June 12, 1886.

If there is one thing Myrcella Baratheon hates, it is being told what to do! Just because she is a young woman of 15 years of age-no, most men here practically consider her a child-her father, Colonel Robert Baratheon is determined to marry her off to some man she does not love!

''Now, let's see. I was thinking of Walder Frey, or perhaps young Theon Greyjoy or Robb Stark. All are good men, would make good husbands, and would love to have you as their wife.'' her father drones on and on.

''And I simply cannot marry any one of them. Theon and Robb are nice boys, but they are like brothers to me.'' Myrcella thinks. She dips a spoon into her porridge and takes a bite, and when she swallows, she says, ''Perhaps I can visit the postmaster's place? I'm sure Sansa would be happy to see me.''

The Colonel nods. ''Yes, you may.''

Myrcella promptly finishes her porridge, pulls back her chair, kisses her father on the forehead, and runs out the door to the postmaster's office. She goes up to the door, knocks on it, and Sansa Stark, the postmaster's daughter, opens it. Sansa is one of Myrcella's best friends, and Myrcella likes her very much.

''Hello, Cella. Say, I think my father's got a letter for you. I'll go get it.'' And off she dashes. She comes back a few moments later, holding the aforementioned letter. Myrcella takes it from Sansa and turns it over to see the address.

''It's for Father. From Icemark;that's where my mother's family comes from.''

''What about your father?'' Sansa asks.

''No.'' Myrcella shakes her head. ''That was the Stormlands.'' Sansa nods, and gestures to a chair, urging Myrcella to sit down. Myrcella sits down, and spreads out the pieced calico and cotton of her dress, her wavy black hair neatly braided and wound into a coil at the nape of her neck, secured with pins.

Sansa has always thought that wearing her hair up makes her friend look older. She's only a year away from wearing hers up, after all, and she cannot wait to be considered grown-up. Such a pity Cella isn't married yet. She ought to be. Sansa sits down on an opposing chair, and asks, ''Has your father decided to marry you off anytime soon?''

''Yes, but he's not sure who yet.'' Myrcella says. Sansa glances down at the fabric of her own homespun skirt, and looks up.

''The mayor wants to ask your father to deal with the Dothraki problem.'' Both girls have heard of the Dothraki raids that have been going on lately. ''It's our fault, really.'' Sansa muses.

Myrcella glances up. ''What?''

''About the Dothraki.'' Sansa replies. ''If we Westerosi hadn't moved onto their land, they wouldn't be killing anyone. We have been placing them on reservations for a long time.''

Myrcella laughs. ''The Dothraki aren't the only problems. There are the Wildings up North, and the Summer Islanders to the east.'' Mr Stark, Sansa's father, comes through the door of the post office, and says ''Hello'' to his daughter and Myrcella.

''Did Myrcella get her letter?''

''Yes, father.'' Sansa nods, and her father heads into his office to deal with some papers. Myrcella looks down at the letter, which she still holds in her hands, and hesitates for a moment before she opens the envelope, and the letter slides out. She unfolds it and it reads as follows: To Colonel Robert Baratheon, King's Landing, Westeros, from Lady Clare Icemark in Icemark, Westeros. I regret to inform you that my husband has died and left Eddara his will. If you wish to know the contents, or more specifically Eddara, please come to Icemark for more information.

Myrcella trails off and does not read the rest of the letter after that. ''My grandfather's died.''

Sansa reaches out and pats Myrcella's hand. ''Oh. I'm so sorry.''

Myrcella nods. ''It's alright. I didn't know him all that well, as the last time we visited the North I was still very young. My mother knew more of him then I did.'' She stands up briskly. ''I ought to tell my mother.''

Before Myrcella can walk out the door, Sansa stops her with a ''Tomorrow, before breakfast, you, me, and Tommen.''

''What?''

''A horseback ride, of course.'' Sansa giggles.

Myrcella nods. ''Oh, of course. Tommen will be glad to come.'' And she walks out the door.

The next day, Sansa, Myrcella, and Tommen go for a ride in the mountains, laughing and chatting all the way. ''We shouldn't go too far, or we might get lost.'' Tommen says. He's Myrcella's favorite brother, the age of seventeen, and a lover of cats, of which he has five.

Sansa and Myrcella agree, and follow Tommen's horse up a rocky path, handling their horses delicately. ''Don't be slow.'' Sansa teases.

''Just because your father's the postman and one of the most important men in this town, it doesn't mean you can boss us around.'' Myrcella teases back.

''I think that's enough, sister.'' Tommen says, sounding very much like Mr Stark himself. He notices a pile of rocks up at the top of the mountain, and Sansa and Myrcella coax their horses away and onto the other side of the path. They continue on, and Sansa says, ''Myrcella, did you give your father the letter for him?''

''What letter?'' Tommen questions, looking curious.

''Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you.'' Our grandfather died and left mother his will.'' Myrcella says. How could she have forgotten to tell Tommen? She supposes she must have been bust for the upcoming ball held in the mayor's house for the Fourth of July. Tommen pats her hand, when he comes up besides her, and she smiles. Tommen pulls out the pocketwatch in his shirt to check the time.

''It's been a half-hour since we left. We ought to get back, before people decide to come looking for us.'' So they turn around and head down the rocky slope. Finally, they reach King's Landing at the same time that the train comes in. They manage the horses out of the train's way, and watch as some of the people step out. There is a middle'aged man wearing a fine coat, holding a suitcase with one hand and a little boy with the other, his wife besides him, people who have come from Essos, and two young ladies, who look very different from each other, but appear to be friends.

One is plain, and looks almost like a man, with short blonde hair and something of a freckled complexion, wearing a plain white blouse and slightly full navy blue skirt, covered with a tailored brown coat.

The other one appears far more elegant then the other. Her brunette hair falls in perfect ringlets, topped with a mulberry taffeta hat decorated with small sprigs and turned up on one side, that matches her mulberry taffeta gown. Her gown is the prettiest Sansa has ever seen, with elbow sleeves edged in layers of black lace, gently ruffled, and the neck is low, trimmed with a double frill of black lace, the same as the sleeves. The skirt is full, falling to the floor in drapes, the skirt pulled back into a bustle from which falls drapes of gently ruffled black lace. ''Well, she's pretty.'' Sansa says, slipping off her horse, and ties the reins to a nearby fence post. ''I wonder who she is.''

''She's my future sister-in-law.'' Myrcella says. ''She's to be married to Joffrey as a mail-order-bride.'' She gets off her own horse, and continues, ''And I've got to make a good impression on her.'' She looks down at her dusty riding clothes, and touches her messy braid of hair. ''In these clothes.'' she adds.

''Well, maybe she's nice.'' Sansa suggests. ''You'll never know unless you try.'' So Sansa and Myrcella go over to the women.

.-.

Margaery Tyrell wonders, exactly, where is her intended husband to be. She scans the small crowd, and is startled slightly when she hears a young lady's voice next to her. When she turns around, the girl introduces herself. ''I'm Myrcella. Myrcella Baratheon, your future sister-in-law. I'm so sorry that my brother wasn't here to greet you. He's been busy hunting.''

Margaery takes in the girl's appearance from head to toe. The girl's hair, the color of a black horse, is braided very loosely, and the riding clothes she wears, a white blouse and leather riding skirt, are covered with dust.

''Does the Colonel live out of town?'' Margaery finds herself asking.

Myrcella shakes her head. ''Oh, no. I was out riding with my brother and good friend. I saw the train come in, so I came to greet you.''

How nice, Margaery thinks. Myrcella seems like a nice girl. There is a chance that they will get along well. Brienne clears her throat. ''Oh! This is Brienne Tarth. She's going to be the new schoolteacher.''

Brienne holds out her hand, and Myrcella shakes it. ''I heard you were coming, Miss Tarth. It's a pleasure to have you here.''

''It's a pleasure to be here.'' Brienne answers. Myrcella turns back to Margaery.

''Shall we go to my father's house? Joffrey will be delighted to see you.'' Oh, yes, Sansa thinks. Ecstatic. Joffrey shall be ecstatic.

''How did you recognize me?'' Margaery questions.

Myrcella smiles. ''Your picture. The one you sent to Joffrey.''

''Her sister-in=law is quite nice.'' Sansa remarks to Tommen, who's face has gone a little pale. ''Tommen?'' she nudges him, and his face goes back to it's normal color.

''She's my sister-in-law, too.'' and with that, he follows Myrcella and Miss Tyrell to the Colonel's house, and Sansa wonders if she should introduce herself to Miss Tarth. Finally she decides to do so, and heads over to her, figuring she can help if Miss Tarth is lost.

''Hello. I'm Sansa Stark.''

''I'm Brienne Tarth. The new schoolteacher.''

Sansa nods. ''Yes, I thought so. It's about time the children had a new schoolteacher. A real schoolteacher. My sister's not exactly qualified for the role, being 13.'' She gestures for Miss Tarth to follow her so that she can show her where she shall be teaching.

.-.

Myrcella rushes up to the house and pushes open the door, her house being the second largest after the mayor's, and holds the door open so Margaery can go through the doorway. Tommen follows, and closes the door behind him. ''Thank you, Tommen.''

''Oh, do you have any suitcases?'' Tommen volunteers. ''I could have the porter-'' and then the porter appears, carrying at least two suitcases, which appear very heavy.

Margaery takes her suitcases from the porter, and thanks him, handing him two coins. Joffrey comes down the stairs, being more or less yanked by their father, who sets him in front of his fiancee and tells him to say hello to her.

''Hello, Miss Tyrell.'' he says. ''It is Miss Tyrell?''

''Yes, that's me.'' Margaery says, smiling hopefully. She waits, and then her future husband smiles, but it is not a happy smile. It is more of a ''I don't want to do this but I have to'' smile.

''Welcome, Miss Tyrell.'' Robert Baratheon greets her. ''It's so wonderful to have you here.''

Oh, good! Her future father in law likes her! Margaery is overcome with delight. If her fiancee does not like her, at least his father does. Mr Baratheon-her fiancee-offers her his arm, and she takes it, and he escorts her into the living room, Myrcella and Tommen following behind.

The housekeeper, Shae, hurries up to Myrcella. ''Why, Miss Baratheon, ma'am! You look dreadful! And your sister-in-law's here.''

''Yes, Shae, I know. I met her at the station, after I finished my ride with Sansa and Tommen.'' Shae takes her by the arm, and tugs her upstairs.

''What are you waitin' for, Ma'am, an invitation? I'd better get you changed, right quick.''

Myrcella's room is on the second floor, below the attic, and Shae hurries Myrcella into the room. She quickly begins undoing Myrcella's hair, and Myrcella undoes her clothes. First she unbuttons the blouse, then slides off the skirt.

Shae heads over to Myrcella's wardrobe, and pulls off a navy flowered poplin dress with Irish lace on the cuffs of the puffed-out, buttoned at the cuff sleeves, and a pointed ruffled collar of Irish lace. ''Here, Miss Baratheon, that'll look real nice on you.''

''Thank you.'' Myrcella replies, taking the dress and slides it on over her head, buttoning up the front.

Shae brushes out her hair, and sweeps it up into a loose knot, securing it with a wooden comb. ''There. Now you look nice and proper.'' She gives Myrcella a little push. ''Go on.''

Margaery turns to her future husband after his sister goes upstairs, and he asks, ''Was your journey pleasant?''

''Yes. Very much so.'' Margaery replies, feeling a little shy. After all, she barely knows anything about him, other then what he wrote in the advertisement asking for a bride. He did not write much in his letters, instead asking about her. Well, now she can get to know him better. Unfortunately, he gives her no chance to get to know him, and strides away.

His younger brother, Tommen, comes up to her. ''I'd be happy to tell you about my brother if you care to listen.'' he says.

Margaery smiles and nods. ''I should like to.'' Tommen smiles, and indicates to the couch.

''Ladies first.''

Margaery sits down, taking off her hat and peeling off her gloves, and spreading out her bustle.

''Where should we begin?'' she questions.

''Perhaps with our past lives. Well, yours and my brother's.''

Margaery glances down at the mulberry taffeta and black lace of her gown, and glances up again. ''I was born in New York in 1862, and my father fought in the War between the States. He fought, and he died at Gettsyburg.'' She stifles a small sob. She has never quite got over the death of her father.

Tommen pats her hand gently. ''It's alright. I'm sorry. That must have been heartbreaking.'' he says gently.

Margaery nods. ''Thank you. My mother managed to make it on her own, luckily. She died around a year ago, leaving me and my three brothers.''

''Where are they now?''

''Well, one, Garlan, went to work on the Transcontinental Railroad, Willas got married, and Loras stayed home to take care of me.''

''How nice.'' Tommen smiles. ''Joffrey would never have done that for me.''

''Yes.'' Margaery glances at him curiously, and finishes. ''Then I saw your brother's matrimonial advertisement, and I came here so we could be married.'' Margaery smiles back, and it is then that Mrs Baratheon comes down the stairs, Myrcella following behind her.

Mrs Baratheon-nee Eddara Icemark- is a lovely woman with blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, clad in a white challis shirtwaist blouse buttoned up to the neck, and a cream skirt flounced at the hem with dark green ribbon interlaced at the waist, her hair braided in the Northern style.

''Welcome, Miss Tyrell.'' she says. Margaery rises and gives a quick curtsey. Myrcella has changed her riding clothes for a dress of blue poplin, patterned in flowers, her coal-dark hair up and secured with a wooden comb.

''Miss Tyrell. Hello, mother.'' She greets, wondering where has her father gone. Margaery says that he went to the saloon, and Mrs Baratheon nods and sighs.

''You look very pretty when you're not covered in dust.'' Margaery compliments Myrcella and she laughs.

''Well, riding does that to you.'' She wraps an arm about her mother's waist, hugging her. ''What would you like to have for dinner, Mother?'' Myrcella questions.

''Whatever Miss Tyrell wants, of course.''

''Good. Can you come to the kitchen with me, Miss Tyrell? We can discuss with the cook what we're having for supper.'' Myrcella gestures to Margaery, and they head into the kitchen. It is small, but Mrs Friendley is bustling around the place like a mother hen. Myrcella greets her, and introduces her to Margaery. ''Miss Tyrell, this is the cook, Mrs Friendley. Mrs Friendley, my future sister-in-law, Margaery Tyrell.''

Mrs Friendley wipes her hands on her apron, and comes over to shake Margaery's hand. ''Welcome, Miss Tyrell. It's good to have you here. We're delighted to have you.''

''I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs Friendley.'' Margaery replies, shaking Mrs Friendley's hand. ''We came to talk about dinner.''

''Well, what would you like for dinner?'' Mrs Friendley questions. ''I can make a very good meat stew, if you care to know, Miss Tyrell.''

''That sounds good.'' Margaery nods. ''What else?''

''Well, she makes a good clam chowder with shrimp and fried cornmeal grits.'' Myrcella pipes up, which earns her a smile from the plump cook. Margaery thinks that sounds very nice. Then she asks, ''What about dessert?''

Myrcella laughs at that.

''I make a lovely lemon pie. Or would you like orange and almond pound cake?'' Mrs Friendley says happily. Margaery and Myrcella consult each other for a little while, and they finally agree on the pie.

''I like pie, and so does Tommen. Joffrey not so much. He doesn't like anything sweet.'' Myrcella remarks.

''Yes.'' Mrs Friendley nods. ''All my good baking, gone to waste on that boy.''