V
Bluebloods
All the rain had stopped just an hour before the pale sun began to creep up in the sky, bringing a subtle heat with it. The air was wet and refreshing, leaving a misty overlay of dew on the southern land, and scattered puddles of water collected in the crevices, glimmering with iridescence in the waking sunrays.
The sunshine fought its way through the thick beige curtains hugging the window, irradiating the room with golden rays, the fresh daylight bringing the room to life after a long stormy night.
Birds sang and called to each other by the stone windowsill, still gently dripping with rain.
This active, chirping sound tugged the young Highgarden beauty out of her pleasant night's rest.
Upon slowly fluttering open her big blue doll eyes, a sudden sense of panic twisted Margaery awake and she sat up quickly, as she forgot where she was, her brain trying to work through a daze of sleep; all she knew was she wasn't in her own bed.
It wasn't until she saw the king, still asleep next to her, that the relief finally washed over her, coming to the realization of where she was. She recalled her little mission last night.
Last night, it had been so dark she couldn't make out the details of her whereabouts very well until now. The bed she was on was ridiculously enormous and could comfortably fit about five more people. It was closed off from the rest of the room, protected by a thick scarlet canopy, with long hanging curtains, pulled shut.
It was dim, however, some sunlight still managed to creep through the fabric allowing her to see the mess of blankets and pillows moderately well.
Margaery's eyes returned to Joffrey, to watch his bare chest gently rise and fall with even, unconscious breathing.
At all times, Margaery admired his looks and adored his soul. Even when he raged, and roared viciously, dark shadows overtaking his powerful scowl, her heart would still ache for him.
He's not mean, he's just misunderstood, she truly believed she could justify his actions. There was more to him than everyone thought.
There was never a time where she didn't think he was beautiful, inside and out, though undoubtedly, he was purest when he slept.
When he was still and quiet, sleeping like this, she could analyze the sharp angles of his face without having to worry about him catching her eye.
She took in his high cheeks bones, prominent under the falling shadows. His golden bangs fell in wisps over his forehead, and she could not refrain from running her fingers through his soft blonde locks.
Laying back down on the pillow, she gazed at her sleeping love, as she stroked his hair. They had been together for hardly a few weeks and she already knew there was nothing more she could ever want.
Margaery knew the others could never see him for what he truly was: a lost, pained young boy. They couldn't see through his layers. That was alright, with her though, he could be her perfect, little secret. It was just the two of them, alone in the world. She could be the one and only girl for him. She adored this idea so much—she's the only girl her understands him. The only one who could see straight through his superior, egotistical outer shell, to what's lying underneath. See that he's not truly evil at all. She could see his true self. Just a frightened little boy, who had no idea what he was actually doing; Just a pained soul, crying for help.
Tyrion had revealed to her a few days prior that his father had failed to show him how to rule a kingdom—or showed him anything, she presumed. It was evident his childhood was corrupt.
She snuggled up to Joffrey, against his warm, smooth shoulder, and the feeling of his hot, exposed flesh against her made her stomach stir with butterflies.
The feeling of being in bed next to someone reminded her only slightly of laying in bed with Renly. Even just this simple contact with Joffrey was better than anything she had ever had with Renly. With her previous husband, there was minimal skin to skin contact and he hadn't cuddled or snuggled or shown any intimacy to her hardly ever. She knew Renly had never been interested in her, always leaving her untouched and forgotten. In fact, he wasn't interested in the company of any woman.
Now Margaery lay, blessed in her new king's private quarters, thanking the gods for how good things unfolded for her.
She snuggled into her sweet king, further, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck, as her fingers continued to run through his soft hair, his silky gold locks slipping through her fingers with care.
For some time, Margaery continued to caress him, savoring every breath of this precious moment. She wasn't sure how long it had been, but as she dozed off to the sound of the birds chirping, and water dripping on the sill when she finally felt Joffrey began to stir beneath her touch.
She noticed how his breaths came more frequently and he shifted slightly, as he regained consciousness from the long night's sleep.
Margaery's heart began to race as she started to think of what she was even going to say to him when he asked why she was in his bed. She slightly distanced herself, gently wriggling away from his waking touch, as her courage began to leave her all too quickly.
It's okay. I'm practically his wife. This is completely alright. Don't freak out.
She held her breath, as his wispy lashes slowly fluttered open to reveal his giant blue eyes.
Margaery expected him to jump away, startled and angry, with her random presence, but when Joffrey gently turned his head against the pillow to look at her, his eyes possessed a child-like innocence as he blinked at her with confusion.
"Margaery?" he mumbled, his voice husky with sleep.
"I'm sorry, my love," she apologized, firstly, her voice sweet and passionate. She pulled the duvet up over her chest, "I didn't mean to intrude."
"Am I dreaming?" he asked with a sleepy smile. She was so glad to be here, to see his first smile of the day.
"No my love. This is real," she returned that sweet smile, as Joffrey stretched out on the mattress, beneath the blankets, seemingly unbothered she was here. This was far from the reaction she was expecting.
"When did you get here?" he continued to mumble to her, in his sleepy, raspy voice.
"The storm woke me, late, last night. I woke up frightened by all the noise, and the shadows..." her voice trailed off as she averted her eyes, up to the red canopy above. She appeared like a lost, helpless, little girl for a moment, but inside she was amused by how innocent she could sound if she tried. Although her words were true, she exaggerated that emotion of fear to her advantage, "You make me feel safe."
She knew she chose the right words from the subtle look in Joff's eyes. She never failed to catch anything.
He shifted awkwardly under the blankets, and she couldn't tell if it was intentional or not but he had inched slightly closer so that they were nose to nose in the captivating warmth, his breath tickling her nose.
"So just like that, you walked into the king's chambers to lie with him?" he tried to get the story straight, his tone laced with some pleasant surprise. He seemed interested and excited she had disregarded the rules, willing to bend them with risk, for her own satisfaction, similarly to him.
"I knew you wouldn't say anything," said Margaery, confidently, as she wriggled closer to him, so their warm, bare legs brushed together.
"Of course I wouldn't," he scoffed, his words jumping excitedly at hers. He didn't pay any mind to the new physical contact.
"I didn't think it would be such a big of a deal anyhow...considering we're about to be bound together for life, in less than a moon."
"It's a stupid rule, really," he agreed.
They listened to the rustle of noise out in the hall, just beyond his door, and suddenly Joffrey looked slightly unnerved.
"If that sound turns out to be my mother, coming to wake me, we're in for a headache," he groaned, shifting strangely under the duvet again. He made sure there was a small abundance of space between their bodies, and Margaery wasn't about to bypass it.
Their legs were no longer touching, and Margaery began to regret crawling into his bed. She decided, maybe she was being intrusive. She could sense the discomfort radiating off him, but that could be from a number of things: he could be worrying of his mother, or still confused with sleep, or maybe he's got morning wood he doesn't want her to notice.
"It's alright. I was just getting up anyway," she said throwing the blankets off herself to expose her long slender legs to him.
Joffrey's eyes wandered across them.
Without thinking it out thoroughly, she spontaneously leaned her face forward and pushed her lips into his, catching him off guard.
At first, as their tender lips met, he tensed instinctively at the sudden contact, and it seemed after tasting the significance of her mouth he began to kiss her back, harder, with passion.
His lips were soft and moved against hers perfectly, as he read her movements before they happened. Seemingly effortlessly, he kissed her in a way she had never experienced in her life. He kissed her the way girls would dream of. It was a wanting, empowering kiss, that made her feel as if they could conquer the world together, solely by the power of this kiss. His mouth brought her to life, and with every passing second their lips worked together she felt herself descending further into her infatuation.
Joffrey's irreplicable kiss was a promise there was no other girl in the world that meant what she meant to him, and she cherished the feeling for a moment more, before ripping herself away from his captivating hold.
Sansa Stark was a long way from home. If anyone were to watch her for only a moment, it would be clear to them that she did not belong here. She spoke, dressed, and even moved differently from the rest of them, sticking out awkwardly and out of place here, in this foreign southern land, among the heartless bluebloods.
The Starks were nothing like these people. They were humble and noble, and Sansa knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in this endless sea of snobs and spoiled brats. Her family was never rich. They had made a decent living, with an authentic, woodland life in the north before relocating to the capital—hell.
At first, King's Landing was a warm, golden utopia.
Sansa had never seen the ocean before. It was more magnificent than she had ever imagined. She remembered the intense feeling she felt, the first time she ever laid her eyes on it. How her heart seemed to stop as she lost her breath, standing on the soft, hot sand, before the glorious, collision of land and crashing foamy waves.
The air was warm here. Warm enough to wear freeing clothing, that exposed the skin in a careless, exciting way.
It gave her a chance to try things she had never before, like attend extravagant balls, drink fancy wine, and converse with socialites.
It appeared beautiful and luxurious, here, with the promise of eternal happiness in paradise, but it was all just a secret trap. The golden city, glittering like a medallion on the Blackwater Bay, was cursed with a dark shadow, under this infamous reign of Satan.
She swore to herself, no matter how long she is here, no matter how much this underworld strip away from her, she will never lose her roots. They can't take her memories. She will never forget the north.
Though her heart was sad, and it seemed there was nothing left to live for, she still somehow continued to hold her head high, walking among them, her smile on the outside, no different from the rest. On the inside, she told herself she must be strong. It was the only way to survive.
She stands now, in the crowded throne room, gathered among her new flock of court ladies, like sheep, as the king held court.
Spoiled brats. Spoiled rotten to the core. All of them, she couldn't help but think as she scanned over the herd of rich, gossiping women, the noblemen gathered around the throne, the lioness queen standing over her prized cub, the king himself. Especially you, twerp.
I hate you, her glare stopped on that boy, that demonic beast of a boy, who had clearly crawled up on the throne unrightfully, from the seething depths of hell.
"You dare come here—waste my time? With your insignificant problems?" the demon was suddenly speaking her common tongue, barking at a trembling, hungry peasant who stood kneeling before the throne.
His feline mother laughed her icy laugh, and Sansa felt herself laughing too on the inside, at these corrupt, immoral people.
What in the Seven Hells am I still doing here? She thought and found her eyes wandering directly over to her answer.
The only reason why she could still smile. The beautiful Highgarden rose, still striking as the day they met, Margaery Tyrell stood at the front of this cluster of women, huddled by the outskirts of the throne room. Margaery was the closest of the women to the throne, so she had the best view of the king. It was hard for Sansa to see her through the collection of bluebloods, but she caught a glimpse of her pure face, glancing back through the tangle.
Their eyes met for a breathless moment in time, a moment that seemed to pause the world around them. Sansa's heart raced as the Tyrell's eyes pinned her in place.
"You disgust me!" The king voice polluted their peace, causing Margaery's gaze to rip away from hers. "I can smell you from up here!" His cutting voice cracked with youth.
Everyone seemed to watch and listen so attentively, so carefully, and Joffrey loved it.
"You're lucky I'm feeling nice today," he muttered, glowering down from his throne.
Nice. Sansa found herself struggling not to laugh with amusement. She wanted to laugh obnoxiously loud, mock him in front of the crowd. She couldn't bring herself to do it though, after a flicker of thought she had decided it might be unwise.
"Instead of having your prick cut off, we'll just take your ear this time."
Did she hear him correctly? His ear?
All the life in the room reacted with agitation, a collection of shocked expressions and tense murmurs and whispers.
"Which'll it be? Left or right?" Joffrey inquired brightly, then chewed his bottom lip excitedly with his sharp fangs, his bright eyes scanning the unsettled room with joy.
Sansa could see the smug look on his face, through the whispering ladies, she knew he only did this to put on a show and unsettle the water. He lived to see the look of horror on their faces.
"Your grace, please," the man speaking was suddenly not a man at all, his voice trembling with terror, as he broke down on the floor before the throne.
"Silence!" The king bellowed against the peasant's pleading tone.
Before speaking again, Joffrey looked around to make sure everyone was watching and listening. Sansa watched his eyes land to the beautiful, garden rose, and he gave her a smile.
Don't smile at her, Sansa thought protectively. He was going to consume Margaery, trap her in the shadows. Sansa's heart ached. It made her anxious to know that he could do anything he wanted with her at any time.
"Your king asked you a question!" Cersei piped up, feeding into his little game. She smiled darkly beside her boy, and for a moment, they were indistinguishable from one another.
Lord Tywin was absent in court today, allowing Joffrey to get carried away with things. He was like a dog off its leash, running rampant with power. It was only his mother there to advise him, and the gods knew she wouldn't.
"Left or right!" Joffrey demanded, sharply slamming empty goblet against blades, forming an armrest.
"Please, your grace! Anything—anything but that! I'll—I'll do anything!" His sobs were painful to listen to for Sansa, but they were only irritating the young king.
"Shut up!" he roared, chucking his goblet into the helpless man's head. "I'll just have to take both!"
The court whispered again under the intensity of it all, but no one dared to speak out against him.
Sansa wanted to scream at the king, call him an abomination to the throne, but she wanted to keep her ears. She thought of the courage of her brothers. She knew Robb wouldn't be afraid to bite back, or Jon. Her father was never afraid.
The sadness would have overtaken her right then if her mind was able to wander. But she was drawn in by the intensity of this all, not that this was anything out of the ordinary.
She couldn't peel her eyes away as one of his hulking, brute of a guard, strode over to the frightened peasant with no hesitation, for a brief moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, even the beggar, as the only sound was the shuffle of his long guard cloak and steel boots, moving across the floor, then the sharp lick of him extracting his dagger from his belt.
"No! Please!" The man's crying voice cut through the silence as if he just remembered it was his blood that would be shed. "Left! Left ear, take the left one!"
The guard seized the screaming man's head in a powerful grip, bringing the blade to the flesh of his right side.
Sansa could not get a good view through the huddle of whispering girls; most of them were covering their eyes. She could see Margaery at the front, with the best view of all, watching strongly, without reluctance. Sansa didn't have time to ponder the girl's evident fascination, as the sharp slice of tissue followed piercing screams of a man in agony filled the room, causing everyone to wince and begin talking to one another frantically.
"Now the other one!" The demonic king ordered, roaring over the screams and talk.
The guard did as he was told without question. This time, Sansa couldn't hear the slice, but again there was another series of tormented screams, a few of the girls around her gasped with fright, covering their eyes.
Margaery's back was turned to Sansa so she couldn't see her face, but she noticed how the girl didn't wince at all as she watched the whole thing, front row. Sansa thought, perhaps Margaery wasn't fascinated but rather desensitized from it.
Sansa didn't see it happen, but she heard as the man collapsed to the floor, most likely unconscious from blood loss.
"Get him out of my sight," Joffrey snarled a pure look of disgust on him and his mother's faces. "I don't want him bleeding out on my floor."
Sansa glared at him with mirroring their looks of disgust, wishing at that moment she could slice his ears off with her own blade.
"We had it polished just yesterday," he laughed merrily, looking to his mother for compliance.
Cersei laughed along beside him, but Sansa did not fail to catch the true look of fright eating at her, beneath the thin layers of her false, see-through smile.
As the blonde fiends laughed, the guard obeyed without a word, throwing the unconscious, bloody peasant over his shoulder, dousing his cloak with the rich scarlet, dripping along as he left the room.
Sansa could faintly smell the coppery scent of blood in the air, as the people continued to murmur.
"Alright, settle down," the king addressed the room, smirking at his sheep, flashing his white, gleaming fangs at the girls, then directly at her. Sansa's stomach dropped as his wicked gaze landed on her. "That's enough fun for today," he said merrily, still looking at her through the mess of it all.
Instead of holding his gaze, Sansa fell into the disbanding crowd, finding her way to Margaery through the tension.
The Highgarden had remained in her place, up front, where she had been the entire time, still surrounded by a few shocked court ladies, as Sansa approached.
"Your grace," Sansa said respectfully, as Margaery's blue eyes caught sight of her own. As she curtsied, a few of the brattier girls looked at her with sour expressions, as if they wondered what she was doing here, and she wondered that too.
"Please, my dear," Margaery said, stepping forward, out of the huddle of bluebloods. "Call me Margaery."
"Margaery," Sansa echoed, so relieved to hear her soothing, delicate voice after the harshness of everything.
The other court ladies expressions twisted with disbelief—they could only call her by 'your grace.' What truly disturbed Sansa, was the fact they seemed more unsettled by her presence here among them than the gruesome violence that took place before their eyes, just moments ago.
"It's more intimate don't you think?" Margaery continued towards her so that she was the main area of focus, "To call each other by other first names?"
Sansa soon forgot all scornful eyes in her gracious presence. She was close enough to touch, smiling warmly at her, promising everything would be alright. She smelled richly of vanilla or gingerbread—something sweet Sansa could not exactly pinpoint.
"It is," Sansa agreed.
She admired her, but not in a common way younger girls would look up to the older ones, striving to be like them, following in their footsteps as they enter womanhood; it was in a way that was subtle, uncertain of most things, but positively certain that nothing would go wrong in the grasp, Margaery. It a way that reminded her of all pure sweetness this world had to offer.
"Did all that frighten you, Sansa?" Margaery inquired, her eyes searching hers.
The other girls stood back, talking amongst themselves as their soon-to-be queen spoke to Sansa.
"It was rather unpleasant," Sansa admitted, her eyes wandering over to the shiny puddle of blood on the tile. However, she had seen many unpleasant things since coming here. "Did it frighten you?"
Margaery laughed her sweet exciting laugh, as if she said something brilliantly witty, and the exciting sound prompted a smile from Sansa.
"You should never allow things to frighten you, my sweet, that's where all the power comes from," she was suddenly speaking eagerly, with a certain passion in her voice Sansa found difficult to forget. "Without fear, you are finally free."
Right then, Margaery truly was a goddess.
Her words seemed to reach out and touch Sansa, encouraging her to be stronger, and hold on tighter. They brought her hope. They made her realize the truth, realize there was a way out. She would not allow fear's grip to have it hold on her any longer.
The words Margaery spoke truly stuck with her, and they flowed through her mind on repeat throughout the rest of the day.
That night, for the first time since her father's death, Sansa was able to slip off into peaceful, long-needed rest, without waking once in tears, the whole night.