DraekonGreycloak: What the Princess of Dorne doesn't know won't hurt her.
Mikle Silver: Well what ever happens Baelish is going to be able to use in his favour, he's that slimy a bastard. Also, I think people make their Black Princes just a little too invincible when it comes to war. Given they're always mid teens you would have thought running through rivers of blood would have some king of adverse affect on them, but they always come out unfazed.
greenstripe: The fight is certain no matter what, only the outcome remains the mystery
Saint River: Given people were drawing down to that Bruce was just a sore loser, I felt I needed to do quite an in-depth explanation as to why this wasn't so much the case.
raidensokwl: grief does strange things to good people
Purple Wedding – Part 1
"I'm gonna be sick." Four little words, Bruce never thought to hear at such a perfect moment. And none more likely to ruin such a perfect moment, he thought, as his hips stopped their movement instantaneously once they heard the words uttered by the woman beneath him.
Bruce looked down at the sweat slickened back that belonged to the Princess of Dorne. Her beautiful olive toned skin so soft against his skin, the long black hair shinning in the early morning sun as it cradled her head and shoulders as they rested on the feather stuffed pillows.
The sight made Bruce's manhood twitch within Arianne and forced Bruce to fight against the urge to go on thrusting into her. "Should I hurry up or fetch a bucket?" Asked the Young Lion finally. The head of his wife shot up from the pillow and turned at an angle so that the Princess of Dorne might glare at her husband.
If the glare did not prove to be enough motivation for the Crown Prince, the ever so slight pulse he saw in the throat of the Princess of Dorne gave him a great enough inkling to pull out. He groaned as his cock left behind the warm, wetness that so well suited it but yelped at the speed of which Arianne took off from the bed.
A growl rippled through his throat when he heard the wrenching of sick onto the chamber pot. Spreading eagle across the bed, Bruce looked to Arianne as she puked her guts up. The warm furs and soft silks that adorned the bed and surrounding floor, when met with the cool morning air of King's Landing, made goose bumps ripple across his body. Most days Bruce and his wife were warranted much of the early morning to themselves, yet today this would not be the case.
The long awaited Royal Wedding was here; and a long day for all I the Red Keep was planned. Bruce didn't mind so much, as he would normally spend most of his mornings, after breakfast, in his solar going over adjustments to the City Watch papers, or going over armament plans for the city and the Keep. In recent days Bruce had become aware of a sharp increase in his work papers, and he was no fool to the reason why. They all mean to have me pinned up where ever they can, so they can ensure Tyrell and I aren't likely to meet.
Everyone had come to him to talk him out of what would take place today; mother, Jaime, Tyrion, grandfather, Varys, Arianne given him warnings and discourage him a little but never said a definitive "no", as though that would stop him. At one point they had even tried to have little Tommen try and convince him. Whose clover idea had that been, Bruce wondered, Mother's no doubt, sounded like the kind of method she would use,
Once the contents of Arianne's stomach had been emptied and her soft foot falls began to approach the bed, Bruce sat upright and shifted to the edge of their bed. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled Arianne close, while the Young Lion's head nestled into her breasts. Likewise Arianne snaked her own arms around his head and hugged him close.
"That's the third day you've been sick." Bruce stated truthfully, "you ought to see a maester." The Princess of Dorne scratched at her lion's scalp, as the other hand combed through the neck length hair. "I need no maester." Said Arianne. "It's all this wine you ply me full of. Too weak, sweet and watery." Bruce smiled against his wife's teat. She was good at giving excuses, yesterday it had been the food and the day before the water.
Bruce looked up at his princess to look at her in her big, black eyes while his hand reached up and felt her forehead. He frowned at the heat that radiated from his wife's brow. "You're burning up." He said, standing up make room on the bed for her. "Come, you should rest." Arianne gave him a light punch against his chest. "No. I will not, what will people say if I do not show my face today?"
With the corners of his mouth up turned, Bruce pecked a kiss to his wife's lips, paying no mind to the slight taste of bile on them. "You care too much about what people think of you." He told the Princess, "I'll be sure that it is known why you are not at breakfast. Lie down, get some rest. I'll come check on you later and if you are feeling better by the time we are to go to the Sept of Baelor you can come."
If Arianne was not as pale faced as she felt, she would put up a fight about it but she grudgingly accepted the conditions offered and crawled beneath the furs and silks. Giving a final kiss to his wife, and even going as far as to tuck the sheets in around her, Bruce left to dress for the day.
Upon his return to the bed, in a new red and gold doublet, high black boots and his lion skin draped around his shoulders, he found Princess Arianne fast asleep beneath the bed clothes. Bruce smiled at the sleeping beauty and left for the Queen's Ballroom where the Lannisters and the Tyrell men (the Tyrell women would be breaking their fast with Margaery) and a hundred odd knights and lordlings were taking their breakfast.
Bruce broke his fast with both his uncles as they had done many times, long before the war, though this time they were having to cope with the new addition of Sansa Stark. The Stark maid was far paler than she had right to be, Bruce thought that perhaps she too was ill or mayhaps her moon blood was upon her. Had she not been sitting opposite him, the Lion with Antlers may have murmured a question of why to his uncle.
They feasted upon on honeycakes, gammon steaks, bacon, fish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. "Nothing like a hearty breakfast to whet one's appetite for the seventy-seven-course feast to follow," Tyrion commented as their plates were filled. There were flagons of milk and flagons of mead and flagons of a light sweet golden wine to wash it down. Musicians strolled among the tables, piping and fluting and fiddling, while Dontos the Red galloped about on a broomstick horse and made farting sounds with his cheeks and sang rude songs about the guests.
Tyrion scarce touched his food, Bruce noticed, as did Jaime, though the Imp drank several cups of the wine. For himself, Bruce ate heartily and drank moderately for a change, he would drink plenty tonight though, once Ser Loras' head vanished from his head. Sansa Stark only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Bruce would have sworn he caught her looking over the dais where Joffrey cast a dark look over to her. At the look the Stark girl shivered and went back to her plate, the poor girl.
It was then the Prince of Dorne approached the table, his viper eyes gleaming. "My Lords, Lady. Forgive me, dear Bruce, but I don't spy my niece amongst your numbers or mine own. Pray tell, where has she vanished to?" Jaime and the Imp both looked to Bruce expectantly, only having just noticed the absence of their nephew's wife.
"Fear not, Prince Oberyn. My wife did not feel well this morning and has remained in bed for the morning, until we depart for the Sept of Baelor." The Red Viper's eyes shifted suspiciously over the Young Lion. "Did you think to send for a maester?" asked Oberyn of his niece's husband.
Bruce nodded firmly. "I did. However, she was inclined not accept the offer." The Prince of Dorne nodded expectantly. "Very well I shall have my own maester go and examine her after breakfast." He then bowed to them, "I look forward to seeing in the melee, nephew." Added Oberyn as he slithered away from them. I don't, thought Bruce
When the food had been cleared away, the queen solemnly presented Joff with the wife's cloak that he would drape over Margaery's shoulders. "It is the cloak I donned when Robert took me for his queen, the same cloak my mother Lady Joanna wore when wed to my lord father." Good of mother to save that for Joffrey and not me, I have the full Lannister name after all.
Then it was time for gifts. It was traditional in the Reach to give presents to bride and groom on the morning of their wedding; on the morrow they would receive more presents as a couple, but today's tokens were for their separate persons.
Bruce gifted his brother a great crossbow of golden wood and quiver of long arrows fletched with green and scarlet feathers, from their uncle Jaime a pair of supple riding boots, a red gold brooch wrought in the shape of a scorpion from Prince Oberyn, silver spurs from Ser Addam Marbrand, a red silk tourney pavilion from Lord Mathis Rowan.
Lord Paxter Redwyne brought forth a beautiful wooden model of the war galley of two hundred oars being built even now on the Arbor. "If it please Your Grace, she will be called King Joffrey's Valor," he said, and Joff allowed that he was very pleased indeed. "I will make it my flagship when I sail to Pyke to kill the squid traitor, Balon Greyjoy. As my father should have done." he said.
He plays the gracious king today. Joffrey could be gallant when it suited him, Bruce knew, but it seemed to suit him less and less. Indeed, all his courtesy vanished at once when Tyrion presented him with the gift from him and his wife: a huge old book called Lives of Four Kings, bound in leather and gorgeously illuminated. The king leafed through it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?"
A book. Bruce wondered if Joffrey was at all capable of reading without having someone do it for him. "Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," answered his smallest uncle.
"A book every king should read, Your Grace," said Bruce in his uncle's defence. That book had been Tyrion's final triumph in getting Bruce to learn to read, all those years ago. Tyrion had had Bruce read through his entire collection of books, from the worst poetry of the Vale to the entire history of Casterly Rock to the legends and exploits of all the Kingsguard.
The Lives of Four Kings had been the final book Bruce had to read before Tyrion was done with him. He was somewhat grateful for having read it at least, it had helped in the early years with Lord Tywin, more than just being able to read and write would have.
"My father had no time for books." Joffrey shoved the tome across the table. "If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now." He laughed . . . and when the king laughs, the court laughs with him. "Don't be sad, Sansa, once I've gotten Queen Margaery with child I'll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it's done." Bruce rolled his eyes and the Stark girl reddened viciously. She glanced nervously at Tyrion, afraid of what he might say. This could turn as nasty as the bedding had at their own feast. But for once the dwarf filled his mouth with wine instead of words. Pity, mused Bruce afterward.
Lord Mace Tyrell came forward to present his gift: a golden chalice three feet tall, with two ornate curved handles and seven faces glittering with gemstones. "Seven faces for Your Grace's seven kingdoms," the bride's father explained. He showed them how each face bore the sigil of one of the great houses: ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and pearl direwolf.
"A splendid cup," said Joffrey, "but we'll need to chip the wolf off and put a squid in its place, I think." Smirking, Bruce wondered if Joffrey might face Robb Stark before his trial and he hoped that Robb might strangle the bastard with his chains. "Margaery and I shall drink deep at the feast, good father." Joffrey lifted the chalice above his head, for everyone to admire.
"The damned thing's as tall as I am," Tyrion muttered in a low voice. "Half a chalice and Joff will be falling down drunk." Good, they all thought. Perhaps he'll break his neck.
Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes, she saw. The ballroom fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the sword above his head. Red and black ripples in the steel shimmered in the morning light.
"Magnificent," declared Mathis Rowan.
"A sword to sing of, sire," said Lord Redwyne.
"A king's sword," said Ser Jaime Lannister making Bruce snort, he was more interested in where his grandfather had bought so much Valyrian steel. Bruce poked his uncle beside him. "Did you know anything about this?" Tyrion nodded. "He got it from Lord Tarly, or the steel at least. Part of our peace treaty after the Battle of The Rush, plus a few extra hundred thousand dragons."
That took Bruce off guard. Lord Tywin had been in search on a Valyrian blade long before he or Joffrey were born, to no success. High Lords would gladly flog away their daughters at the scarce hint of the name Lannister, but their old swords were kept locked down tight. It also struck Bruce as odd his grandfather had not simply asked him for Ice, though perhaps he meant for it to go North with Tyrion, and his inevitable son. It might do him so favour up there, but the thought of the dwarf wielding Ned Stark's ancestral greatsword was laughable. Or if not that, perhaps Varys was good enough not to divulge the contents of the Crown Prince's bedchambers.
King Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right then and there, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed. "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?" Heartsbane had been the original name for it, no doubt Joffrey would come up with something far more obnoxious.
The guests were shouting out names for the new blade. "Antler!" "Lion's Claw!" "Storm Bringer!" "Wolfsbane!" Hardy that original, Bruce thought as he caught the wicked look Tyrion gave him. He smiled back and shouted, "Bollock Biter!" A ripple of laughter went out through the hall. "Not your best." Commented ser Jaime. Bruce laughed, as more names were called out, "Because you can do so much better."
Joff dismissed a dozen more before he heard one he liked. "Widow's Wail!" he cried. "Yes! It shall make many a widow, too!" He slashed again. Joff tried a downcut, forcing Ser Balon Swann to take a hasty step backward from the dais. Laughter rang through the hall at the look on Ser Balon's face.
"Have a care, Your Grace," Ser Addam Marbrand warned the king. "Valyrian steel is perilously sharp." Joffrey brought Widow's Wail down in a savage two-handed slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. "Sharp! I am no stranger to Valyrian steel." It took him half a dozen further cuts to hack the thick tome apart, and the boy was breathless by the time he was done.
Jaime shook his head in disappointment at the poor quality of Joffrey's swordplay, while Tyrion writhed in his fury. Bruce was hardly surprised, Joff cared about learning something as much as Bruce cared for shaving. Ser Osmund Kettleblack shouted, "I pray you never turn that wicked edge on me, sire." Joff turned and pointed it at the white knight.
"See that you never give me cause, ser." Joffrey flicked a chunk of Lives of Four Kings off the table at sword point, then slid Widow's Wail back into its scabbard. "Your Grace," Lord Tywin said, evidentially disapproving of his grandson's actions. "Perhaps you did not know. In all of Westeros there were but four copies of that book illuminated in Kaeth's own hand."
"Now there are three." Joffrey undid his old sword belt to don his new one. "You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces." Tyrion was staring at his eldest nephew with his mismatched eyes.
"Perhaps a shield, sire. To match your new sword. You might have need of one in your tournament, today." Bruce couldn't help the bark of laughter he gave. Joff threw him a sharp look. "You... I… What?!" Tyrion was through his lip to hold back his own laughter. "Surely, your grace, you are taking part in the battles to come. A great king acts boldly, I recall. What greater boldness is there if not from the glory of a tournament?"
The King's face was red enough to match the cloak he would place around Margaery's shoulders, as he floundered in open water for a retort. "A king does not need to take part in tourneys." Declared the Queen Regent. "Especially on his wedding day." A quiet mummer of half approval and disagreement went about the hall. "As you wish, Your Grace." Tyrion drank another cup of wine, and so was the end to that.
Bruce fell in next to Jaime as they all departed the hall, pulling the lion's head firm atop his own. "A pity about the book." Said the elder Lannister. Bruce just shrugged, "It was Joffrey's book. He might have learned a thing or two if he'd read it. Though maybe Tyrion should have known better."
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard seemed distracted. "Has… has Lady Margaery spoken to you at all?" Bruce hoped Jaime didn't see him stiffen at the question, or the name of today's bride, and raised an eyebrow. "Margaery? No… why?" It was Jaime's turn to stiffen now. "Oh! Nothing… just… I thought given… you and her were-" Bruce cleared his throat loudly as the Red Viper glided passed them to join Tyrion, Ellaria Sand on his arm.
Once Prince Oberyn had gone well out of ear shot Bruce turned to his uncle, but before he could say a word he was interrupted again. A brown haired serving boy approached the two and bowed deeply to Bruce. "Lady Margaery is wanting a word with you, M'lord." A word? Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Why? What does she wish to discuss?"
The lad, who looked to be not much older than Tommen, shrugged at him. "Didn't say, ser. I only come here for you." From beside him, Ser Jaime gave a, "Hmmm? Best not keep a bride waiting on her wedding day, Bruce. You'd best go." The Young Lion narrowed his eyes at the older one. Something was up. Jaime was after something, or waiting for it at least.
To anyone else Bruce may have refused. But Margaery? He could so much refuse her now. New bride, new sister, new queen or old lover, it made no difference. Bruce would have to see her. He growled a little protest at the boy, but relented. "Very well. Take me to your mistress."
The serving boy led Bruce to the Maidenvault. Whereas the Tyrell was typically strong and highly noticeable, now it was distinctly lacking. Only the twin guards of Lady Olenna stood vigil outside the hall's giant wooden door. "Erryk. Arryk." Bruce gave them both stern nods, not entirely sure which was which. They both nodded back and pushed the heavy doors open.
Inside the hall was along table aligned with chairs and tables with the ladies of the Tyrell household sat around. Their breakfast had been cleared away and the tables were laid bare, leaving little to no distraction to stop the hundred or so eyes staring at Bruce. Some glared daggers. Others swooned at the sight of him. One or two, like Lady Olenna, gave an expectant glance up to Margaery.
The woman the Lion with Antlers had come to speak with was not seated. Instead, she was stood by the great hearth in the centre of the wall away from the table, facing away from them. Behind him, Bruce heard the twins enter with one on either side of himself. Instinctively, his hand curled around his waist but when there was no sword to grab at he cursed himself. If I'd have known I was going to be murdered by women today I wouldn't have had my sword sent to the melee field last night.
With a straight fight out of the question, Bruce opted for a more diplomatic approach. He pulled his lion head off of his brow and bowed to the all. "My Ladies. I believe I was summoned by my brother's wife." A murmur went through a few of them, clearly not all privy to the reason for the Crown Prince's summons.
"She's not his wife yet, Princeling." Stated Lady Olenna, stiffly. They all heard the sigh Margaery gave. "Give us the room." She said at last. A more fervent bout of whispering went out from the women, but Lady Olenna spoke up for her granddaughter. "Lord Lannister wishes to speak with our Lady at last time before they are brother and sister. We should respect their privacy."
Margaery's mother gave a flustered protest. "Mother! I do not think it will not be suitable to leave this boy alone with Margaery." The argument was a frail one, as the Queen of Thorns was already on her feet with much the rest of the Reach women. "Hush, Alerie." Spat the old woman, "don't take that tone with me. And don't call me Mother. If I'd given birth to you, I'm sure I'd remember. I'm only to blame for your husband, the lord oaf of Highgarden. Come the lot of you, there's more than enough gossip to be had elsewhere." As expected all the lambs followed their shepherd.
All the women filled out of the room through the heavy bronze doors. One or two them, who knew no better, gave him a sly smile and brushed their hips against his as they left. The final one to leave was Lady Olenna herself, who stopped in front the Young Lion to look him up and down.
Bruce did the same to the short, wizened old woman. Her soft, spotted hands resting upon her cane and her breathing came from out of her toothless mouth. She was deaf now, or so the woman claimed. When Bruce had first met Lord Tyrell's mother she had sharper hearing than he had thought possible. More fox like than rose was Lady Olenna.
The old woman turned from Bruce and looked back over to her granddaughter, who still faced the unlit fire. She smiled at the back of Margaery's head and shouted, "Left! Right! Come help me to my room." The twins obeyed the old woman and moved her from the hall, leaving the younger ones more alone than they had right to be. "A fearsome old harridan," Willas Tyrell had told him of his grandmother once. And not near as frail as she pretends, added Bruce.
Only after Left and Right had closed the doors after themselves did Bruce step further into the room. His high leather boots clicked off the stone floor as he approached the Flower of Highgarden. Margaery was not yet dressed for her wedding, she still had a good few hours before the Sept to ready yet. She wore the green and gold silks that was she was custom to with her hair in its normal thick, curling style going down her back and shoulders.
Once he was just out of arms reach he bowed to her. "Your Grace, you sent for me." Bruce said as he straightened his back. She sighed again. "You don't need to call me that." Declared Margaery firmly, "not yet anyway." Bruce gave a shrug of his shoulders and smiled. "I think I should get the practice in early. To avoid any accidental break in protocol once you are queen."
She turned to face him then, eyes soft and loving. "Do you think I will be a good queen?" A foolish question to ask me, felt the Young Lion, no-ones more like to be bias. "Yes," he answered truthfully, "You've wanted this too much not be good at it." The smile she offered him was one he missed seeing. "Thank you, Bruce." Her smile wavered a little, "it's been a while since we've spoken like this." Bruce nodded, "We've both been busy people. I doubt a Royal Wedding gives a bride much time to talk to her good brother."
"And if I don't want to talk to you as my good brother?" His eye brow shot up at the question, this could be dangerous territory. "Well I can't think of any other way you would talk to me." He lied, and took a step back from her as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Does… Does she make you happy? The Dornish girl?" Bruce swallowed the hard lump in his throat and nodded. "Very much so."
Margaery smiled at him again. "Good… good… I want you to be happy. You do know that, don't you?" His jaw clenched at her words and Bruce felt something squeeze at his heart. "I do. And I want you to be happy as well." Her face turned sadder than the Young Lion felt she could, it made him turn mournful also.
"If I wasn't getting married today," He knew immediately what she was about to ask, and he prayed to the old gods and the new she wouldn't, "Would you leave her and come to me? If I asked you to?" Bruce felt as though he would be torn into from within. "Don't make me answer that." He begged her. "Why?" She sounded more curious than hurt, which made him a little grateful.
"Because even I don't know the real answer." His response made her lips tighten, so he elaborated. "If Arianne was to ask me, I would say her. With you I'd say you. If your brothers or my uncle Jaime asked, I'd say you again. But if my mother, Tommen, Myrcella or my uncle Tyrion asked I'd say Arianne again. Yet make the whole scenario real? I'd have to open my throat before I'd have to make the choice."
"It must be nice to be in love with two people." She said mockingly, though without scorn. Bruce smiled at her. "It's bloody agony. I certainly wouldn't recommend it." Perhaps her laughter would make the pain in his heart stop. Margaery, alas, was not inclined to laugh as much as he would have hoped.
"Given that you love me enough to kill yourself for me," Bruce didn't appreciate the slight twist in his words, "would you do me a final favour?" The Young Lion nodded quickly, "Name it and I'll do it." Margaery laced her fingers together along her stomach and chew at her bottom lip a little. "Spare Loras."
"No."
The growl he gave with words surprised him, though he did not care to think on it. He didn't even need to think on the answer before the word had come from his mouth. Almost half a year's waiting and planning had gone into Bruce's vengeance over the Knight of Flowers, he would not surrender it now that it was so close. Not for anyone, let alone his brother's wife. She's not his wife yet, chimed a small voice at the back of his head.
"Why?" Pleaded the Tyrell girl, stepping close to him with one short stride. "It's justice." Said Bruce plainly. Margaery's face contorted into a look of bewilderment. "Justice?!" She shouted, "For what?" He snarled at her words and felt a burning in his eye. "You know why. Or do you think I wear this to keep my face warm." He tugged a little on the scarlet cloth wrapped around his head.
Margaery shook her head. "Loras is not to blame for that. You know how he felt for Renly, and when he saw what you did to him…" "He cut out my eye." Bruce finished, "It would have been kinder to kill me, than leave me half blind! Have you heard what the smallfolk whisper of me? They call me the Lion to my face but whisper Kingslayer, kinslayer and Bruce the Blind when my back is turned. Your brother will not go unpunished, you should be glad I have not exchange your blood for his own."
The Tyrell girl was horrified by his words. This was a stranger to her. Madden by grief and revenge, just as the Imp had told her. "You are changed, Bruce. This is not who you are at heart. Where is the boy who loved me in Highgarden? Who promised me not to wed anyone less it was me? The one whom I love?"
The Lion's face grew dark with anger. "Don't pretend, now, that you would love me more than being queen. I know that Loras has put you up to this. He would have you make me spare him on the battlefield, then once my back is turned he push his sword through my heart. You are a fool to think that I would choose to spare him, just because you love him more than-"
CRACK!
The slap she gave across his cheek rounded its echo across the marble walls of the Maidenvault. Bruce's cheek was burning now as well as his eye. His blood boiled and his fists shook in rage at the woman he loved. Like a flash of summer lightening, the Lion rounded on Margaery his own hand raised.
Rather than shy away, the Flower of Highgarden stepped up to the challenge. "DO IT THEN!" She shouted in his face, "PROVE HOW MUCH LIKE JOFFREY YOU ARE!" The words halted Bruce whether he wanted to or not. "I am not Joffrey." Spat the Crown Prince, his arm lowering. "Not yet you're not, but how long do you have."
It was then Bruce realised the tears falling from Margaery's eyes and down her cheeks. The tears stung Bruce twice as much as the words or slap ever could, the sight made his heart break. His hand trailed up the narrow space between them and brushed the falling tears away from Margaery's face. "No bride should cry on her wedding day." Said the Lion.
Margaery fell into his arms and wept against his chest. Bruce lowered his head and kissed the top of Margaery's. "I'm sorry." He said meekly "I didn't mean to… to do that." Tears pricked at his own eyes now. The girl sniffed against his chest. "My sweet Bruce," she murmured, "What has the world done to you?" Killed me or as good as, thought the Young Lion, a knot wedge in is throat.
After a long while, they parted from the embrace. "I won't kill Loras," resolved Bruce at last. Margaery smiled, "Thank you." Though the Lion shook his head, "But he won't come out of it unharmed." The threat should have shaken Margaery but she was too overwhelmed by the step down from total execution.
"Thank you." She said again and stepped forward to Bruce's face, only to halt herself when he did not move into the kiss. "C… can we?" Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "One last time." Their lips meet and they melted into each other. Hands roamed over clothing and arms. Margaery's hands knotted themselves in the raven hair and Bruce's' combed through her long curling locks.
The Tyrell girl felt a familiar hardness press against her, it was enough to make her smile against his lips. One of her hands traced the lines in Bruce's doublet, down to his groin. She squeezed him through his breeches and enjoyed the moan he gave into her mouth, but he withdrew away from her after that.
"What?" The Lion looked ashamed of himself with his sullen green eye and jet black hair falling over the scarlet band around his eye. "I can't… not now I'm married." It was Margaery's turn to feel the tug on her heart. He loves her more than me, at least I know that now. "I understand," She lies but he doesn't need to know that.
They step further apart from each other and he bows to her. "My Lady." Without another word he turns from her and walks away. The black leather boots ring out as they hit against the marble floor of the Maidenvault and the further he goes from her the harder the strain on her heart becomes. She turns back to the fireplace so she might cry in peace
It's when she hears the clicking of his heels stop that she turns round to inspect him. His hand is braced against the tall bronze door while he stares down at the floor, unable to go any further. He turns and looks back at her one last time. "Madam, I wish there could have been another way." She wishes the same, now more than ever. "I bid you farewell and hope you shall have all the joy, hope and glamour of life."
She bows to him and manages the most decent response she can give. "Thank you, ser. Goodbye." Quickly, she turns away from him again and hears the bronze door being pushed open. And only after she hears it close again does she let her tears come flooding out in full.
