Chapter 14: Mother, Maiden, Crone
Margaery Tyrell was even more beautiful than ever that day.
Her gown was absolutely spectacular: it was made of emerald silk with golden embroideries, with a long train that trailed behind her. Golden roses were sewn on the train and the back of her skirts, up to the small of her back. The gown was tight around the waist and had a rather low cut, bringing out Margaery's cleavage. Sansa thought that it looked a bit like her own wedding gown, but more splendid, more outrageous, less demure.
Like Sansa had the day of her wedding to Loras, Margaery wore a necklace heavy with gold and emeralds, with matching earrings and a matching bracelet. Her hair was styled in a rather elaborated way, held by a golden hair pin with an ornamented rose. On her shoulders, she wore a cloak much like the one Loras had given to Sansa, heavy green velvet with golden roses embroidered on the rich fabric. She was beaming as her father led her through the sept, towards the septon and her soon-to-be husband, who awaited her with a Ryswell cloak carefully folded in his arms and a smile on his lips.
"She's so beautiful," Jennisei whispered to Sansa when Mace walked past them with his daughter.
"She is," Sansa agreed in a murmur.
"That gown's more magnificent than the two others put together," Olenna noted. "Our Lord Oaf is sending a message."
Mace left her in front of the septon and next to Roger to stand with his mother, son and daughter-in-law as the septon's voice rose:
"You may cloak the bride," he said towards Roger, "And bring her under your protection."
Margaery moved slightly, turning her back on him so that he may switch the cloaks: Lord Roger's hands quickly unclasped the golden rose, removed the Tyrell cloak, and replaced it with his own. The new cloak was deep orange, with a stylized horse's head, that was black with a fiery red mane, and its clasp was copper with onyxes set in.
"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of Roger of House Ryswell to Margaery of House Tyrell: one heart, one flesh, one soul."
Roger and Margaery extended their hands put together so that the septon may tie the golden ribbon around them.
"I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one. Now," he said, looking at the soon-to-be wed couple, "Look upon each others, and say the words."
Roger and Margaery turned slightly so that they may be able to look into each others' eyes as they said their vows together:
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," Margaery said, "I am his, and he is mine, from this day to the end of my days."
Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," Roger said in unison, "I am hers, and she is mine, from this day to the end of my days."
"By the powers vested upon me," the septon said, "I declare Roger of House Ryswell and Margaery of House Tyrell to be man and wife: cursed be the one who would try to set them asunder."
Roger gently cupped Margaery's face with his hands.
"With this kiss I seal our vows, and pledge my love to you. You shall be my lady, from this day to the end of my days."
Applause rose in the sept as he leaned in to kiss his new bride.
"Hopefully this one lasts longer than the two others," Olenna whispered, a smirk curving her lips.
"Grandmother!"
"Loras," the old lady replied, "This is her third wedding. Weddings are expensive, tedious, and there is a lot of unnecessary eating. If we have to witness your father giving her away to another husband, we'll crumble under debts, I will die of boredom, and you will grow fatter than your father, and I doubt your own wife would be happy with that."
I don't think Sansa cares whether I grow fat or not, Loras reflected. After what she has seen, she must be disgusted of me all the same. Ever since that day, he dared not touch her, for fear that she would refuse him - or worse, comply despite being repulsed. She no longer seemed to long for his touch, as well: before that incident happened, she would almost ask him, with or without words, to hold her as they slept, but ever since that day his lady wife had slept tight on her side of the bed, making no attempt to be in his arms anymore.
Loras was forced out of his gloomy thoughts when he saw that it was his turn: he was the third person to congratulate the new couple, seeing them only after his father and Lord Ryswell.
"Congratulations, sweet sister."
He kissed her forehead and she smiled to him, thanking him, and suddenly Loras was thrown a lifetime ago, when she had wed Renly. He was sure that she was beautiful that day, but he could not remember even if he tried: that day, he only saw Renly, clad in gold and green, with his stag crown, handsome as always. We sneaked out of the feast together, he remembered. And she knew all along what we were doing - she's too clever, how did we think that we could fool her? He went on to politely congratulate Roger, nonetheless giving him the obligatory I-will-gut-you-if-you-harm-my-sister glance, before taking his leave and letting the rest of the Tyrells and Ryswells speak to the newly wed couple.
"She looks so happy," Sansa commented after she had given her best wishes to her sister-in-law and her new husband.
As you did when I married you, and until I ruined it, he almost answered,but he kept the thought to himself. Lately Sansa had reminded him more of the sad young lady he had first seen in King's Landing than of the happy young woman she had been in Highgarden, and he had no one to blame for this but himself.
"Yes, she does," he replied. "As does he."
I will need to know what the Ryswells truly gain from this. It doesn't make sense that they would betray their overlords for the promise of Margaery's maidenhead - I must ask Father what he promised them, so that I at least know what to expect from them if Sansa and I truly are to rule the North.
The feast that followed was absolutely grandiose: mummers, delicious wines from the Arbor, and more food than the guests could eat in a week. If I know my sister well, Loras thought, the children at the orphanage are going to have delicious meals in the days to come. Then came the music, and the dancing, and everything was just like her wedding to Renly, or his wedding to Sansa, up until late in the evening, when Mace Tyrell rose from his seat and tapped his cup with his fork several times to draw the crowd's attention on the table of honor where he had spent the whole evening, save for the very first dance where he had danced with his wife.
"Vows were exchanged," he said, "Things were promised, and my daughter has been wrapped in a Ryswell cloak, but we all know that my sweet Margaery won't be Lady Ryswell so long as she's maiden. My lords, my ladies, it is getting late, and the wedding needs a bedding, what do you say?"
His proposition was met with cheers and whistles from men, and giggles from women, who were already pulling Roger Ryswell's clothes to force him on his feet.
"Careful, ladies," Sansa heard him warn them as they led him away, "Leave some for my bride!"
The warning was met with laughter: Sansa, whose big belly dispensed her from dragging the new groom around the castle, had a faint smile and turned her eyes to Margaery, who was being lifted in the air by the men, laughing as one of them gave the splendid gown a yank.
"She takes it better than I did, it would seem," Sansa noted.
"Yes," Margaery's mother, said with a smile. "Margaery has always known how to endure with grace, and smile her way through difficult ordeals."
To Sansa's left, Olenna rolled her eyes.
"Seven hells, Alerie, must you overstate everything? She is getting bedded, not sentenced to death."
Margaery had been put down to the floor, and she was still laughing as the men pulled her towards her bedchambers. When they reached the door, she was naked as her nameday, and Loras himself lifted her in his arms: she smiled at him and threw her arms around his neck, paying no mind to the man who removed her shoes.
"This better be the last time you must carry me to my wedding bed," she whispered as he led her.
"Agreed," he whispered back, laying her carefully on the soft pillows. "But if he harms you," he added, his voice so low that no one but Margaery could hear him, "I will kill him."
Margaery gave his hand a squeeze as the men in the door frame moved aside to let the women drag Roger in, and in less than thirty seconds everyone but the bride and her new husband had left the room. Margaery leaned on her side, her eyes on Roger, doing no effort whatsoever to hide her naked body. She studied him in silence, his sharp face, his strong jawline, his muscles and scars, his erected manhood, his steel grey eyes: not as handsome as Renly had been, but there was still a strength within him, and there was a beauty to that strength. All men are beautiful in their own way, her Septa had once told her, You will not choose the man you gift with your maidenhead, but you will choose the way you see him. Find his beauty, and cling to that. She smiled warmly to him.
"Won't you join me, my lord?" she offered.
The proposition seemed to both please him and raise his suspicions: she arched an eyebrow when she noticed it.
"What?" the brunette asked. "Do I seem too wanton for my lord? Would you rather have a timid bride?"
She covered her round breasts and womanhood with her hands, her eyes teasing him.
"Would you rather I try to hide my body and shy away from your eyes? I am not ashamed of you seeing me, but I can pretend, if you would prefer that."
He took a step towards her and the bed, but the frown would not leave his face.
"Are you sure you're still a maid?" he asked.
"I believe I, of all people, would know if I had failed to preserve my maidenhead," she replied, getting on her feet.
She gently touched his hand.
"I've been a maiden for longer than I should have been," she continued, leading his hand towards her breast, "And now my maiden's gift is yours - aren't you eager to claim it?"
Margaery gasped when he pushed her against his body with a hand to the small of her back, leaning in to kiss her: she gladly accepted his fierce kiss, tilting her head back. When he broke the kiss, his mouth carried on to give attention to her firm breasts, and she felt goosebumps all over her body as he kissed, licked and sucked on the sensitive skin: before long, they fell on the bed, Margaery's body pressed between her husband's and the softness of her bed.
As he leaned in again to kiss her passionately, her fingers burying themselves in his dark hair, she felt his hands running along her pale thighs, briefly stopping behind her knees to re-position her lower body: she felt his hardness brushing against her, and as they touched, Roger broke their kiss to dig his eyes into hers. Her blue eyes widened as he entered her with a pleasured groan, and the brief pain caused her to close her eyes tightly shut for a short moment. She re-opened them when his hand touched her cheek, and he kissed her again, fiercely claiming her tongue as he began thrusting into her. She moaned against his mouth, and when he pulled back from her lips and increased the pace, her pleasured sighs filled the room: it was not long until he leaned in, burying his face in her chocolate hair as his pleasure reached its paroxysm.
He barely had the time to lay on his back before she climbed onto him, a smirk on her lips.
"Again," she purred to his ear, lightly nibbling the lobe.
She laughed when he flipped her on her back and kissed her.