Epilogue: The Lady of Flowers

Winter had come and gone with the dragon queen, and although she had somehow defeated the great army beyond the Wall, it had come at the cost of her dragons' lives. The silver queen herself had survived, and had ruled over Westeros ever since, respectfully staying away from the North's business, as a token of her gratitude for helping her against the Night King's army. Nine years had gone by since Daenerys Targaryen had come to Winterfell asking for support, and today was a very important day.

Sansa and Loras stood in the courtyard, waiting for very important guests. Arya was not present, as she was not one for formal arrivals and greetings. Their son had grown as tall and lean as Loras, although he was just a few months shy of being seventeen years old. His hazel eyes had the same warmth his fathers' had, and his deep auburn hair had remained stubbornly curly through the years. Though he was taller than her brother had been at this age, Sansa could not help but see Robb Stark's features in her beloved son's face. He wore dark leather and grey furs, looking like a true man of the North despite the indisputable Tyrell and Tully looks.

Next to him stood a pretty maiden, no older than thirteen years old: she was tall for her age too, with chocolate brown doe-like eyes, and wavy, long red hair. Sansa had named her Ariyana - a play on her sister and her aunt's names - and although she was beautiful, dreamy and graceful, as Sansa had been too when she was her age, sometimes there was a hint of wilderness in her daughter that reminded her of Arya's own inner fire (and, if her late father was to be believed, Lyanna's). The girl wore a light grey gown, matching cloak and white furs, and her hair was styled in a simple way that reminded Sansa of her time in Highgarden.

Sansa's reverie was broken when she heard the gates open for the people they had been expecting. Roger was leading, clad in Ryswell colours and riding a black mare. Just behind him rode his eldest son, Brandon: the twelve years old boy was already the spitting image of his father, sharing his square jaw, steel grey eyes and sharp features. His shoulders were broad for a boy his age, showing that he would grow up to be of the same sturdy build as his father. As the riders and the escort stopped, so did the carriage. Roger dismounted his horse and made his way to the carriage as its door opened.

A delicate, feminine hand took his, and Sansa could not help the smile on her lips when she saw her long-time friend gracefully step out of the carriage. Margaery was beautiful as ever, her pregnancies having left no toll on her body at all. She wore a golden medallion with the Ryswell sigil around her neck, and although the gown and cloak she wore was bright orange and had black fur, the cut of her silken gown was indubitably not from the North. The same could be said about the way her hair was styled. She was, after all, a daughter of the South through and through.

Her only daughter and eldest child then stepped out with her father's help. Much like Brandon and Roger were alike, the fifteen years old girl resembled her mother very much, sharing her blue eyes, brown curls, porcelain skin, high cheekbones and warm smile. She, just like Margaery, was pretty as a doll. She, too, wore a golden Ryswell medallion, one that looked just like her mother's. Her gown was sober and elegant, black with orange rose patterns embroidered on its rich fabric. Two boys, rigorously identical, then stepped out of the carriage as well. They were six years old, and shared the same Ryswell traits as their older brother, save for their sky blue eyes.

"My king, my queen, my princess," Margaery said, offering a graceful curtsy towards Robb, Sansa and Ariyana.

She was quickly emulated by her daughter, and the boys and their father bowed towards the Starks. Sansa was briefly reminded of her own family welcoming King Robert so many years ago, and she could not help the laugh that escaped her lips.

"My sweet, sweet sister, must you be so formal?" she scolded her, walking to her to kiss her on the cheeks.

"Queen Sansa," Zyra Ryswell softly said, "I am most honoured to meet you."

Sansa smiled warmly to the pretty maiden. Even her voice sounded like Margaery's.

"There is no need to be so formal with me either, when you are but a night from being queen - come, please."

Zyra obeyed, following Sansa towards her own family. She knelt before Robb, her head lowered in submission.

"My king," the girl said, "I pray that I do not disappoint."

"Stand," Robb replied, offering her his hand.

She stood up with his help.

"My eyes are pleased," he told her with a smile, "And I have no doubt that my heart shall be as well. May I show you around Winterfell?"

"Robb," Loras said, "Lady Zyra has traveled a long way, she must be tired."

"Not at all," Zyra replied with a warm smile that reminded Loras of his own sister. "I have been sitting for so long in that carriage, I would be glad to walk around a bit and see Winterfell."

The young couple-to-be walked off, Zyra's arm under Robb's. Their parents exchanged glances before walking towards the castle with the younger children on their tail.

Hours later, after they had all eaten well, caught up with each others and the sun had been set for quite a while, Sansa was putting her daughter to sleep, kissing her forehead as she tucked her in.

"Good night, sweet girl."

"Mother?"

"Yes, Ariyana, what is it?"

"Can you tell me a story?"

A faint smile formed on Sansa's lips - however tired she was, she could never refuse more time with her beloved daughter.

"Which one, sweetheart?"

"Can you tell me again the story of how you met Father?"

Sansa sat on the edge of the featherbed, taking her daughter's hand. She must have told her that story thousands of times over already.

"Don't you know it by heart now?" she laughed. "You could probably tell it more accurately than I do."

"Yes," Ariyana replied, "But I still like to hear it from you."

"All right then..."

She gently squeezed her hand, throwing herself back several years, and Ariyana smiled when she saw her mother's face light up the way it always did when she told her the story of how the Knight of Flowers met the Lady of the North. This was why Ariyana always requested that specific story, over any other - to see her mother's face brighten up that way.

"It was a very sunny day," Sansa recalled, "A blissful day. My father had just been named Hand to King Robert, and I had just been betrothed to his son. I was incredibly happy that day - happy that my father was Hand, happy that I was out of Winterfell to see the world, happy that I was going to marry the prince, happy that I was going to see a tourney with so many valiant knights, like the ones in the songs I loved. I was thrilled by the tourney, really - we didn't really have that in Winterfell. It was part of the Southern way of life, and I had dreamed about it for a long time. One after the other, the knights jousted. I don't remember most of the tourney, I don't remember any of the knights I saw that day - except one."

Sansa's smile grew larger, warmer.

"He was handsome beyond words. To this day, I still remember every bit of him as he paraded his white mare around the crowd, looking at us. He was holding a flower in his hand, a red rose. I remember briefly thinking how happy I would be if he gave it to me, then I thought I was an idiot for even imagining it, for even dreaming that he would notice me in that crowd. And then he stopped his horse right in front of me, and he gave me the rose, for everyone to see. I had never been happier in my entire life."

She readjusted her daughter's pillow.

"Now, someone is overdue for sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

"Mother, wait - did you just say you were betrothed to the crown prince?"

Sansa's blood froze in her veins. She had never mentioned that detail to Ariyana before, always careful to leave it out, because she did not want to speak of Joffrey with her. She could scarcely believe she had let it slip now, after telling the story the same way so many times before tonight.

"I was, for a time."

"Why didn't you marry him instead of Father? Was the prince ugly?"

Oh, how you remind me of me, Sansa bitterly thought. Please, please be smarter than I was.

"No, he was not," Sansa said.

"Then why marry Father instead? You would have been the queen!"

"Prince Joffrey was very handsome, like Loras, but he was also mad, petty, vile and sadistic," Sansa firmly replied. "He was an awful man, no matter what he looked like. He was a very bad king, and he was also very cruel to me. Your father, and his father, Margaery and Lady Olenna, they saved me from Joffrey's family, and they gave us our home back. It doesn't matter if a man is handsome or plain; you should always be most concerned about him having a kind heart and a gentle hand. If a man treats you kindly, he will always be beautiful in your eyes."

Ariyana pouted, as thought she found it very difficult to believe.

"Do you think Roger Ryswell is handsome?" Sansa asked. "Be true to me."

"N-not really," Ariyana admitted. "He's... rugged."

"Perhaps he is - but he is also kind and loving to Margaery, so in her eyes, he is the most handsome man there is. When you are older, your father and I will find a suitable match for you - a gentle, strong, honourable man, one who will make you as happy as your Father has made me, as happy as Roger has made Margaery. I had my Knight of Flowers, and you will have yours in time."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss the young maiden's cheek.

"Good night, now."

"Good night, Mother."

When Sansa left the bedroom and closed the door, she was surprised to see that Margaery was there.

"How long have you been standing here?" she asked her as she started making her way towards her own bedroom.

"Long enough to hear that your daughter thinks my husband is rugged, and long enough to hear the story of how the Knight of Flowers met his she-wolf," Margaery grinned, walking by her long-time friend's side.

"She loves that story, I don't know why. I leave out some details for her, though."

"Details such as Joffrey?"

"Usually, yes. I don't know how I ended up accidentally saying it tonight. I also leave out the fact that Loras never really saw me that day."

"What do you mean?"

Sansa shrugged.

"I never realized it then, but I see it now. Loras does not remember that he gave me that rose, because Renly Baratheon was sitting right behind me that day. Loras never saw me - he only saw Renly. He gave me the rose, but he was looking straight through me. I may have let Joffrey slip tonight, but that part, I will always leave out. It became clear to me the day you told me about them."

Margaery tilted her head to the side, curiosity sparkling in her doe eyes:

"Why don't you usually mention Joffrey?"

"You heard her - she reminds me of me, and yet..."

"And yet?"

"I hope she can be cleverer than I was at her age - but, still, I don't want her to lose her innocence just yet."

"Isn't it strange?" Margaery asked, "How differently we view our daughters and our sons?"

When her friend turned her face towards her, clearly wondering what she meant by that, she added:

"We want our sons to be just like their fathers, don't we? As strong as him, as handsome as him, as brave as him; but we don't want to see ourselves in our daughters. We want to see them do and be better. For instance, you want Ariyana to be wiser than you were when you were her age, but you don't want her to suffer the way you have suffered, and you don't want to break her dreams, either - why else would you usually be so careful about mentioning Joffrey? And I..."

Margaery smiled and shook her head.

"I was going to be queen, and then in the end, I was never truly a queen. Make no mistake, it was all for the best in the end - but now, my daughter can be in the North the queen I was not in the South."

To her surprise, Sansa laughed.

"By the gods, you are right - and forgive me for saying, it reminds me of something Lady Olenna would have said."

"I still miss her every day. She loved me like her own daughter, made me the woman I am today."

"Us both, in fact. I would not be the person I am without her, and I will be forever grateful to her."

They had arrived in front of Roger and Margaery's guest bedroom.

"I will leave you now and go to bed, sister. I must rest, we have a big day tomorrow."

Sansa wished her a good night, and left on her way to her own room. A burst of laughter welcomed her as she opened the door: most curious, she peaked inside the large room, and the view warmed up her heart instantly: Loras was playing with their third and youngest child, tickling the two-year-old boy mercilessly on the furs of their large featherbed. He will be nothing but kind and courteous to you, Margaery had assured her, He will be a caring husband and a good father to your children. Sansa smiled as Loras rolled on his back with the toddler on his stomach, oblivious to the fact that his wife was standing in the hallway, peaking inside the room.

"You have vanquished me, I yield!"

And the little boy laughed, getting his revenge on Loras' ribs for all the tickling he had endured.

"Wait-" Loras tried to catch his breath, laughing, "I said I yield-"

That dreadful day was so, so long ago now. Loras' hazel eyes finally noticed her presence, and he pleaded:

"Sansa - by the gods, help me - he won't accept my surrender!"

"Is that so?" she playfully asked, stepping inside the room. "How dishonourable of him."

She picked up little Rickon, tickling his bare feet in the process, and Loras let go a sigh of relief. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen still, and Sansa was pleased that their last born was looking so much like his father, given that their first two children were taking so much after her own Tully looks.

"Someone should really be in bed," Sansa said, taking him towards the door which connected his bedroom to his parents'.

All that playing around with his father had clearly exhausted the little boy, as he did not utter a single sound of protest - which was highly unusual - when his mother took him in his bedroom and into his bed, kissing his forehead. By the time she was gone and closed the door behind her, he was already asleep. When she came back inside her own bedchamber, Loras was sitting on the edge of their bed, and as she approached he took her hand and gently pulled her in, kissing her ever so lightly.

As their kiss deepened and Loras' hand trailed down her long, elegant neck, Sansa found herself smiling against his soft lips.

Robb stood nervously next to the sacred tree as he and the guests awaited the bride. He was clad in northern furs and armor, his wolf crown on his deep auburn curls, Oathkeeper at his belt. Sansa smiled at the sight of him, leaning her head on Loras' shoulder. Even now, she could scarcely believe that the tiny baby she had brought into this world was a lord, a king, and about to be wed.

As Roger and Zyra approached the weirwood, light snow began falling from the sky, even though it was summer still, making the view even more breathtaking. She wore a spectacular gown in Ryswell colours, a gown that was visibly northern in style, yet the way her hair was styled screamed of the South where her mother had been born. She truly was the spitting image of Margaery.

"Who comes before the old gods this day?" Rodrick Ryswell, who had agreed to lead the ceremony, asked.

"Zyra, of House Ryswell, comes here to be wed," Roger replied, speaking the traditional words. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

The groom-to-be took a few steps forward. He was beaming.

"Robb, of Houses Stark and Tyrell, Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North. Who gives her?"

"Her father, Roger of House Ryswell."

"Lady Zyra," Rodrick spoke towards her, "Do you take this man?"

The bride, too, was beaming, smiling warmly as she took a couple of steps towards the man who was but a few words away from being her husband. Snowflakes had fallen in her long, chocolate hair, adding sparkles in her curls as she took Robb's hands and replied:

"I take this man."

He leaned in to kiss his new wife, and Sansa felt Loras' hand squeezing hers gently. They had to leave for Highgarden soon; Mace Tyrell was sick and bedridden, and the maester had called upon Loras to come back home and take his father's seat, but Loras had refused to leave Winterfell before the wedding. Now that their son was finally married, as had been planned nearly two years ago, he, Rickon, Ariyana and Sansa could take the road towards the Reach with their mind at peace. He left her side to get to the newer couple to congratulate them. He placed a gallant kiss on Zyra's delicate hand, welcoming her to the family.

"My queen," Zyra said with an elegant curtsy as Sansa approached her.

"No," Sansa replied. "Robb is king."

Slowly, she took the antique silver crown that was on her head, and placed it upon Zyra's long hair. The crown fitted her perfectly. It was meant to be, Sansa reflected. She gave her daughter-in-law a curtsy.

"And you are his queen."

Truth be told, she felt better without the crown. She had taken it purely by duty: she had never desired to rule, never craved power, but as her parents' eldest surviving child, it had been something she had to do. She had to take Winterfell and the North back. She had to hold it together, through the longest winter known to men, for her people to see spring and summer again. She had to be her son's regent, because who else could do it in her stead? Family. Honour. Duty. She had diligently upheld the Tully words, but her son was a man grown now. He did not need his mother wearing his crown and sitting on his throne anymore. She trusted that she and Loras had raised him well, and that he would ruse wisely.

"Now, let us go back to the castle," she said towards the young couple and their guests. "A wise woman once said that the highlight of any wedding was the food, and as I knew this woman, she was surely right."

She saw Loras smile, and heard Margaery laugh, as they were reminded of Lady Olenna's sharp wits during Sansa's wedding, and both the newly wed couple and the guests started making their way to the castle: Sansa lingered behind, her eyes wandering on the beautiful sacred tree and its crimson leaves.

"How does it feel?" Loras asked. "Giving away that crown?"

"It is a relief. A crown was never my dream - all I wanted was for my family to be safe, and happy."

"They are," he replied, "We are - what else do you desire, now?"

As he asked her that question, his sister's voice echoed in her mind. What more could you possibly want? Margaery had asked her, so long ago. Sansa thought of the silly girl she had been, and the happy woman she was now.

"Nothing," she replied, both to Loras and herself. "I desire nothing more."

The end: I hope the length somewhat earns me forgiveness for taking so long to finish this epilogue! I've always, always had issues finishing stories, because I'm always worried my ending is going to be a major let down, so to ever manage the final word was an accomplishment in itself. I want to give a huge THANK YOU for everyone who has read, favourited, followed and commented on this story since I started it back in 2014 (oh god I took so long). You guys have been amazing - this story has truly gotten more support than I ever dreamed of, I am grateful to every single one of you for sticking with me until the end.