Her life begins the day she marries Renly Baratheon, or so that's what she's meant to think. It is not difficult to smile on such an occasion, not when she is surrounded by good company and family.
The wedding is beautiful. Flowers are woven into her long hair, and the gown she wears dips low between her breasts where she wears a silver chain with a rose pendent attached to it. Her mother and father and brothers tell her she's beautiful, but never Renly.
He dances with her during the feast, his breath heavy on her neck. She can smell the wine he's been drinking and his steps are clumsy and awkward as he tries to lead her. "I'm going to fuck your brother so hard tonight," he whispers in her ear, giving a laugh.
She looks over at Loras, his mouth drawn across his face as he watches them, his eyes full of jealousy. "Oh, if only you knew," she thinks as Renly spins her around, his boots treading on the train of her dress.
It does not matter anyhow. When the men undress her during the bedding, they eagerly rip the fabric, and she knows she'll never be wearing her wedding gown again. Their fingers find her skin far too often as they slip off her chemise underneath and urge her into her husband's temporary bedroom.
Renly is waiting for her on the bed naked, his limbs sprawled out across the blankets, and she casts her eyes towards anything but him as she walks forward.
"Should we try to make you an heir tonight?" she asks softly, her cheeks flushing red.
"No, not tonight," he replies, his words slurred as he waves his hand, dismissing her. She looks up at him, and sees the bulge between his legs and realizes her brother must have participated in the bedding. "I'm awaiting Loras."
"Oh." She does not know what she was expecting.
She considers herself lucky that the men who undressed her have gone already as she leaves the room, running for her own.
She can hear her husband and her brother from her chambers. She places a pillow over her head and burrows her face into her blankets, but she does not sleep that night.
Wherever Renly and Loras go, she goes. They make camp in the Stormlands after rallying supporters. Their days are full of sparring and cheering and laughter, their nights of wine and feasting. There is little talk of war, and it's easy to brush of threats when they are not imminent. Stannis and the Lannisters and the Starks seem so far away, not even tangible… until the Young Wolf himself shows up to propose an allegiance.
The warm wind whips her hair in her eyes as she looks on towards the party approaching her and Renly. She sweeps her curls behind her ears as Robb Stark dismounts his horse and takes of his helmet. From afar she can see he is handsome, kissed by fire, not at all how she'd expect a Stark to look, but she thinks he must have his mother's colouring.
He steps forward, wiping sweat from his brow and giving them both a nod of courtesy. Though nearly every inch of him is covered, she can tell that he is battered and bruised and has already had much more experience in battle than her husband. Renly would be foolish not to ally with such a capable fighter.
He's brazen with his words, sharp-tongued and to the point. He wants them to join forces with him against the Lannisters. He wants Renly to put aside his feud with Stannis and lay siege on King's Landing. It's only when he is finished that her husband speaks.
"You might shed your cloak, good ser, as I'm sure you will be staying with us for quite some time," Renly suggests jovially, giving the Stark a smile. "I will address the matter of my brother later, but for now we welcome you into our midst." He turns to their servants and orders that they set up tents for their new companions.
They hold their first true war meeting that night, Robb's presence seeming to stir up fear in those who didn't believe the tales of his direwolf riding into battle with him or him taking the Kingslayer prisoner.
"Can I sit in?" she asks as she sees the group of men making their way towards the planning tent. She thinks it's time the maps and strategic books her brother Willas gifted her husband with should be put to use.
"What do you know of war, Margaery?" Renly gives a hearty laugh, shaking his head. He still looks handsome even when he's mocking her, and she hates it.
"She should be allowed to come if she so pleases. I hear your lady wife knows much of politics and the men we will be up against. I'd value her input," Robb speaks up, a crease in his brow.
A look of surprise registers on Renly's face, and he looks between her and his new ally before shrugging his shoulders. "If you insist, my lord," he says, stepping into the tent.
"Your grace," she corrects for him, giving Robb a soft smile. It's the first time she's been able to talk with him, the first time she's had the opportunity. "He's not used to calling anyone but himself king," she continues. "But the North will be yours when this is over, and you will be a king in your own right."
The serious expression disappears from his face, his features softening as he returns her smile. "No need to apologize. We all forget our courtesies sometimes," he replies, reaching for the tent flap to hold it open for her.
She gives him a grateful nod and steps inside to join the men under her husband and Robb's command.
They talk of taking King's Landing, of agreements and betrayals, but every time Stannis is mentioned, Renly quickly averts the topic. She does not speak, though Robb's plan to have their troops ally with others seems foolproof. He knows what works on the battlefield, but Renly won't have his pride wounded or the throne taken from him, and she was told that she would be queen at the end of this war.
"I don't know much of politics, but perhaps we could try and negotiate something with Stannis?" Robb suggests, looking frustrated. "Though the last time I asked for conciliation, I ended up betrothed to a lady I have still not yet met… What do you think, Lady Margaery?" he asks, turning to her and taking her off guard. She did not want to think about why her stomach twisted in knots at the mention of his betrothal. "You know more about these things than I do."
She opens her mouth, but is interrupted before she can speak.
"That's enough talk of war. I've worked up an appetite, and I'd already planned a feast in honour of our alliance," Renly remarks, nodding his head at the other man. "So if you'd be so kind as to join me in say… half an hour's time, we'll have supper all ready for you. The hart in the Stormlands is superior to any other kingdom."
She gives Robb an apologetic look as she follows her husband, taking only a few steps outside before he rounds on her.
"Go get ready, Margaery," he tells her. "You want to look good for him, don't you?" He raises his eyebrows at her before he marches away and leaves her standing there. She takes in a deep breath and holds it before deciding not to go after him.
She dresses in a grey gown just to spite him, the material dipping low over her chest. She picks a necklace with a silver chain and a rose carved from white marble and fastens that around her neck as well.
When she arrives at the table for supper, there are many eyes on her, but none of them belong to Robb. She sits by Renly, looping her arm through his. He grants her a kiss on the temple before his interest is occupied by Loras once more. She sighs, taking a sip from her wine glass and staring idly at the entrance of the massive tent.
Robb arrives nearly ten minutes late, dressed in a smart, dark grey jerkin and black breeches, his face scrubbed clean. She feels her heart beat in her chest when he spots her and makes for her straight away.
"You look beautiful, my lady," he tells her as he takes a seat.
She coughs, choking on her drink slightly at a compliment that even her husband had not bestowed upon her tonight. "Thank you, your grace," she says after she recovers, feeling her cheeks burn red. She glances to her right but Renly is engaged in a conversation with Loras, laughing heartily and taking a sip from his own glass. She turns back to Robb then, giving him a small smile. "You're very kind. Though I'm sure you have not seen many women since this war started."
"None like you, no," he replies, quickly clearing his throat and becoming very interested in the food on his plate instead of her.
"I've not seen many men like you, your grace. Not even before the war began," she remarks, tilting her head to meet his gaze. "Thank you for letting me stay during the meeting today. I know little of battle strategies and tactics, but it will be good for me to learn."
He looks back up at her. "There's no need to thank me. You had every right to be there."
She purses her lips, trying to hide her growing smile. "It must be very different in the North."
"It is," he says, looking pointedly at her, causing her to blush even more.
She does not know when it happens, but somehow his chair ends up closer to hers by the end of the feast, so close she can smell his earthy scent and feel his breath on her skin. There is a rare second where no talking occurs between them, but then moments later he or she is filling the silence with words and laughs. She thinks of kissing him, of what it would be like to press her lips to his and taste wine on his tongue. But a single touch from Renly sends her thoughts back to reality, and she stands with him when he decides he is done eating and making conversation.
"Goodnight, your grace," she offers Robb, her voice low and trailing like a shadow as she takes her leave and he barely gets the chance to respond.
"Goodnight, Lady Margaery," she thinks she hears, but she and Renly are nearly outside by then.
They're almost to her husband's tent when he spins around, laughing. "Why are you following me?" he asks, walking backwards as she continues on.
"Your men think it's strange we don't share a tent," she tells him, and he shakes his head, grabbing her hands and pulling her along with him.
"The Others can take my men," he says, causing her brow to furrow.
"You shouldn't say that. You wouldn't have a chance at winning this war if it wasn't for them."
He pulls her inside, away from the wandering eyes of people at the camp, and she takes a seat on his bed with him. She runs her tongue along her bottom row of teeth before leaning in and pressing a forceful kiss to his lips. He withdraws almost immediately, giving her an incredulous look.
"Why…?" he drops her hands, his face scrunched in distaste.
"You're my husband." She thinks of Robb and his smile, his red curls and soft voice. She thinks that if she can pretend Renly is him then Renly should be able to pretend she is Loras. "Can you just try, please?" she urges. "I told you, if my brother could be of help-"
"Margaery, stop," he interrupts forcefully, shaking his head. "Why can't you… be happy with the way things are? We have allied with the North. We will win this war. And I will sit on the Iron Throne at the end of this, and you will be a true queen."
"A queen who will be greatly reprimanded and reviled if she cannot give the kingdom an heir."
"We can try once I have taken King's Landing and we occupy the Red Keep, alright, my love?"
He leans in to kiss her cheek, but she turns her chin away, her jaw set. "Do not call me that," she says reproachfully, gathering the skirts of her dress in her hand and standing from his bed. "It's a term that should be reserved for Loras only."
"Margaery-"
"Spare me the apology. I'm leaving." She tried so very hard to be patient with him, but it has not worked. He ignored her during the entire feast and she is certain others had taken notice. He does not follow her out of the tent either, and she brushes away the angry tears that form in her eyes as she walks towards her own tent. She knew from the beginning that he had eyes for her brother only, but she is not upset that he holds no affection towards her; she is troubled that he is neglecting his duties as a husband and king.
She barely hears someone calling to her in her flustered state, but she stops when Robb's voice echoes in the darkness.
"My lady, are you alright?" he asks, and she spins around to look at him.
"I am fine," she says, forcing a small smile but shivering as well.
"Are you cold?"
"A little, but I was just-"
"Hold on," he tells her, ducking into his tent and returning seconds later with one of his cloaks. "Here," he offers it to her, and her eyes go wide as she takes it from him.
"Thank you," she murmurs, slipping it around her shoulders. It smells earthy, like him, and she decides she likes it very much.
"Don't bother returning it to me. I have many of its kind."
"Your compassion is unparalleled, your grace. I see why so many have followed you into battle. The Frey girl will be very lucky to have you."
He blinks before lowering his gaze, looking riddled with guilt. "Yes, well, goodnight, my lady," he mumbles, bowing his head slightly and slipping back into his tent.
She shivers once more, even with the cloak wrapped tightly around her as she walks away. She does not know whether this alliance with Robb Stark will be the best or worst decision Renly has ever made.