Margaery
At the top of the white stone walls of Highgarden stood a lady-in-waiting, leaning against the battlements, staring off into the dark city that slept beneath the keep which was very much awake.
The woman had a hand placed on the top of the castle walls, with another atop her extended belly, rubbing gently over the home of her unborn child. She knew which direction she was looking, and envied to tread the path to it again, but she was banished from that place, never to return on pain of death. She wanted to see The North again.
Sure The North was a cold place for a rose such as her, but she had a wolf to warm her at night and care for her during the day. Life used to be so perfect for her, after all, she was the Queen in the North … was … The Queen in the North. Now she was nothing but a lady, the lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.
Astonishingly she was able to retain her beauty throughout the years, however, 36 years isn't many anyway. Mothering after seven children didn't even wither the rose. She retained her healthy curled brown hair, petite and curved figure, as well as her loving, soft, brown eyes.
She could smell the foodstuffs being feasted on in the hall of Highgarden. Plump and juicy animals being torn into by the vicious Northern retainers Margaery had been accompanied by. She turned to observe the three Northmen stuff their faces with their fill of chickens and hams. The laughs and vicious behavior she had grown accustom to while in The North. Her little boys, Eddard, Beron, and William; Little Wildlings they were when it came to eating.
She turned her gaze back to the less lively underground of Highgarden, searching for her little boys and girls running about the streets of Winterfell as they usually did, but of course this wasn't Winterfell and they weren't here.
With a sigh of cold visible breath, she shivered in the cold night and watched her breath dissipate in front of her. Pulling her white furred cloak close to her, sheltering herself and her little-one from the elements. Highgarden used to make her feel so lively and active, but now, she desired the cold, icy North. She wanted to hear her children giggling and playing near the hearth at Winterfell, she wanted to rule as Queen again, but most of all she wanted to be with her Robb again, her king, her husband, her love.
But Robb doesn't love her anymore, he made that clear when he had her banished. He wouldn't listen to reason, instead he let his council whisper in his ear, and then acted on those whispers, mercifully thank the gods.
The sound of armor clattering and foots clomping toward her broke her trance.
Turning around slowly, she was met with a shaggy auburn haired and thick bearded man, guarded in large plates of steel armor, the depiction of a wolf holding a crown in one paw and a greatsword in the other was embedded on his breastplate, with shoulder plates molded to look like a wolfs head. Under all of the armor was a layer of wolf's fur, and under that was a thin layer of leather as a secondary defense.
Margaery smiled at the grizzly man's friendly and familiar face.
"Well-well, I was wondering when the Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack would be joining me this evening," she said with a smile on her face, deceiving of the loss and despair she actually felt.
"I told you, you don't have to call me that Margaery. I'm your friend," the man replied and joined her in leaning against the castle battlements, observing the area with her.
"More like a brother … or even a son … I basically raised you since you were six years old," she said, letting out a hushed laugh.
"I was a handful, wasn't I?" he asked, returning a laugh and smile.
"The only trouble I had was trying to get you to cut your scraggly hair." She reached her hand out to his red beard, tugging on the long hairs that came from his face until he swatted her hand away.
She laughed and watched him roll his eyes in annoyance.
"Robb and I could handle you easily enough. Don't worry though, you weren't near as rambunctious as Olenna and Talinelle, constantly arguing and being at each others throats, it was torture for me."
"Aye," he nodded. "And you've another babe on the way. Do pray that it's a calm one."
After the long talk about family, it finally struck Margaery again, she would never see any of her children again.
"Will we ever get to go back?" she asked, smile fading and eyes looking out to the fields of Highgarden, wanting to pull The North to The Reach's doorstep, so she could only be a walk away from her family.
"There's always hope," the man simply replied, doubt in his voice.
"You can go back any time you want. Robb didn't disown you. Rather, he divorced me."
The man turned his head to look down at the smaller woman, giving a half smile. "Come," he beckoned her with a hand, holding it out for her own. "You haven't eaten much today, and now you're eating for two, the babe needs the energy, as do you."
"I suppose you're right, this wolf has an unsatisfiable appetite … or maybe I'm just getting fat," she giggled and looked up to her guard who bore a strange expression on his face, his eyebrow raised at her stomach. "What?" she asked, looking the man up and down while taking steps away from him.
"You … I don't want this to sound … I don't want it to sound rude, but …." he sputtered out slowly, though she understood what the question was before he even asked.
Her eyes narrowed at him, and a look of disgust took her face. "No," she grumbled out. "This babe is Robb's and mine alone… I've been with only one man before … and now he hates me. I'm not the whore that everyone thinks I am." With that she made a sharp turn, ignoring the man's calls for her to stop, and stormed off into the banquet hall of her brother's.
"Margaery, I didn't mean it like that! I didn't mean anything by it, I promise, it was just a question!" he called out to her, slowly pursuing her into the hall, though they were quickly lost from each other in the large Southron crowd.
Even Rickon thinks I'm a whore. Margaery thought as she stormed through the banquet hall.
"What is the matter, good sister?" a female voice came into earshot of Margaery, turning her to see the woman that spoke to her. Talla Tarly, Margaery identified the girl as, her brother Willas' wife and Lady-Paramount of The Reach.
"Oh, I'm quite alright, Talla. I was just heading to my chambers," Margaery said, putting on a smile for appearance's sake, though inside she was near bursting into a fit of rage and a bout tears.
"I just saw you talking with that Northman over there, and wondered if he might have upset you … you know, those Northmen can be monstrous persons … but, I don't have to tell you that. What, with our King in the North banishing you, the mother of his own children, from his holdings … well … that was a clearly tyrannical thing to do," Talla persisted, locking arms with Margaery, and walking away from the merry people of the court to a more private area in the corridors of Highgarden.
"Robb knew not what he was doing … I … I know this sounds crazy, but … I believe he's under some sort of spell … I think someone is making him do all of these evil deeds," Margaery said, walking one arm locked with her sister-in-law, and the other petting her stomach slowly trying to warm and feel for the baby kicking.
"That sounds mad," Talla let a laugh out. "Who would want to poison the King's mind like that? All of his enemies have been destroyed. The Lannisters submit to his will under Lord Tyrion's authority. The Hardyngs are in close relation to him, with his sister's marriage to Harrold. The Baratheons are a shadow of their former glory, with Lord Edric, and Lady Shireen being the lords of the Stormlands and Crownlands. There is no one important or strong enough for him to have angered … except maybe the Tyrells," Talla finished, pursing her lips and looking to the stone vine-covered ceiling above their heads as they walked.
"What do you mean?" Margaery asked, looking her sister up and down with a strange suspicion.
"I mean," she rolled her eyes, as if Margaery was an idiot little girl who didn't understand the workings of court. Margaery detested that, and was learning to detest her with every word she spoke. "When you were banished from the Capital, Willas and I took that as a sign … a sign that the Tyrells' clearly aren't the favored house anymore, a sign that King Robb means to route us all out of our keeps and detach our heads from our bodies, a sign that he needs to be stopped."
Margaery's mouth gaped open, and she stopped in her tracks, letting loose of her sister's arm.
"You mean to revolt against him?"
"Willas does … when the time is right of course. We will need the support of other strong houses, but that should be no problem with the current state he is running the seven kingdoms," Talla said, looking to a door which led to Margaery's dorm.
"And what of my children? What of Willas' nieces and nephews? Will he just let them be hanged by the rebels when Winterfell … well … falls?" Margaery asked with a fire in her voice, a fire that burned the rose petals from her innocent flower-like attitude, turning her into more wolf than flower, more Northmen than Reachmen, more Stark than Tyrell.
"They won't be harmed, of course."
"Easier spoken than committed, my dear," Margaery said with spite in her voice. "Do you really think that my children will just lay down and let you murder their father? Do you really think the wolf pups won't bite back and defend their wolf father?"
"Sister, please, calm down, you're getting loud," Talla begged of her sister-in-law.
"No … no relative of mine would ever dare utter the words you have here tonight. You have no right to call me sister," the rose seemed to growl like a wolf to the archer, Margaery's eyes narrowing with hate and contempt for her bitter relative. "We shall see what Willas has to say about this," Margaery grumbled, turning from Talla and marching off into the banquet hall again.
"You should get some rest first, the babe won't react well to the stress you're putting it through," Talla called out to her, only infuriating Margaery even more.
What does she care of my children? Only a few seconds ago she was plotting to murder their father, and leave them to die out. Willas will listen to reason, unless she's tainted his mind with her snake-tongue. Thought Margaery, as she spotted her brother across the hall, sitting with his two sons, Garrett and Hobber, as well as two other lords, Bertram Westbrook, and Russel Ashford. I can't very well just barge into his conversation with this news … not only would he probably forget most of what I tell him, but he could ignore it entirely. Maybe it is best I just sleep it off until tomorrow … It's not like anything will happen between now and then. Margaery thought, stopping in her tracks, hesitantly she watched her brother and nephews from afar, wondering if now would be a good time to confront him about his wife's plot to betray Robb.
Robb or someone needs to learn of this information before it's too late. If not, I fear he'll be in for a war not even he can win. Margaery let a sigh out, in the middle of the sets of feasting tables, with everyone ignoring her and digging into their foods. No one would notice or care if she had just collapsed to the ground. She was nothing without a crown, without her husband, without her children … and she knew it. She had no friends here, only her family who all had families of their own to look after, with the exception of Loras and Rickon.
"Do you need escort to your chambers, my lady?" came the voice of a Northman, Donnel Ryswell, a member of the Wolf Pack and nephew to the lord Ryswell of The Rills in The North.
He smiled down at her with his handsome features, he had a strong jaw upon which grew a stubble of black hair. He trimmed his hair in such a fashion that the sides were shaved off and only a patch was left on the top. But what drew Margaery's eyes to him the most were his own. They were gray and powerful eyes, eyes that lingered their gaze for a while around her neckline—too long a while it seemed.
"See something interesting?" she asked with a seemingly inviting smile, noticing he was now staring lower at her chest and larger-than-normal breasts.
"A couple somethings," he said and smiled back.
"Would those couple somethings happen to be my face … and the bump on my stomach?" she asked with a sharper smile now, watching his slowly fade her own smile grew. "The bump that contains the child of your king?" she gave a threat, but it was mostly just a warning or rather a joke.
His pupils nervously bounced around the walls of his eyes, awkwardly searching the room for something less intimidating than Margaery.
Margaery smirked, knowing how foolish he must feel now, having his advances on her stomped down in only a few words.
"Come, you can walk me to my dorm," she said, turning around to another corridor and beginning to walk with him to her bedchambers.
When she turned, she noticed Rickon standing in his steel shining armor, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at her.
Margaery turned around to see the knight by her side, smiling down at her. She cleared her voice before speaking, "I think I can actually find my room on my own, thank you," she said hastily, only now seeing why some might have seen her as a lustful woman.
I like to flirt and joke around a bit, but I'd never go further than that. What does Rickon want me to do, swear off talking to any man besides my husband? That's impossible. Besides, Ryswell knew I was only joking with him, and I'm sure he meant nothing by staring at me. She thought, nodding to Rickon with a smile that said 'shut up.'
Rickon smiled at her, and watched her leave the room to her own.
Eddard
Eddard Stark, heir to The North and the entirety of Westeros, known as 'The Great Wolf', and one of—if not—the greatest living fighters in Westeros, stood in a near empty hall of Winterfell with his sibling, William, waiting for the court to arrive so a meeting could be held on current events.
The Great Hall of Winterfell had expanded much since the tax of the entire kingdom was now coming to the Stark coffers, in turn making the castle a grand one to serve as the capital. Banners of the Stark direwolf were strewn across the rafters. Grand windows of clear and shining glass were built into the sides of the hall by the scores, with pillars to match them and a white carpet leading to the King's Throne to act as a walkway. Candles placed into the pillars numbered the hundreds as they spiraled all the way to the top of the arched ceiling, illuminating every square inch of the Northern keep. But the most grand piece of work in the entire room, was the throne itself.
Eddard turned to admire it after scanning the room, noticing it's shining black surface, and symmetrical pointed sides, with five tall spires on each side of the throne's backing. It was sizable enough for a single person, and only meant to comfort a Stark's bottom, especially the King's. Its make was of course of the marvelous jewel like stone, Dragonglass.
Once Robb had learned of it's use to kill The Others, he immediately took to Dragonstone, the largest source of the stone, and made use of it's abundance. From there he made swords plentiful enough that the Dragonglass deposits on Dragonstone were near empty, making the desolate island even more worthless than before, and now it acts as the home of Shireen Baratheon, and seat to the Crownlands.
After the massacre of the The Others, Robb had most of the jewel-like stones reconstructed into the throne he now sits upon today, as well as using pieces to fill the nine spikes on his crown to a fine thickness, so now the tips beamed an array of purple anywhere in sunlight.
Eddard smiled for only a second, before seeing the sad sight that rest in a cage behind the throne.
Greywind, Robb's famed and humongous direwolf had been kept in the cage for some time, by order of Robb himself … or so most would say. Rather, Eddard knew that someone had persuaded Robb to encase his beloved creature, though the person or persons remains unknown to Eddard. The beast was to the point that it nearly squeezed against the sides of the cage, it was so large and the box so small. Eddard didn't dare defy his father and release the thing, rather, he'd wait for the right time to persuade his father to release his old friend, but that time was not now. All Eddard could do now was listen to the wolfs cries, and still his tongue until his father was in a better mood.
"Ed come look, I made a snowball!" Eddard's little brother, William bade him to his side, waving him over to the window where he played in the snow fallen from the large open port.
Eddard smiled, and walked his way to his little brother, hand held comfortably on his sheathed sword as he approached.
"You should close the window, William. It's getting cold," Eddard suggested, rubbing his hands against the leather Northmen garb he wore, traditional to a Northmen soldier, but with bolts of fur around the neck and arm holes.
"Fine, but first I wanna show you how pretty this looks … look at it!" he yelled, standing up and pointing his finger at the ball he had constructed on the window's edge.
Eddard scratched his hand across his clean-shaven face, nodding at the creation of his brother. "I'm looking," Eddard replied and gave a laugh.
The little ball of snow shined with sparkles of purple, yellow, and red, as if some sort of magic dust had been sprinkled over it, or some small shavings of jewels had found their way to the sphere.
"Very pretty, Will," their grandmother interceded, ruffling William's light-brown hair with her hand, hair of Margaery's color and texture, hair that all of the Stark children shared, with the exception of Beron and Olenna, who had the auburn Tully-Stark hair.
"Grandmother," Eddard said with a smile to his father Robb's mother.
"Eddard," she said with a small smile, a twinkle of a tear in her eye.
Eddard knew the stories of how the tyrannical king of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon, had taken his grandfather captive and later beheaded him, being the cause for his father Robb's war against the south, and he knew how much it hurt his grandmother, Catelyn, just to say the name. She had gotten better with it though, maybe it was the striking resemblance in features to his father and grandfather that had her tearing up most of the time.
"Have you any idea of the whereabouts of your brother Beron?" Catelyn asked her grandson.
"Apparently he's still at The Wall, delivering … er … volunteers to The Night's Watch, as well as taking time to speak to the Lord Commander."
Catelyn didn't reply with any words to that statement, instead she closed her eyes as if she was hurt, or just wanted to fall asleep. Eddard assumed it was at the mentioning of his half-uncle Jon, the bastard offspring of his grandfather Eddard and another woman. Catelyn had hated that boy, and thought The Night's Watch would deal with him like the old and new gods couldn't, but alas, the gods and Watch instead decided to make him the leader of it all … such an irony.
"How are your sisters?" Catelyn asked next, changing topic quickly before she dwelt on the bastard for too long.
"Lina, Olenna, and Talinelle are with Septa Elyn," Eddard replied.
"And Alina? Where is she?" Catelyn persisted.
"I recall her saying something near the sorts of, I'm going on an adventure." Eddard nodded and smiled affirmatively.
"She's been spending too much time with Arya," Catelyn said in a half-distressed, half-joking tone.
"I'm sure she'll be back soon. I told her not to leave Winterfell's grounds, and she said she wouldn't."
"You believed her?" Catelyn said, narrowing her eyes at her grandson.
"What was I to do, stop her? You know how she gets."
"I suppose you're right," Catelyn finished, looking around the large hall now for any sign of any other person.
"Okay, now that you're both done ignoring me and having your own conversation, can I go make a snow fort?" William asked with a questioning look on his face, looking up to his elders.
Catelyn and Eddard gave a few laughs at the young boy, and patted him on each shoulder.
"So …." he continued.
"Sure, go have your fun," Eddard commanded of him, gently shoving him in the right direction.
"Such a big family," Catelyn noted with a smile as she watched William waddle away to the outside sect of Winterfell's keep. Brushing strands of gray hair from her face, she turned to look back at Eddard.
"Would have been an even bigger family," he said with solace for his mother.
Catelyn smiled a loving look to her grandson. "She will be back, Eddard. That I am sure of. Robb's just going through a fit at the moment, soon, when the time is right, we will show him the error of his ways and he'll love her again, and welcome her back like nothing ever happened."
"I hope you're right." Eddard turned his attention to an opening door, through which the sun poured in, as well as a troop of persons, one of which was his father, Robb.
Robb walked in, with the cane that he had recently come to know, four of his Wolf Pack guarding him in four points of a square around him, hands on their swords and ready to act against any enemies of his. With them, the court had come, and all of Winterfell's minor nobles.
The only sound that seemed to echo from the group was that of Robb's cane, the Dragonglass staff stamping it's blackened end onto the cold stone floor as he slowly approached his throne. He had a frown on his face, eyes pinched tight together as he sneered at the crowd around him, strands of his scraggly graying-auburn hair messily positioned over his eyes, his cold almost evil eyes surveyed the room, eyes that could pierce your skin quicker than steel. He lifted a hand, the one not occupied with the cane, using it to rub at the Dragonglass jewel necklace he had. The necklace was simple, a single oval shaped chunk of black glass centered on his chest, though it glowed from the inside. A beautiful shining of purple, blue, and shades of green fought each other inside the gem. One of Robb's most prized possessions, topping that of Ice, his ancestral sword of which he couldn't hold anymore, due to his weakness and it's great weight.
"All hail his grace, King Robb of Westeros, first of his name, the king of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, and the protector of the realm!" announced with a low booming voice, one of Robb's Wolf Pack members, one of the most senior members, and the one who bore the most scars. He had a scorched and frightening face, with a missing ear you could barely notice behind the black hair he had brushed over it.
The four warriors that accompanied Robb stopped and spread out an equal distance from each other in front of his throne. Hallis Mollen and Brienne Tarth stood left of the throne, with Sandor Clegane and Jory Woods to the right. Four of the nine members to Robb's guard, nine members to represent the nine spikes on his crown.
Robb slowly ascended the few steps to his throne, turning and planting himself in the seat, and resting his cane in his lap as he waited.
The court quieted themselves, holding upon the King's first words and decrees.
Catelyn and Eddard shared a look of sadness, both could see the state that Robb was in, and knew he probably wouldn't be around for much longer at the rate he was aging and weakening. He was starting to look as old as Catelyn, and was near as feeble as William.
A second female came to join the duo of Eddard and his grandmother. "Morning, my lord," she greeted in a hushed voice, turning Eddard around with her coming.
"Marissa, hello," Eddard said with a smile, wrapping his arm around her waist, and using another hand to rub her belly. "Bump's getting bigger." He smiled.
"Aye, it is," she said with her mousy voice. "Soon you'll be a great-grandmother," Marissa said, leaning around to view Catelyn.
"And here I was, not feeling a day over thirty," Catelyn said with a smile.
Robb's coughing bout brought them back to their liege, watching him cover his mouth with a hand as he mercilessly attacked it with a raspy cough.
A few members of the court hung their head in either shame or a manner of mourning for their king.
After what felt like a minute of cold coughs, Robb finally worked up the strength to speak.
"What news have we … on the state of … our treasury?" he asked slowly in between long wheezing breaths.
"Your Grace," a small, dwarfed, blond haired man started, stepping forward from the crowd. "the treasury is overflowing with Dires, we have never had so much gold before."
"Hmm … about the greatest achievement of mine … making a Lannister the master of coin," Robb mumbled out, waving Lord Tyrion away with a hand.
"There's another matter, aside from the great deeds you have completed on your reign as king … you must have a … a queen," another person stuttered out, being careful to choose his words.
Eddard looked to see the person, identifying him as Lord Ramsey Bolton, by the features of his snake-like stance, and rat-looking face. Skeevy bastard, stay away from my father. Eddard kept the words in his head, knowing how his father seemed to care for the Bolton bastard Lord.
"But surely you must be thinking, who would be so great a woman as to be my companion and queen, well let me tell you, I have taken the liberty of finding all of the noble ladies of the realm, fit for your hand in marriage. Here is the list, your Grace." Lord Bolton stepped forward, moving to Robb's guards, who stopped him with four outstretched hands, and four hands ready on their swords.
Robb waved them off and grunted, telling them to let him pass.
The guards sneered at the man, and stepped aside as the king ordered.
The pink Bolton-clothed and armored man, Ramsey, knelt before Robb, holding out a piece of parchment for him to read, quite a lengthy piece of parchment at that.
The King looked down to the paper, hands twitching as they reached out for it, not grasping it as of yet.
With doubt in his eyes, he returned his hand to his lap, and dismissed the Lord Bolton, of whom looked shocked.
"I would like to have … my chambers to myself now … you're all dismissed," Robb commanded of them, and Eddard knew exactly why he couldn't take the paper. He still had love for Margaery in his heart, no matter how much the news of her infidelity had hurt him, he loved her.
Ramsey stumbled backward, losing his confidence now, Eddard looked to him, and he looked back. With a smug and all-knowing smile, Eddard crossed his arms to the Lord, and watched him retreat with the others outside of the hall.
"I said … you're all dismissed," Robb restated, looking to his son, mother, and daughter-in-law.
With that renewed statement, Ramsey gave his smug and all-knowing smile to Eddard this time, and laughed his way out of the hall.
Eddard, Catelyn, and Marissa Glover all gave frowns to the floor, and trudged their way out of the King's presence.
Eddard was the last to leave, but before he did so, he gave one final glance to his father. He saw Robb shakily lifting the black jeweled necklace in his hands, examining and petting the shining surface with a sad face. Greywind moaned a wolf's cry behind Robb, his head down and humbled, waiting for the ability to prowl the castle as he once did. Before the doors closed, Robb looked up to his son from afar, glaring at him as if he didn't even know he was his own blood. With that last look from his father, the large doors of Winterfell's halls closed in front of him, with only two wolves to occupy the inside now, two sad, weak, and lonely wolves.
A/N: this is my first story, so, all help is appreciated. Tell me if you like it, don't like it, what you like, and what you don't like, as well as if you'd like to see more and if you think I could better my writing somehow. It's going to be a plots/battles fic, so lots of twists and turns if you're into that stuff. Of course there'll also be some lovey-dovey scenes here and there, flashbacks for MargxRobb, and other pairings that you'll probably like. Thanks for reading.