#artfulprecision

                 The plan was for the two of them to have dinner in his flat. A proper dinner where the two of them sat and ate, had some conversation, and did their best to actually act normal. He wasn’t normal and he was thinking about getting his hand up her skirt. Not that either of those were anything shocking. Quite the opposite as he waited for her. She was late. He understood. She called before she left and mentioned some patient. He hadn’t actually made them dinner. Rather he bought it. Saved time and sanity than him trying to make something without burning it. He could cook. He just hated it. All pointless thoughts she actually came through his front door with that look on his face. Oh, they were definitely not eating the food he bought. 

        It had been far too long since he felt the effects of battle. The way the blood rushing through his veins felt even more rapid, ready to cause him to explode. The blood, the dirt, the death,all so much and his concern turned to Margaery. After he made sure his siblings were safe. A miracle. Bloodshed in war was normal but he was not going to lose her. Not after he lost Jeyne. Jeyne who deserved so much better than he ever gave her. He could not make another mistake. Especially not with the lives he saw lost. Could have been worse. So much worse. That was all he could tell himself. He hadn’t bothered to clean himself up as Winterfell was in chaos. But the night king was dead and he could not think to care about anything that the rose that captured his heart even if both of them should have been long gone from Westeros. It mattered not. 

He was aching. Bruised in all the worst places. His scars throbbing. Perhaps it was all in his head. Perhaps he had wounds. Did not know. Did not care. Not when she was right there. A hand reached out, grabbing her by the arm, dragging her closer to him. She was alright. Tully eyes scanned to make it so. He did not want to know the nuances of. They could worry about it when the sun rose and he could assess the damage. No doubt the Dragon Queen would be set her sights immediately upon Cersei. Even if he was eager to see her death he was not eager to spend more time with her and smitten Jon. 

SEND ME A URL AND I’LL WRITE SOME POSITIVITY FOR IT.

A sigh of relief left the lips of Mahfiruze Humasah Sultan’s, or Angelia’s, lips, finally having her first taste of freedom after escaping her elder brother’s control. Her brother was recently crowned the sultan of their small, but prosperous land. Ibrahim was planning on having her married off to his cruel, lustful, womanizing grand vizier, Kemankes. The young princess knew deep inside that he would take advantage of her, cheat on her with the slaves of the harem at her brother’s disposal, and possibly abuse her. How could the man she grew up with, the man she called brother and loved, make such plans for her? Did he no longer care for her well-being or her happiness at all, just like he used to when they were younger? Angelia had to make a run for it, leave everything she knew of her life in the Ottoman Palace behind.

She slowly stepped out of her carriage, quickly fixing her veil to shroud her chest before making her way towards the great castle of Highgarden, surrounding by luscious flowers and foliage. She had heard such wonderful things about the Tyrell family, ranging from the beauty of the four Tyrell siblings to the quick wit and sharp tongue of Olenna. But, Lia admired them for being so peaceful and generous to the rest of the kingdom. 

Since her brother’s crowning, the prosperity in Topkapi was taking back by him. He started to treat her like a slave while the actual harem slaves were spoiled with the riches that used to belong to her. Her gowns, her jewelry and tiaras, her quarters, even the food! She ate whatever was left over next to grains and beans.

When she entered inside and notified her arrival to a guard, she waited patiently to be accepted an audience with the Tyrell family.

          “ LADY MARGAERY ? ”     you feel as though you’ve been gutted, an icy knife piercing your skin and draining the life from you, sucking the blood from your veins, the soul from your body. you feel cold, and it isn’t ironrath’s harsh winter air that sends the chill up your spine, but the sight of a face so FAMILIAR that you feel ill.     she should be dead, she’s supposed to be dead !     you take a tentative step forth, your cloak brushing against the snow that has frozen beneath your feet, looking ever the picture of a northern highborn lady. furs draping your shoulders, the braids, the forrester sigil sewn upon your breast. you wonder if she can even recognize your after all this time, after everything that’s happened to you.     “ how is this possible ? ”

     it’s unbearably warm compared to the north to the point that sansa is sweating beneath her dress, the lightest in fabric she’d owned. and she hasn’t even lifted a sword compared to the endless men still picking themselves up from the ground. northern men and knights of the vale are still counting numbers as sansa rides between them, avoiding bodies of both their own men and the lannisters who’s armor no longer gleams gold beneath the mud. with the fighting over and the castle retaken in favor of the tyrells, her target is the courtyard of the grand castle.

   this is not how she wanted to see highgarden.

   the tyrells had not asked for aid but sansa had come, bringing with her forces from the north. not all - jon is still at winterfell and needs men there as well. he’d been wary of her venture but in truth, sansa is as much in charge as he is when it comes to the north and he hadn’t been able to stop her once she’d heard via raven the lannisters intended to take highgarden. she would not allow it - besides, they will need all the men and gold and grain in the north shortly enough for the war against the white walkers, and having highgarden on their side is something they need.

    she slows as she comes into the courtyard of the main castle; brienne is at her side in an instant, helping her from her horse before her hand goes to her sword. ever faithful brienne. she smiles her thanks, and turns her gaze to the commotion around her. maesters and healers running about, her men trying to clean up the debris and take numbers - she turns to one of her loyal commanders. 

         As per his duty of course, though he knew it would go unheeded. Experience and a rather trying test of patience had given such an answer. Though dainty as the flowers of her house, the girl could have the stubbornness of a mule.