins had died in that war, and since then her uncle had preferred his own, smaller fief and rarely ventured into either Highgarden or Kings Landing.

Her eyes stay fixed to the passing streets, unseeing. Every rattle of the carriage, every passing house, every pair of staring eyes seem to drift away from her, as if she is wrapped in incense, heady and strange. She cannot think on where they are going, or why, and instead there is nothing, only white blankness.

The carriage comes to a halt outside the Great Sept, and she ignores her uncle’s offered hand when she clambers out. Brushing her hands down the front of her gown, she straightens her shoulders and squares her jaw, climbing the long set of steps. The Great Sept rises before her, towering, a window in the shape of the seven pointed star staring down at her. People pause to watch her go, guards hurrying to catch up with her, but she keeps her eyes fixed to that star, watching the way the sunlight catches against the coloured glass. By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, the star is out of view, but she can still feel it’s gaze upon her.

Inside, the Great Sept is cool and dark, and she pauses in the doorway to allow her eyes to adjust. Inside, the sept is a grandiose space, with a ceiling so high that she can hardly see the gilded gold and marble dome that rises between the roofs of Kings Landing. A raised walkway runs around the perimeter of the sept, from which chapels glow with candlelight for each of the Seven. The walkway surrounds the main sanctuary, a lowered area in which light spills in from the high, coloured windows. The marble floor is decorated with a seven pointed star, and each arm reaches out to the towering statues of the gods. They face inwards, so that when she walks down into the main sanctuary, she can feel their eyes upon her: the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger.

In the centre of the main sanctuary, upon a raised tomb, a body sits in state. Her feet hesitate, stilling where she stands, and for a moment she fears she will not be able to go any further, before she grits her teeth and forces herself closer. The sound of her feet against the marble echoes up through the high domed roof, and her steps are measured and careful, pausing when she is beside the dais.

Her father is dressed in a fine blue and gold doublet, a pin in the shape of a rose upon his chest. His face is pale and drawn, and two stones with painted eyes sit where he once would have. His hair is combed back neatly, and his hands are folded upon his chest, fingers closed around his longsword. She recognises the pommel, the golden rose that he used to polish until it shined, and it is that thought that makes her legs tremble beneath her, and her stomach roil with bile. The candlelight flickers into starbursts before her eyes, and it takes her a long time to realise that it’s because she is crying. Her tears slide silently down her cheeks, dripping onto her father’s body and staining the doublet. She puts a hand over his, and the cold of his skin startles a gasp from her. She will never feel this hand warm again, she realises slowly, will never hear his laugh or see his smile. His eyes will never light up with joy and warmth, and they will never sit over a game of cyvasse again. He will never see her marry, see her love, he will never meet her children.

There is a strange sound in the sept, grating and keening, and when she raises her eyes, blinking through her tears to find the source, she realises that the sound is coming from her.

It is some time before she is found, kneeling at her father’s side. Her knees ache against the harsh marble floor, and her head rests against the dais, so she doesn’t know she is no longer alone until the figure places a hand upon her shoulder. Slowly, she raises her head, and watches as King Thelonious sinks to his knees beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulder, letting her twist until her face is pressed into his chest and her tears soak into his doublet.

---

Her bed in the Red Keep is warm and plush, in a room filled with every luxury she could want. She keeps the curtains pulled around her bed, and the shutters on the windows tightly closed against the sun. After so long in Winterfell, the heat in the south is stifling, and she curls herself beneath thin blankets, and buries her head in her pillows. They don’t disturb her, but to bring her water and food. The meals are soft and light, meant to ease her grief, but she can’t think to touch them and instead only drinks the water brought in heavy clay jugs. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees her father’s face before them. She thinks of the last time she spoke to him, how long ago was it? Three months? Four? Five? Time in Winterfell had passed strangely, and his lack of contact had left her angry and confused, until she had stubbornly refused to write to him herself.

Now, she would give anything to send him a letter. She doesn’t pray, cannot think to at a time like this, and though her isolation is self-imposed, it is darkly lonely. Sakura aches for her father, for his smile and his arms around her, and though she has spent months hating her, she wishes her mother were here.

“Your mother is gone,” Thelonious had explained to her quietly, in the peace of the Great Sept. “She left a day or so after your father’s death, with no warning. We thought she may be with you.”

She leaves her room only for the funeral, at Hyewon’s insistence, and it is a strange affair. With her mother absent, it is to her that every noble in Kings Landing offers their condolences, and she accepts their words with tight lips and the barest nods of her head. Everything feels so far away, even when she sees her father’s body again, it is as if it isn’t him at all, just a stranger with her father’s clothes. Her uncle stays at her side, casting her uncertain glances, and at one point King Thelonious pulls her away and places his hands on her shoulders, speaking earnestly to her. It is a relief to escape back to the darkness of her room, ignoring all requests for her company, but her restless silence is shattered by voices outside of her room, only a few days later.

“Lady Sakura must be told, it’s important.” A stranger insists, and Sakura pulls herself from the bed, her nightgown flowing around her feet, and pads silently to the door, pressing her ear against it to listen.

“Lady Sakura should have been told beforehand .” Hyewon’s angry retort startles her a little.

“Well her ladyship wasn’t accepting any guests, Lord Sunny couldn’t wait any longer.” The stranger answers, sharply.

“A message would have done just as well,” Hyewon snaps, “She should have been able to go with her uncle.”

“The streets are becoming too dangerous,” The stranger retorts, “He had to leave as soon as he could.”

Her fingers curl around the door handle before she can think any further, and she pulls it open with a yank. The two figures outside her door spin to face her, their eyes widening, and Hyewon is the first to bow her head, glaring at the squir