A/N: I had the idea for and started writing this fic a long time ago, but I kept delaying publishing it because I was originally planning for it to consist of only two chapters. Now I've decided that it will be three or four slightly shorter chapters instead, and I'm hoping it will be better for it. I absolutely adore writing for these two and am looking forward to continuing with this story, but for now here is the first chapter. This is dedicated to my dear friend Rach, without whom shipping Robb and Margaery wouldn't be anywhere near as fun. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always very much appreciated :)
The Red Keep of the city of King's Landing had been so named because of the colour of the stone it had been built out of, one of the colours of its then ruling house of Targaryen. The king that reigned over the seven kingdoms was now another, and the halls of the castle were decorated with banners of golden stags on fields of green, but Margaery thought it was interesting that through the castle part of the Targaryen legacy would always remain. When she stood on the balcony of her chambers in the evening, gazing out to watch the sun set in the city, all of King's Landing appeared to glow red as fire, red with vibrancy, red with passion. She often wondered how it was that such a place could seem so cold to her.
That night, Margaery had sat down at her dressing table and gone through the very same routine she went through every night. She had removed her crown and loosed her hair, letting it tumble past her shoulders. Her handmaidens had helped her remove her dress, and afterwards bathe her and dab her wrists and her neck with fragrant oil. Finally, she had slipped on her shift, purposefully made too big for her so that it hung loose on her body, disguising every curve. And now, as she did every night, the queen waited. She wore no smallclothes underneath, determined not to slow down in any way a husband who, if he made an appearance at all, could easily change his mind.
Margaery had come to realise there was nothing she could do but be patient. Her king knew as well as she did that he needed an heir and she was the only one who could give him one, so he would come in time. She had already tried many things and given him many suggestions but he had not been interested in any of them, and so all that was left to her was to be patient during the night and be the loving wife of King Renly during the day. Thankfully, it was not so difficult to pretend to adore Renly, especially not when most everyone else seemed to as well. Renly was the people's saviour, who had removed cruel King Joffrey and brought peace and prosperity to the land, and she was the queen whose family had helped him do it. Everyone loved King Renly and she did too, in her own way. It was not the kind of love the songs spoke of, nor did it make her heartbeat quicken and her face flush in his presence, but it was there all the same. He was making someone happy even if it wasn't her and she held no resentment for him, in truth - aside from every now and again when she remembered the one instance where he had come to claim his marital rights, drunk out of his wits and smelling like her brother. He had turned her over onto her front that night and taken her maidenhead roughly, painfully, while tears ran down her face and she bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. She had not made a sound as her husband the king had thrust into her again and again until his seed finally spilled, most of it ending up on her thigh. Renly had then gotten up without a word and walked out of the room, his wife still facing away from him. Since she had never expected to enjoy their encounters, the memory wouldn't be quite so sour to her if it at least it had worked, but that had been several moons ago and her belly was still as flat as ever.
She had discovered lying in bed alone late at night that she did not need Renly or indeed anyone but herself to tend to her pleasures. Her hand slipped between her legs and with her fingers she quickly discovered where to touch to make her want to cry out in ecstasy while her whole body shuddered. She was able to give herself what Renly would never be able to give her, but at the same time she could not help but wonder. She wondered what it would be like to experience those sensations with someone else, and she wondered what it would be like to cause them in him. To begin with her lover had been a faceless shadow, but as of late he had taken on a far more definite form in her mind.
"Lord Robb," she greeted him when their paths crossed one morning on her way out of the Red Keep and into the city of King's Landing. It was a gloomy, miserable day outside, but Margaery had endeavoured to never let such things deter her. She knew how important it was to make her presence felt in the city, no matter what the weather.
"Your Grace," he said in return, giving a small bow of his head. He was his father's son, or so she was often told: always gracious, always respectful, always polite, often stern and even at times a little cold, but whenever he greeted her and lifted his head to meet her gaze again he'd give her a smile that filled her with warmth. She couldn't remember when she had first started wondering if there was anyone else he smiled at in that way.
Robb was the man who had won the war for her king. The smallfolk still spoke of how Renly had valiantly defeated the Lannister troops despite his inexperience in war, but they tended to forget that the person who had actually been responsible was even younger and arguably even more inexperienced. The soldiers who had survived the War of the Five Kings, though, would never forget. Margaery had come to realise that much in the time she'd spent in her husband's camp. Renly might be loved but Robb was respected, especially by the men who he had always fought side by side with, never shying away from the thick of the action. It was the Young Wolf who had made victory possible, and for his efforts Renly had made him Hand of the King. The Baratheon and Stark houses were united once more, Renly liked to say, ruling together as they always should have been. The reality, however, was far from being that simple. Renly and Robb might have been allies, but they were not friends as Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had once been, and she was positive King Renly's recent actions had only put a further strain on the relationship between the King and his Hand. The stag and the wolf did not rule together: the stag ruled with pleasure, delighting in the never-ending ceremonies and banquets that came with being king, while the wolf ruled seriously and reluctantly, never seeming comfortable in the role he'd been given. Meanwhile, the rose was caught between them, her heart intimate with only one, her body permitted to be intimate with only the other.
The reality of the situation, in truth, was even more complex. The events that had occurred only the day before had the potential to change everything, yet Margaery was already almost certain everything would stay very much the same. She knew her wolf better than a lot of people imagined. He'd had a moment of weakness, it was true, but even then the initiative had been hers, not his. He was his father's son, or so they said. Left to his own devices, his honour would win out in the end, as it always did. That was why she was presently lying in her bed awaiting the unlikely appearance of her husband, not up in the Tower of the Hand where her thoughts were. She was pulled out of her musings by the sound of the door clicking open and she raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking up eagerly. The man she saw standing there, however, was not the man she had expected to see.
"Robb," she breathed. She made to get up, but Robb shook his head, bidding her silently to stay where she was.
She knew her wolf better than a lot of people imagined, and yet it seemed he was still capable of surprising her.