Chapter Four: Margaery
Sleep was often said to be a blessing, a way to rest from the day's events and prepare for the events of tomorrow. For Margaery, sleep was an elusive desire that never came that night.
The young queen paced in her tent over and over again, thinking about what had just happened. I kissed Robb Stark. I kissed the King in the North. I kissed a man who is not my husband. There was no hope of sleep anyway; the camp was buzzing with activity as soldiers hurried around with preparations for the upcoming battle.
Margaery wished that she could speak with Renly alone, or even better, Loras. He would know what to do, he could advise her. No, there's nothing to advise. It was a mistake. A good mistake, but still a mistake. It will not happen again. But still Margaery could not forget the soft, warm embrace of the Young Wolf's lips on hers, the warm feeling that had spread throughout her entire body when she had given into her desire.
She had to speak to someone, anyone, for guidance. Her grandmother was in Highgarden, too far away at the moment. No, she needed someone who she could speak freely to, but at the same time trust that they would not repeat her words. For this, she had decided to speak with Brienne of Tarth. The warrior the other soldiers nicknamed 'Beauty' would be ideal. Her place as a Kingsguard was by the king, but Renly would be in war council right now. And Margaery trusted her not to speak if she commanded it.
Margaery found the woman standing ever dutiful outside Renly's war tent. She looked stoic and at the same time prideful in her blue armor. Brienne snapped to attention as soon as Margaery approached.
"Your Grace," she said, bowing low.
"Lady Brienne. Forgive me for calling upon you at this hour."
"No need to apologize, Your Grace. The entire camp is awake, preparing to vanquish the false king Stannis. The king is in war council, but I can alert him to your presence if you wish."
"Actually, my lady, I was hoping to speak to you. Privately, if you would be so kind."
Brienne's brow furrowed. "Is everything alright, Your Grace?"
"Everything is fine with the king. It's more of a personal matter that I do not wish to have overheard or repeated."
Brienne glanced inside the tent. When she moved the flap, Margaery could see Renly standing in the middle of the other lords, arguing about when to attack Stannis.
"Attack now, before dawn breaks. We have the numbers. Take Stannis now or else we shall be charging into the light of the rising sun," the commanding voice of Lord Randyll Tarly was saying.
"Stannis will fall either way, I agree we must attack now. Sound the advance, Your Grace," came the aged voice of Lord Mathis Rowan.
Brienne closed the flap. "Pray, make it quick, Your Grace. The king has given me the honor of helping to armor him before battle. He shall call for me any moment now." She called over another one of Renly's Kingsguard, Ser Guyard the Green. Ser Guyard took Brienne's post as Margaery led Brienne into an empty tent across the path from the war tent.
"Be quiet about it, Your Grace, if this is not meant for wandering ears. You must be careful with Lord Baelish lurking in the camp."
Littlefinger. Margaery had almost forgotten that weasel was here. He was the last person in the Seven Kingdoms she would want to hear this.
"I shall be prompt. Lady Brienne, I wished to speak with you of the King in the North, Robb Stark."
Brienne looked over at the war tent. "Robb Stark is in His Grace's war tent, along with the other lords preparing for battle. Though I fear he is preoccupied at the moment. Why, did you wish to speak with him?"
"No, no. It's something else." Hurry, do it now. She will have to take her leave in a moment.
Brienne's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your Grace, did Robb Stark hurt you in some way? Was he uncouth or forceful?"
"No, gods be good, Lady Brienne. Robb Stark has been nothing but a perfect gentleman towards me. I called you in here for a different reason concerning him." Do it now.
"Your Grace, you may tell me anything, and I swear by the Seven that I shall not betray your confidence, even to the king if you do not wish it," said Brienne.
Just as Margaery was steeling her resolve, there was a thundering of footsteps outside the tent. Brienne moved the flap so they could see. The lords were departing the tent to inform their factions of the battle strategy. Ser Guyard the Green was waving Brienne over. "I apologize, Your Grace. The king needs me. Once the battle is over, I would give you my full attention, this I swear to you."
Margaery smiled. "Go on, Lady Brienne. I dare not keep you from the king. He calls for you, as is his right." Brienne bowed low and hurried into Renly's war tent. Margaery glanced around; Robb was not part of the procession of lords that had just exited Renly's tent. She needed to speak with him. Even though she was not supposed to be in the war tent, Margaery ducked inside and stood beside Loras, who was standing at the entrance. Robb and Renly were seated across from each other, Renly half-armored with Brienne at his side.
"You swear it?" asked Renly.
"By the old gods and the new. I have no interest in the Iron Throne, Your Grace," replied Robb.
Renly looked at him for a second. "Then I see no reason for hostilities between us. You may go on calling yourself King in the North, just as the Martells call themselves prince. The Riverlands are once again completely subject to the Iron Throne. But the North is still tied to the Iron Throne. Perhaps a suzerain kingdom would best fit the North."
"A suzerain kingdom?" Margaery could tell the term confused Robb.
"You govern the North as its king, but any laws passed by the Iron Throne you are still subject to," explained Renly. "Any internal affairs concerning the North are yours to decide, but foreign relations concerning the North such as trade, currency, alliances with the other kingdoms are controlled by the Iron Throne, just like the others."
"So, I would be king in name only," said Robb.
Renly chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "One thing I learned from my years on Robert's Small Council is that it takes more than military instincts to truly be a king. Robert was the best battle commander of his time, defeating the Targaryens and then suppressing the Greyjoys. But he had no interest or aptitude for actually governing the realm. I think that matters such as gold or alliances should be handled by the Iron Throne, handled by experts in such craft. But as for the title and the governing internally of the North, that is all yours." Renly spoke with such skill; Margaery honestly believed his words he had spoke to her when they had first set out from Highgarden with the power of House Tyrell behind them. The crown will suit me, far better than it ever suited Robert and far greater than it would ever suit Stannis.
Renly stood and motioned to Brienne to armor him. "Of course, this is provided you swear me an oath of fealty."
"The wording of the oath?" asked Robb.
"The same one your father swore to my brother eighteen years ago," Renly said shortly. Margaery could tell that Renly was getting edgy, probably due to the upcoming battle. But Renly spoke again, this time more calmly. "Robb, their friendship held the kingdoms together."
"And in return for the oath, you will name me King in the North, correct?" summarized Robb.
"Yes, indeed. I shall destroy my brother's army once we take our leave from this meeting. I am certain that you and your direwolf's legendary combat experience will prove most useful in this coming battle. Stark and Baratheon shall fight their common enemy together, as they have done many times before. Once Stannis is defeated, I shall send you to Riverrun to consolidate your host and attack Harrenhal from the North with all the power of Winterfell and Riverrun behind you. I shall march on Harrenhal from the south with all the power of Storm's End and Highgarden behind me. By that time, I expect Sunspear will have joined us, seeing as we will have defeated Tywin Lannister. So too should the Eyrie, Lady Arryn will want revenge on the Lannisters. Six Great Houses against Casterly Rock and King's Landing? They will have nowhere to run."
"Sunspear…House Martell, they have not yet come to pledge themselves to you?" pondered Robb. "My father mentioned that Dorne has great hatred for the Lannisters."
"The Imp is clever, he has sent Joffrey's younger sister to be betrothed to Prince Doran's youngest son, Trystane," sighed Renly. "No doubt that if the Martells did not loathe the Lannisters, they would have expected support, but a promise of not taking up arms is a start. But once Tywin is dead or captured, they will join us, the winning side." That was clever of the Imp, thought Margaery. Neutralizing a threat before it has a chance to mobilize.
"Your Grace, I have sent word to Lord Balon Greyjoy, offering him a chance to raid the Westerlands without retribution if he allies me with ships. If he should join us with the Iron Fleet, our numbers will be even greater," Robb announced.
Renly didn't look happy. "If it works, then so much the better for us. I have the Redwyne fleet ready to lay siege to King's Landing and ensure the Lannisters cannot escape. But the Greyjoys…I would not trust Balon Greyjoy if I were you, my friend."
"My mother said the same before I came here. But I had need of his ships, and I returned his son and heir Theon to him as a gesture of goodwill."
"As I said, if it works, then I applaud you. Brienne, make sure that my chainmail is proper before you start on the upper armor."
Robb stood up. "Perhaps you can force Stannis to submit, Your Grace. If he wants Storm's End, let him take it whilst you march on Harrenhal. He won't have the men to hold it once you are king, with at least four Great Houses behind you."
Renly laughed. "I envy you, King Robb. You don't have the pain of dealing with annoying elder brothers, who think that just because they were born before you that they are entitled to everything. The best suited should take the crown, not the eldest. Besides, Stannis will never yield or negotiate. You heard him out there, I'd have better luck debating the wind." Renly moved to observe himself in the mirror.
Speaking of the wind, a sudden gust blew into the tent. The torches and candles that lit the war pavilion fluttered. Margaery and Loras turned to see who had entered the war tent. But it was not a who, but a what.
A dark shadow swept into the tent, and Robb and Brienne both saw it. The shadow glided past Robb and Brienne and stopped behind Renly. "Cold," murmured Renly. Suddenly there was a spurt of blood gushing from Renly's chest, right where his heart was. Protruding from the wound was the shadow's hand, made of smoke in the shape of a blade that was not there. Margaery screamed in horror, but Loras and Brienne screamed louder. Loras pushed past all of them and cradled Renly as he fell.
The shadow turned towards Robb and advanced. Robb was still frozen as if he could not quite comprehend what was happening, but at last he tried to back away. The Young Wolf looked bewildered as he fell to the ground, tripping over his own legs as he tried to get away from the kingslaying shadow. "No!" screamed Margaery. "Robb!"
Brienne was faster. She had grabbed a torch from the wall and flung it in desperation at the shadow just before its' smoky dagger stabbed Robb. The torch collided with the shadow, which recoiled and exploded without a sound.
Loras was crying, still holding Renly's body, pleading for him to awaken. But Margaery knew that he would never move again. Suddenly, Ser Guyard burst in, accompanied by two more of Renly's Kingsguard, Ser Emmon Cuy and Ser Robar Royce. Ser Wendel Manderly also was with them. Their eyes fell on the scene, with Brienne covered in Renly's blood and standing over Robb.
"You! You murdered the king! You'll pay for the king's life with your own!" roared Ser Emmon. Both he and Ser Guyard raced forward.
"Loras, do something, say something! You know it wasn't her! Loras!" But Margaery's passionate yells fell on deaf words. Loras still cradled his lover's body, as three of his Sworn Brothers and Sister clashed above him. Brienne had drawn Renly's sword and caught Ser Emmon's axe deftly faster than Margaery would have believed. She slammed the hilt of the sword into his chest and slit his throat before he fell. Ser Guyard thrusted his longsword, despite the close quarters combat. It was a mistake, and Brienne capitalized. She ducked a mighty swing and stabbed the Green Knight in his chest.
"No!" shouted Ser Robar. He had moved over to protect Margaery. He drew his sword, but Robb stood up.
"It was not her, Ser Robar, hear my words and know them to be true. It was some dark magic, a shadow I tell you. A shadow with…"
"The face of Stannis Baratheon," cried Loras, speaking at last. "It was Stannis, I know it."
Ser Robar slightly lowered his sword. "Stannis? How could it be Stannis?"
Robb drew his own sword. "Hear my words as a Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, the King of the North. I would never give you falsities. It was Stannis, not Brienne. The girl loved Renly; she would never raise a sword against him. Take your vengeance on the man who deserves it!"
Ser Robar hesitated, then lowered his sword. "Go. The word of the king's murder will spread, Lady Brienne. You cannot stay here, too many will suspect you. You will be executed. I will buy you some time, but not much. Go!" And the Red Knight fled, shouting to everyone who could hear.
Ser Wendel Manderly moved over to Robb. "Your Grace, we must go. Any hope of an alliance died with Renly Baratheon. We must go too, Your Grace, else we fall in Stannis' hands!"
"He's right, Your Grace," gasped Margaery. The shock was slowly wearing off, but she still could not bring herself to look upon Renly's face. "Stannis will surely come to claim his victory; if you are here, he will put you in irons to force the North and the Riverlands to follow him. You must go! Take Brienne with you and ride hard for the safety of Riverrun!"
For a moment, Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell looked at each other, the blue eyes staring longingly into the brown. Margaery felt like wishing him well on his way home or in the war itself but could not find her voice. Instead, nothing was said as Brienne dashed about, gathering her sword and helm. The moment passed, the King in the North gave a shaky nod, and swept from the tent with Brienne and Ser Wendel in his wake.
Margaery burst outside, where Robb, Brienne, and Ser Wendel had mounted their horses. Around them, Ser Robar was rousing the camp and spreading the word to the Reachmen of the truth of Renly's murder. Margaery felt dread as she looked over at the pavilions of the Storm lords, who knew only that Renly was dead and not the manner of death.
"Grey Wind! To me!" came Robb's battle cry. Faster than Margaery would have believed, the direwolf came bounding out of nowhere. The Young Wolf looked over at her one final time and then yelled. The three riders rode out of the camp heading west. In the break of day, Margaery could just see the top of the nearest hill. It seemed impossible that Robb could have ridden that distance in such a short amount of time, but there was no mistaking the profile of the direwolf that raced alongside him. His two companions' mounts seemed to be struggling to keep up, but Robb Stark and his allies reached the top of the hill and disappeared over the crest.
Margaery did not remember much about the rest of the dawn. She was ushered from tent to tent by her brother and the surviving members of the Kingsguard. When the sun finally shone, the news that Renly was dead was known to every soldier in the camp. The divisive issue was who had killed him. Some of the Storm lords were convinced that Renly had been slain by Robb when Renly refused to allow Northern independence. Others believed Brienne of Tarth killed Renly in Stannis' name.
The Reachmen had heard the truth; Ser Robar had managed to spread the facts fast. As a result, the Reach lords were quickly moving to leave. Lord Tarly, Lady Oakheart, Lord Rowan…they had all already taken their men and were racing for the Reach, beyond the grasp of the kinslaying Stannis. Lord Alester Florent, the Lord of Brightwater Keep and the uncle of Selyse Baratheon, Stannis' wife, was one of the few Reach lords to remain. Margaery's own father Mace was herding his own men west and remained only so for Loras and Margaery.
Renly's body lay in state in his tent, and Loras remained by his side well after the other Reachmen had departed. Eventually, Margaery had to press the issue.
"We need to go home. Loras." But Margaery's words once again fell on deaf ears as the tent flap opened.
"My lord, my lady," came the shifty voice of Petyr Baelish. The Master of Coin had remained behind in the wake of the exodus. Margaery was surprised no one thought to blame him for the murder, but Littlefinger looked at ease as he strolled into the tent.
"Get out," commanded Loras, not taking his eyes off Renly's corpse.
"Stannis will be here in an hour," announced Littlefinger. "When he arrives, Renly's bannermen will flock to him. Your former companions will fight for the privilege of selling you to their new king."
At that, Loras stood. He drew his sword at those words and tore his eyes away from Renly to stare down Littlefinger. "And you want that privilege for yourself," accused the Knight of Flowers.
"You will note that I am standing here talking to you, not Stannis," replied Littlefinger drily.
"There's no time for this," pleaded Margaery, taking his arm. She knew that Stannis Baratheon was not a man to be taken lightly. The previous night's events had enforced that notion more strongly than ever. They needed to go. I will not bear it if that man kills you too, sweet brother. Please come with me and Father.
But the enraged Loras shook her off. "Ride back to Highgarden, sister. I am not running from Stannis!"
Margaery tried again. "Stannis murdered Renly, him and that Red Woman. But the storm lords will join him. He is the last Baratheon; they are bound to join him without Renly. You cannot fight them all."
"Who gained the most from our king's death?" growled Loras.
"Stannis," replied Littlefinger.
"I saw him, I saw his shadow with my own eyes, as did you. Those storm lords will sing lies to Stannis to get on his good side, but he will not fool me! I will put a sword through his righteous face!"
Loras once again kneeled at Renly's side, the anger once again giving way to grief. "He would have been a good king. A true king." Margaery could see the tears once again starting to form in his eyes.
"Tell me, Ser Loras," said Littlefinger. "What do you desire most in this world?"
"Revenge." The answer came so readily that Margaery knew that Littlefinger had won.
"I have always found that to be the purest of motivations. But you won't have a chance to put your sword through Stannis. Not today. You'll be cut to pieces before he sets foot on solid ground. If it is justice that you want…be smart about it." He is playing my grieving brother like a musical instrument, and I cannot stop him.
"You can't avenge him from the grave," noted Margaery. No matter what she said, it would play into Littlefinger's hands. At the moment, he held all the power. "Bring the horses. Please." Margaery stroked his hair, trying to convey her empathy for her beloved brother. At last, Loras stood, took one last lingering look at his lover's corpse and hurried out of the tent, not looking at Littlefinger.
Margaery herself gazed at Renly, grieving for the king, not the husband he was. She found herself thinking of Robb again. If you prefer to be by the side of a king, why not take pleasure with Robb Stark, the King in the North? Renly had suggested it himself, thinking of her happiness rather than his in that moment. Good kings thought of others' happiness as well as their own.
And Renly's thought was not a bad one. Margaery had definitely felt something for him. But by now the King in the North was well on his way back to Riverrun. The odds were not great that they would meet again.
But at the moment, she had to play the part of grieving widow for Renly. Thinking of another would cast suspicion on her. "He was very handsome," she remarked to Littlefinger, who had remained in the tent.
"He was, Your Grace."
"Your Grace. Calling yourself king does not make you one, and if Renly wasn't a king, I wasn't a queen." Margaery was well aware of Littlefinger's panache for turning weaknesses against someone, but at the moment, she felt like talking to someone, even someone with a reputation as despicable as Littlefinger.
"Do you want to be a queen?" asked Littlefinger softly.
"No. I want to be the queen," answered Margaery. I want to be the queen. I want to have the power to save those who deserve mercy and justice. A queen does not have that, only the queen does.
She looked back at Littlefinger, who maintained a passive face. Grandmother always says that to confuse an enemy, make them think you are agreeing with them. Margaery allowed the tiniest of smiles to curve her lips. It worked, as Littlefinger nodded.
"You want to be the queen, and your brother wants revenge. I can give you that. Stannis Baratheon has stolen your future from you. He will sail to take the Iron Throne. I can help you achieve your dream and help your brother quell his bloodlust. To stop a man willing to resort to such tactics as blood magic and kinslaying like Stannis Baratheon, you must fight back head on. He must…Hear You Roar."
Margaery took a final glance at Renly's corpse. She was suddenly glad that Robb was not here; she couldn't bear to look at his face with what her family was about to do, what she was about to do. She understood Littlefinger's plan all too well. The Tyrells would get vengeance upon Stannis for robbing them of Renly, who made her queen. She herself would be queen. But the price was very, very high.
And what was worse, Margaery had no say in the matter. Her fate was sealed, and if she ever came across Robb Stark again, she would have to stand by while her family tried to kill him.
"My father will want to speak with you and learn more about this, Lord Baelish," smiled Margaery, playing the part she was expected to. As they departed, Margaery tried to internally bury any feelings she may have had for the Young Wolf deep down. It was a desire she could never fulfill, even if she wanted to.
Thanks for reading! Fav, Follow, and Review! Also, as always, I don't own these characters.
