Flowers in the Snow- GoT Bastards

Chapter Three

Flowers No Longer
Margaery would not be staying long, Rhyanne was informed. Now that there were kings sprouting like mushroom as after heavy rain, the daughter of Highgarden had some courting to do.
"Rhyanne! Darling, how are you?" Margaery gushed at the sight of her half sister. Her reaction confused Rhyanne: her sister was kind to her, but never over the top as she was with her ladies in waiting. Rhyanne blamed the prospect of marriage. "Father." The lady was already moving on, though Rhyanne would not be surprised if her sister made herself known in Rhyanne's room, telling her fanciful stories about the various cities and courts she'd visited.
Last time she had gone touring this had happened. When she returned she had told her stories of knights giving her their favours at tourneys, men courting her everywhere, her charity work with the lower classes and other fanciful stories. Then as the night grew older, she would begin to tell Rhyanne how awful it was to be shipped off only to find a suitable match. How she wanted to make her own choices and travel to Essos or the Summer Isles. And Rhyanne would sit there, quietly listening, while the poor, privileged girl who didn't know how lucky she was, spilled her hearts desires.
The same happened this time. Margaery had apparently thoroughly enjoyed herself in the company of Renly Baratheon, and for once in her life, it had just been because he was a nice person. He hadn't wanted anything of her, just her conversations. Her quick witted humour; her words. Margaery Tyrell cried as she told her bastard sister about her journey, and Rhyanne Flowers rubbed her back and talked to her about how nice it would be when she did finally get married. That was the wrong thing to say.
"But now the best alliance is gone! To Sansa Stark! I had a chance to marry the King."
************

Breakfast was a strange affair. For the first time in ages, the whole family was there. Mace, and Alerie at the head of the table, then Willas and Garlan on either side, Margaery and Loras facing each other, and Rhyanne at the bottom, facing her father.
Mace Tyrell was a funny man, and Rhyanne often affectionately thought of him as like a meandering bumblebee, constantly bumping into things. Alerie was not so affectionately thought of as a hawk, perched up there staring down her nose at them all.
They made small talk, mostly of the death of Robert Baratheon. Margaery would leave the day after next, unaccompanied by her mother, merely with her ladies in waiting. Oh and Loras would be going too; he too was hoping to have a shot at Renly, as much his sister. Rhyanne would be remaining in Highgarden, as per usual.
"We can't have the Tyrell bastard roaming the country, can we now," Alerie said, throwing a very familiar hateful glance at her step-daughter. Rhyanne smiled back at her, sarcastically of course. She continued to say nothing, as was her custom.
"Actually, darling," Mace interrupted. Rhyanne whipped her head to him. No... "I am going to be sending Rhyanne to Winterfell."
"What!" The entire table shouted. Loras and Garlan actually stood up, their hands braced on the table.
"You can't! The North is in open rebellion now. I wouldn't be surprised if they declare Robb Stark King in the fucking North, now that their father has been taken prisoner, and soon enough our troops will be marching against theirs," Loras fumed.
"I know, son. But I have been informed that we should spread ourselves thin to cover as much ground as possible."
"Who told you that?" Alerie seethed. "Petyr Baelish? That is the worst thing we could possible do."
"With Margaery and me gone, and now Rhyanne, you'll only have your two sons, one of whom is a cripple, no offence Willas." Loras patted his brother on the arm.
"None taken. I agree with you. Anyway, as the Starks so love to say, Winter is coming, and within a few years she'll be snowed in with no way home. And by that time we might have fought to death against the very people meant to be looking after her. You are giving our potential enemies a hostage for nothing. "
The table stilled, having realised that Rhyanne hadn't spoken.
"I would like to know you reasons for sending me away, my lord, and would like to inform you of my love of living under your roof and collecting flowers for the ladies of this castle." That was all Rhyanne could think to say.
"My dear, I must admit that I will miss you, but Ned Stark's children are up there, alone, now that they're father is dead and their brother has gone south. You go there not under your own name. A Flowers, yes, but not Rhyanne Flowers of House Tyrell. You will inform us of their movements and plans. Your raise will be that you are a bastard fleeing the war. Get into that castle and tell us what you discover. You house is relying on you."
A small smile twitched Rhyanne's mouth. A spy! Gods, this will be fun.
"When do I leave, my lord."
"Within the month. I will expect you gone by then, and be in Winterfell by the next turn of the moon."
"Done."
Rhyanne was pretty sure that she heard Lady Alerie hiss as she excused her self and left the room.
As soon as the doors were closed to her chamber, she placed her bundle of dead flowers from the vase outside the door onto her bed, and jumped up and down, quietly squeaking.
She dashed around the room, sending up clouds of dust as she pulled books from her shelves and thrust them into her pack. There were more books than clothes, but she would need those manuscripts; they contained all her knowledge of plants. Maybe she could teach the Winterfell maester some of her tricks.
"Seven hells," she breathed. "I'm going to Winterfell."
No more picking flowers everyday and bowing to people who despised her. No more ducking behind stable doors to... get to know Florent better. Just the open roads, heading North, through Westeros, through the lands she had only dreamt of seeing.
She would have to say good bye to Florent, Margaery, Loras, Willas, Garlan, Mace, her mother. But she had no doubt they would forget her in time. She would force them to. And they would move on with their lives, forgetting the bastard who shared their home, served them, and asked nothing in return. In time, the Tyrell mistake would become nothing but a dusty memory, with no records to remind people of Rhyanne Flowers of House Tyrell.
They would forget. And she would finally be where Alerie had always wanted her. Forgotten.
But maybe the people in the North would treat her kindly. Maybe they would take her in and keep her safe. Maybe they would treat her how she deserved to be treated.
Maybe the North would remember.