"I should have had her punished for her father's crimes!"
Margaery saw it in his eyes... The rage, the hatred, the terror. All the things that she didn't want in a man... in a lover.
Joffrey seemed no different from the mad king himself, she thought, based on what she could recall from her history lessons back in Highgarden.
Same idiocy minus the silver hair.
Margaery looked into his eyes, however, not seeing the late Aerys Targaryen. She saw a young boy. A complex and uncontrollable, yet predictable young boy. A product of his name and status, his mother's wrath and his father's(?) success during the rebellion. He cannot be changed... only tolerated. And Margaery knew how to play the game she was trained to be a part of ever since she was introduced to it.
"As it is your right... You are the king." Margaery indulges him in his esteem with a smile that never failed to deliver its sincerity (that's what she wanted Joffrey to think, at least).
"Yes... I am." The young king spoke with a calm and dignified tone with eyes glued to his intended as he fixes his posture even as he sat. His left hand gripped tighter on the body of his newly made crossbow while his other hand fidgeted on the surface of the bolts that held the weapon together.
An absolute lunatic, the soon to be queen couldn't help but think behind that radiant smile.
"And as the future queen, you shouldn't be around such a degenerate. I don't see how you could stand being around that traitor's daughter—"
"—though, you were once a traitor's wife. Perhaps you understand her sentiments." He finally ends, his voice expressing a hint of disgust before letting his eyes revert back to his contraption.
It was a pleasant afternoon in King's Landing; with the sun positioned behind the clouds yet its rays still passing through the vapor. The cool breeze became more noticeable than it was a few months back. Summer has passed and it was starting to get chilly. Winter is coming—one great house had always said. And it was an afternoon that reminded Margaery of Sansa Stark.
She had only seen the young notherner twice. First was in the throne room, when she had confessed her love for Joffrey. Second was when she had invited Lady Sansa to get acquainted with her grandmother, Lady Olenna of House Tyrell. However, the whole getting acquainted catch was just an excuse to be close to the younger girl, to be able to converse with her, to get to know her. And ever since then, Sansa was barely out of her thoughts—from the moment she woke up until the moment she closed her eyes and repeat. It had been exactly a week since their last encounter; a week filled with Sansa's face plastered on her mind and a ton of daydreaming. Until finally, Margaery just had enough of it. She needed to see her.
But Joffrey had other plans. Maybe in this area, Margaery failed to see that the king was starting to get a little too comfortable with her company. He was supposed to spend his day in the throne room, listening to complaints and requests from the common people. He usually had his mother, Queen Cersei, with him but this time he wanted his betrothed by his side. As he thought it was just proper for his future queen to be next to him rather than his own mother.
Margaery did not want to attend to the king's matters for obvious reasons. She was not looking forward to witnessing his never ending cruelty. Sansa had mentioned before that Joffrey once asked a man which he favored more, his hands or his tongue; just because of a silly song that the commoner sang in the throne room. Eventually his tongue gut cut off by Ser Ilyn Payne just moments later. Even though her distaste for gore was enough to keep her away, she would usually never say no to the king, but rather, obey with enthusiasm. She is his future queen, after all and Margaery needed to play the game. But today just wasn't the day for playing the game. She had other matters to attend to... matters of the heart.
So when Margaery mentioned that she was planning on spending the day with the young Stark, his grace was displeased, disgusted. She never ought to hide her plans for the day from him. She didn't want to appear as if she was sneaking off. She just enjoyed the company of other ladies, chatting, eating... she'd like Joffrey to think. Her other intentions, however, would be best kept to herself.
Margaery's pride remained untouched, even with Joffrey's harsh words; nothing less could be expected from him, after all. She did have preconceived notions prior to the arrangement of what kind of a king he was... A terrible one—who couldn't hold his own tongue.
"I understand your confusion, Your Grace—as I feel that my repugnance for them runs just as deep as yours...
A lie tucked underneath concerned eyes.
"However, her name still holds the north. And as long as you have her, you have a chance in holding the north for yourself."
"I could have other men rule over the north... Those who are actually devoted to the crown." He points out, showing a sense of authority as the king.
"And that is a wise idea, Your Grace..." She starts off once again with a humble tone.
"But wouldn't it be wiser to keep our friends close... and our enemies closer?"
Joffrey holds his gaze at her, with gritted teeth and eyes slightly squinted as he scanned her from head to toe. It was evident that there was a hint of suspicion as to why his intended appeared to be more indulged in politics than he had once thought. Margaery quickly picks up the reaction on his features, carefully collecting the next words that would leave her lips.
"Forgive me, Your Grace..." Margaery continues with her head slightly bowed.
"I just dont see the point why you should be buried deep in this kind of nonsense." She proceeds to make small steps towards him so that Joffrey could feel their newfound proximity.
"Sansa Stark is not even worth mentioning, I understand that..."
She goes to sit by his side, her forearms resting delicately on her lap and her head still slightly bowed.
"And I hope to make no offense, but you have other important matters to attend to..."
"I just thought I could be of help somehow... other than providing you with heirs." By this time Margaery had established eye contact with the young king, noticing how his expression softened for a moment.
"A lady will always trust a warm smile and an inviting heart."
"If we show Sansa Stark and her people our love they will return it a thousandfold..."
"... And when that trust is gathered, you could, perhaps, seize the north for yourself, through allegiances, if that is what you wish—destroy the Starks and have their name burn into ashes..."
Joffrey's eyes drifted back to the crossbow, as if he was considering the plan that was given to him.
"... I am expected to please my king... in more ways than one, I hope. Rather than letting you handle such petty drama, I would want to serve you... in this way I know how... Of course, if your grace would permit me—"
"Keep her close."
Margaery beams with a smile at his interruption.
"And once you have her trust, I will kill her and her traitor brother." Joffrey further points out, his wretched tone returning.
Margaery felt a lump stuck in her throat as he spoke of his threat.
"You do what needs to be done—to deliver justice. A just king you are, Your Grace..."
Margaery's eyes move down to the crossbow that rested on Joffrey's lap and a hand slowly creeps on top of the weapon, on its way to meet the king's hand.
"... The seven kingdoms couldn't be in safer hands."
She gently held Joffrey's hand; the hand that caused the further destruction of the seven kingdoms in the first place.
He then looks at her, no longer with suspicion, but with soft eyes. A way that he had never looked at anyone before. Could it be affection? Perhaps. Or maybe the first signs of it. He had not realized that he was slowly being lured into Lady Margaery's trap.
She smiles at him when she notices his soft expression and Margaery felt satisfied with her work.
"If that is all, Your Grace, I best be on my way. Wouldn't want to waste any more of your precious time." Margaery detaches her hand from the king's before dusting off her dress. And at that moment when her hand left Joffrey's, it's as if he had just awoken from some sort of hypnosis.
With a nod of the young king's head, Margaery gives her final courtsey before exiting Joffrey's bed chambers.
Outside, there was the absence of Joffrey's kingsguard that Margaery couldn't care less about. Loras stood by the door instead, waiting for his sister.
"I heard every word." He greets the younger sibling after Margaery stepped out of Joffrey's chambers.
"And?"
"You barely escaped with your life." He says with a smirk before offering his arm for Margaery to cling onto as they proceeded through the halls.
"It appeared as if he was ready to aim his crossbow at me. Never thought I'd be the first thing he'd kill with his own hands." Margaery responded with a smile playing on her lips, her arm clinging onto Loras'.
"I doubt it." Loras shifts his gaze down to the younger female.
"Based on your lovely conversation with his grace, you two have that equal amount of bloodlust."
Margaery chuckles softly at his words before she looks up at him.
"If that's what he desire in a lady, then surely." The young Tyrell reverted her eyes back on their path.
"You seem eager to have Sansa Stark's head on a spike then."
"Just as much as I'd want to be married to the king."
The siblings look at each other, small smiles forming just moments before Margaery bursted with soft giggles as Loras did with his chuckles.
"You play him like a fiddle, sister." He commended.
"I try... I don't mean to have my head chopped off this early in our betrothal."
"I don't quite understand how you do it, still. Even Cersei herself cannot control the boy the way you do." He says with amusement for the younger sibling.
"Unfortunately, only Tyrell women get to possess such a trait—fortunate for me and less fortunate for her and everyone else—" She looks up at her brother just before ending her statment.
"—including you, Loras. You may be a Tyrell but not a woman." she finally concludes with a smirk of her own
"Well, we cannot all have the future queen's charisma, can we?"
And behind those smiles there was silence. And in that silence there was only one name that resounded in Margaery's mind.
Sansa...
"Where is she?" she asked, almost beaming.
Loras couldn't help but chuckle at his sister's question. He knew that she was absolutely captivated by the young Stark. Luckily for Margaery, she had a brother she could share all these feelings with, as it was something she felt restricting to just keep to herself. Loras had never seen his sister as ecstatic as she was since their arrival at King's Landing. Something had definitely changed inside of her, something that Loras hoped would stay with her for quite some time.
"My little sister is smitten, I can see." the older brother teases as he nudges the younger one's shoulder. And at that moment he could very much see the light blush that grew visible on Margaery's cheeks and the grin she was desperately trying to hide.
"She's outside by the garden... praying, if I'm not mistaken."
"Praying?"
"Mhmm."
"Sweet girl..."
Loras smirks at the way his sister spoke—absentmindedly, lovingly. And he could already imagine Margaery drifting off to another daydream session of hers.
"Shall I escort you to her?"
"Please do..."