AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again. Not mine. TY George R.R. Martin for turning a blind eye while I write fan fiction that you do not approve of. I will do my best not to hurt your beautiful characters.

CHARLES-THE-HAMMER: As for the political setting in Westeros, I planned to touch base with that in this section. I will tell you now that Robb is only the King of the North. There is another royal sitting on the Iron Throne right now. They are at peace with one another, and will remain so at least for this lifetime. He's just marrying Margaery, a member of the six kingdoms, because it was agreed upon before the war. Otherwise he probably would marry a northerner to secure ties in his new kingdom. But we won't be talking much about what happens south of the neck in this fic. I might do one after this of some characters in the south. But for now our focus will just be the north. Any mentions of the south will be very brief.

CHAPTER THREE

The two first time she'd been married, it took place in a sept. There were decorations all around, family, friends, and nobles from across the realm. The building was grand, refurbished and polished for the event. It felt strange to be speaking her vows beneath a massive Weirwood tree. This was the first she'd seen of the heart trees. There were none south of the neck, aside from the Isle of Faces, and Margaery had never been. Being there now made her feel very watched. Though she knew it was primarily because of the face carved into the massive tree. The sap that leaked from the eyes of the face looked uncannily like blood. What was merry about that? The ceremony had a different feel to it than her previous two. There was a resounding note of finality about it when all was said and done. The ceremony left her feeling like a stranger in a world she didn't understand. Could she ever belong up here?

As they sat there feasting, Margaery did her best to keep her smile in place. But she couldn't wipe that stern blue gaze with which Robb watched her walk down the aisle. Even Joffrey had seemed floored by her beauty when she appeared. Robb barely reacted, if at all. People had noticed. They were whispering about it. They were laughing. They knew that a Tyrell Rose had no business in Winterfell. The snows would be her death. What fool had thought to marry her to a Stark? She knew they were right. This was a different world. She hadn't been prepared for that. How could she ever belong?

After their meal had concluded, Margaery managed to coerce Robb out onto the floor for two dances, before he made his excuses, returning to his seat. She spun around through the arms of several other partners before her head began to swim with a combination of wine, and perpetual movement. Laughing, smiling, her cheeks delightfully flushed, Margaery uttered a quick apology, and slipped outside. This was the first time since her arrival in the north that she appreciated the cold bite in the air. Her skin was feverish, and the cool air felt wonderful. She'd found her way up into a hall overlooking the expanse of Winterfell. Margaery moved over to a window, grasping the edge with her hands, and leaning out into the crisp air.

"Don't you have a party to attend?" A voice inquired, stern but playful. Margaery jumped, spinning around to face the other body in the hall.

"Your Grace! I apologize. I did not see you there." Margaery responded, dipping into a respectful curtsey. She knew that the King of the Iron Throne was in attendance at the event - his queen unable to make an appearance. She heard a tense laugh sound before she'd fully dipped into her curtsey. Her brown eyes shifted upward to capture the wry smile on his face.

"I don't imagine I'll ever quite get used to that." He remarked. "The formality is unnecessary. After all, we are family now, aren't we?" He pointed out, finally capturing her gaze, and her confused expression. "Robb and I might be cousins by blood, but we were raised brothers. That makes you a sister, as far as I'm concerned. Call me Jon, at least while we are alone." He insisted.

He's so tense, she noted, as she looked the man over. They say he always had been. Apparently his crown had done nothing to ease his rigidity. Raised the bastard son of a northern lord, now a King. It can't be easy for him, she thought. He was kind though, treating her more warmly than some, though this was the first she'd met him. Was it strange now to be a Targaryen, when he always thought himself a Stark? There were a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but none she dared voice. There were only rumors to state her curiosity.

They called him the Lost Targaryen. Nobody knew of his existence. He was the bastard son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. All along he'd been hidden right here, under Robert Baratheon's nose. No doubt the old King was rolling over in his grave, realizing his closest friend had lied to him all these years. His reign was shared with his queen - who, coincidentally, was also his aunt - Daenerys Targaryen. By rights he should rule, though everyone knew that Daenerys called most of the shots.

"Perhaps it is you that I should be bowing to. This is your realm now, is it not?" He pointed out, his tone more light.

"OH I'm no Queen, yet. The coronation isn't for another week." She explained quickly, smiling back at him. "This is more your home than mine. You were raised here. I am barely more than a stranger." She felt the tension coiled in her belly beginning to unwind. He was easier to talk to than his cousin ... brother ... whatever they were.

"That will change. Just give it time." He assured her gently, before his brows furrowed together. "Why are you not dancing?" He asked her boldly. "A bride should not be hiding up here on her wedding day." She looked down, fingers knotting together. She agreed with the statement. She should be in her husband's arms, surrounded by guests and admirers. "Well, as I said. Just give it time. Things will change." He informed her, sounding as if he were confirming his earlier statement. But when she looked up, she saw something else in his gray eyes. He seemed to have a notion of what troubled her.

"Thank you." She offered simply, her smile tight. "I just needed some fresh air." She informed him, knowing the excuse didn't go far. "It was beginning to grow rather warm down there." She added. It was true enough. But it would seem that King Jon knew his brother well enough to know that something else was the matter. "I do hope that we get a chance to speak again before you depart, Jon." She offered with a kind smile. She truly did hope they saw one another again. Jon and Sansa, so far, were the only two members of her new family that she felt comfortable around.

Inclining her head slightly, Margaery turned off, heading back down to the Great Hall, and the festivities. Upon her return she was swarmed by a familiar group of females. Alysanne, Alla, Elinor, Megga, Alyce, and Meredyth had been with her for all of her marriages. They had stayed with her in Kings Landing after marrying Joffrey, and they'd followed her to Dragonstone when she married Renly. Only Alla, Meredyth and Alyce would be staying in the North. As Lady Bulwater, Alysanne couldn't be so far from the Reach. She would return to the south after the coronation. Elinor was planning her marriage to Alyn Ambrose, at long last, and would be leaving the following morning. Margaery knew she would miss the event.

"I never thought you would find a husband sterner than the last." Megga remarked amidst the sea of praises for her dress.

"Megga! That is an awful thin to say!" Alla reprimanded her cousin in a small voice, the words a hushed whisper. Alyce rolled her eyes at both of them.

"Honestly, both of you! Megga keep it down. You realize we are surrounded by his men, do you not?" She pointed out tactfully. She turned her regretful blue gaze to Margaery. "Though she does have a point. Does he ever smile?" She inquired, glancing momentarily at the man in question. Margaery followed her gaze, before turning back to the blonde beauty.

"I'm sure Margie will loosen him up tonight." Elinor remarked bawdily. Her tone was low, and suggestive. She waggled her eyebrows at the other girls, a few who dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"You lot are all awful." Margaery responded, a laugh in her voice. "And I will miss you all terribly." She embraced Elinor first, before releasing her and pulling Alysanne and Megga into her arms at once. "You ought not be so hard on him. You all know what his family has been through. The youngest three are still missing - presumed dead. His father was wrongly beheaded, and his mother hasn't been the same since." It barely seemed real that this was [i]her[/i] family she was speaking of. Once more, her gaze shifted to Robb. She couldn't blame him for being somber. His first wife died trying to give him a child. In the past years his family had been ripped apart. Their family had been ripped apart.

"Don't worry, Margaery. Everything will turn up. He's going to love you." Alysanne assured her sweetly. Margaery smiled down at the younger girl, barely eleven years old, and already having inherited her own lands.

The group moved over to the edge of the room, collecting goblets of wine along the way, where they could watch the dancing. A few time Margaery and one of the ladies would jump into the fray, dancing with one another, rather than a man. She was happy, and full of smiles, if only for the moment. She'd quite lost track of time when a hand appeared at her elbow, causing her to jump. Wide-eyed, Margaery twisted her head around to face her new husband.

"Ladies, I do apologize. But might I steal my bride from you?" He inquired. The girls squeaked out replies, bowing, and hugging Margaery before running off.