Book Two: Chapter 3

The bells ring for three days and three nights after the king dies. Their tolling slips into her dreams, but when they stop the silence feels strangely oppressive. The funeral is held on the fourth day, in stately, sombre mourning. Almost every noble family in the south sends a representative, bedecked in black, with their family emblems sparkling on pins and broaches. So many people arrive to attend the funeral that even the Great Sept struggles to hold them, and many have to stand on the steps and listen through the door as the High Septon speaks. Sakura does not suffer that indignity, and instead stands between her cousin and her ailing grandmother, who had been too frail to travel for her father’s funeral. They watch in silence as the Septon speaks over the king’s body, the Silent Sisters waiting behind him to carry away his body and bury in it the crypts below the Sept. They stand, their shrivelled hands clasped together, and their bodies draped in dark robes. Veils cover their faces and mouths, so that all that can be seen are their dark eyes, looking out at the waiting congregation. It is a chilling reminder that one day they will all be in the hands of the Silent Sisters.

Lord Kimm of House Swann stands at the head of the congregation, surrounded by his advisors. Though not yet king in name, most of the south is already jostling for his approval and notice, and Kimm seems bewildered and uncertain, though he can smile and nod with the best of them. Sakura can’t help the way her eyes flicker to him, curious and wondering. The absence of Prince Wells from these proceedings has not gone unnoticed. Though she knew that Wells would have to give up all family ties and stay in the Citadel- where all young maesters are trained- she had thought that perhaps the death of his father would convince him to return. It seems not.

What keeps him away? What stops him from answering her letters and ravens? Her questions go unanswered, though the letter she received from her mother that morning plays on her mind. The thought of it sends a chill through her, and she can see her grandmother eyeing her strangely from the corner of her eye. She hopes that her thoughts don’t show too clearly. The letter had been disturbing and terrifying, and even to think of its contents now would leave her vulnerable to interrogation, so she casts it to the back of her mind. The funeral drags on, the Sept warm under the midday sun and so filled with people. Her sadness for the king sits like a stone in her stomach, next to the constant ache reserved for her father and Wells and… Eunbi. Even thinking of her name sends a churning of regret to Sakura’s heart, and though she knows it would change nothing, she longs for the simpler days of Winterfell.

Finally, the High Septon leads the procession out of the Sept. They fall into step a few paces behind the heir apparent and his advisors, and Sakura catches Kimm’s eye as he goes past. His face brightens at the sight of her and he offers her a small, wavering smile, which she returns even as he is ushered along by Lord Pike. They step out onto the steps, and the sunlight is almost blinding after the darkness of the Sept. A waiting crowd of smallfolk are gathered outside the Sept, held at bay by guards and soldiers alike, and when Lord Kimm steps into the sunlight and raises his hand to wave at them, they erupt into a roar of cheering.

A wry smile pulls at Sakura’s lips and her gaze flickers to Lord Pike, stood only a few steps away. The Master of Coin did a remarkable job in the turmoil that followed the king’s death. It didn’t take long for word of Lord Kimm’s daring and bravery during the battle to make its way around the kingdom. Every time Sakura hears it, the story has changed. Supposedly he arrived the day before the fighting broke out, and barely had time to sleep before donning his armour, or did he ride through the gates of Kings Landing and straight into the battle? Lord Kimm slew twenty men, or was it forty, or a hundred? Whatever the truth may be, the royal heir is now a hero for all to see, a young and handsome king, strong and brave in battle, to lead them into a golden age.

At her side, she hears her grandmother scoff, and glances at her from the corner of her eye. Lady Tila Tyrell, the Dowager Lady of the Reach, is old and frail and has little time for the frolicking of knights and kings. Her tongue is sharp, but as the days go by her body weakens and she struggles to leave Highgarden now. Only an event such as this would draw her from the reaches of the rose covered fortress.

“Can I help you to your room, grandmother?” One of her cousins darts forward to ask, and her grandmother shakes her away, scowling.

“I may be old,” She says, in a rumbling growl, her hands shaking against her ornate cane as she starts down the steps of the Sept. “But I’m not that old Lyra. Go and see to your husband, before he becomes too familiar with the ladies from Sunspear.”

The words pull a pale pallor over her cousin’s face, and Sakura watches with a half satisfied smile as Lyra darts away to find her husband.

“Mother-” Lord Sunny attempts to reason with her, but his wife, a sensible woman from the Vale named Joan who Sakura has always liked, puts a hand on his arm and quietens him.

“Sakura,” Lady Tila barks, and when she floats to her side, her grandmother takes her arm and says, with a stern look in her eyes. “You will accompany me around the gardens.”

“Yes grandmother.” She agrees, docile and easy.

They journey back to the castle together, through streets which still bare the signs of damage from the uprising only a week ago. They are busy, as people strain to get a look at their new king and the lords and ladies of the south, but the heavy retinue of guards and soldiers that accompany them means it is peaceful, for the most part. The gardens of the Red Keep are fairly quiet, as most of the congregation from the Sept retire back to their rooms to change and gossip, and as they walk through the sunlit paths, hedges on either side, Sakura finds herself a little more at peace. Hyewon walks a pace behind them, respectful, but every present and her grandmother glances over her shoulder at her with a wrinkled brow.

“You trust this girl?” She demands, bluntly, and Sakura gives a nod.

“With my life.”

Lady Tila grunts sceptically, but takes Sakura’s arm and sets a slow pace around the gardens. “Your mother is not fulfilling her duties,” She says, her hand gnarled and wrinkled against Sakura’s arm.

“She is in mourning,” Sakura offers, placidly and her grandmother scowls.

“We are all mourning my son’s death. You don’t see any of us running away to the Eyrie and making wild, ridiculous claims.”

Sakura hesitates, and pulls her grandmother to a stop beside a stone bench, sinking down to consider her words. “She has said these things to you, as well?”

“Indeed, she wrote to me.” Lady Tila sniffs, her lips pinching. “And even if they are true, she should be at home, as should you be.”

“I can’t leave grandmother,” Sakura pulls in a breath, her chin tilting determinedly. “Not now, especially not if she’s right.”

Lady Tila inspects her with narrowed, shrewd eyes, “What do you expect to do about it, here?”

“More than I can do from Highgarden.” She glances over her shoulder, relieved to find only Hyewon stood a few respectful paces away, watching for any intruders. She drops her voice, “The new king is an old friend of mine, he may need company in this trying and difficult time.”

Lady Tila’s brows raise, surprised and interested. “The Tyrell family has long been a close ally of the crown,” She says at last, settling her hands atop her cane and surveying her. “You were always the sharpest of my grandchildren, the quickest. It is good to have you returned from the north.”

“I think… it is best that I am here, despite everything.” Her voice wavers a little and she hopes that her grandmother doesn’t pick up on it.

“Then here you shall stay,” Lady Tila nods firmly, and levers herself to her feet on shaking legs. Sakura stands beside her, and lets her grandmother take her hands and hold them close. In a moment of surprising tenderness, she says. “Remember who you are, my child. A rose may seem easily crushed, but you have thorns- use them .”

Her grandmother retires back to her rooms shortly thereafter, and Sakura walks back to her own, alone but for Hyewon’s shadow at her back. At her own door, she pauses and looks back at the soldier. Hyewon meets her eyes, sombre and serious, and says, quietly.

“I assume you will not be going to your mother.”

“I will not.” She confirms, a spark of guilt flickering through her at the resigned expression she pulls from Hyewon. Snow nods once, and when she turns her back to take her post outside of the rooms, Sakura closes the door behind her.

The key to the locked chest hidden beneath her bed sits within her bosom, a iron shape pressing against her and held steady by her stays. Carefully, she kneels beside the bed and reaches down to pull out the chest. The Braavosi lock, made to withstand any amount of picking, clicks open with a turn of the key and she pushes open the lid to retrieve her mother’s letter, received only this morning by a messenger who didn’t stay long enough to hear her thanks. Her mother’s writing is spiking and sprawling as always, and there are marks on the parchment where her ink has spilled or she has pressed too fiercely with the quill and punctured it.

Methodically, Sakura moves to the decanter in the corner of her room, pouring herself a goblet of watered down wine, and settling in the chair at the writing desk, where the sunlight spills in from the window. Sipping her wine, she reads the letter once again. Addressed to my dear daughter , the pronouncement of motherly love would make her laugh if not for what followed. Outlandish claims, a damning indictment of all that Sakura had truly missed in the court during her time in Winterfell. A mother’s desperate plea for her child to go to safety, as soon as possible, one which surely cannot be answered when the words murder and poison are being thrown around so willingly.

There is nothing more for it, she knows, and as she sips her wine, she listens to the hustle and bustle of Kings Landing outside, and knows that if her father was truly murdered, Kings Landing is not safe for anybody.

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The city is abuzz with activity after the proper time for mourning the king passes. Lord Kimm is king in all but name and efforts for his coronation bring the smallfolk together. With spring in the air, it is a time of new beginnings, and yet Sakura can’t seem to shake away the sour taste at the back of that carries on the scents of the flowers from the Red Keep gardens and the delicate food presented to her. Returning to the capital brings a change to her days; after months of solitude in Winterfell, it is strange to find couriers and messengers on her doorstep every morning, asking for her presence at gatherings and walks and all manner of frivolous events. Things she enjoyed immensely before her time in the north now feel shallow, with little meaning, and though she attempts to hold court and entertain as she once did, it is taxing.

On her morning walk around the grounds of the Red Keep, she finds herself accompanied by Lady Miya and Lady Fern, both of whom are eager to hear the gossip of the new day. As the weather warms, Sakura finds that she has to throw off the northern styles that she had once resented and now come to admire, and once again return to the floating silks and gauze of the south. As the capital transitions from a time of mourning to one of celebration, she wears indigos and violets, with golden embroidery and damask, allowing her hair to once again be piled into the high southern styles that show off the arch of her neck and curve of her jaw.

“I’m having silk imported from Essos for the coronation,” Lady Myra tells them, with a tilt of her chin, and Lady Fern makes a soft, impressed noise.

“How wonderful, Essos silk is the finest in the world I hear.”

“It really is,” Lady Myra smiles, proudly and glances back at where her handmaiden walks, a few paces behind them, accompanied by Hyewon. “My handmaiden says it is better even than they have in Bravos.”

“We have little need for silk in the Vale,” Lady Fern admits, pushing a long, red curl back from her cheeks. “It’s far too cold. I expect you found that in the north, my lady?”

It takes Sakura a moment of silence to realise that they are speaking to her, and she trips over her tongue, before responding, smoothly. “Indeed, Lady Fern. The northern climates are as harsh as they come.”

“You must be so glad to be away from such a place,” Lady Myra wrinkles her nose in disgust, and Lady Fern adds, with a soft laugh.

“To be warm again.”

The question probes at the ache in Sakura’s heart, and she offers them both a warm smile. “There were some parts of the castle that were very warm, I never suffered there.” When their faces form into surprised expressions, she continues, “But it is nice to wake up to the sun every day.”

The addendum meets their expectations, and their faces clear into s