A/N: Welcome back to the Roseverse! I hope y'all don't mind the wait, I'm updating the chapters a bit more slowly but I am definitely still active and still very ready to complete this epic. I loved reading y'alls theories on Tywin, seeing your reaction to the chapter, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
Before I begin though, I should probably warn you all - TW: Somewhat Graphic Depictions of Childbirth is in this chapter, so I will spoiler that area/warn you all with brackets just in case. Other than that, a fairly light chapter, featuring Margaery's "moods", and Catelyn!
MARGAERY XIII
Life post-coronation as Queen of the North was…interesting.
Life after becoming Queen of the North was also really fucking annoying.
Oh, sure, you got to be Queen and all that, one of the most powerful people in the realm, a lifelong goal unintentionally achieved, and certainly, there was an ego boost in knowing that you had the power to decide the fate of an entire continent. I could see why so many characters in canon went crazy over the idea of the Iron Throne, but only one thought constantly flew in my mind, repeating ad infinitium.
Old Gods, we're about to become dragon BBQ if we don't do something fast.
A perfectly reasonable critique of the nature of Queenship that the original Margaery Tyrell did not understand, given the fact that She had, you know, become Cersei BBQ five seconds into her reign, alongside my father, aunts, brother, and half of King's Landing in the process.
Besides, Queenship was only temporary, at least until Daenerys arrived to Westeros with her three dragons and I sacrificed my Queenships to her to avoid becoming Dragon BBQ.
That, alongside the inexplicable bout of sickness I was facing, made holding court and planning the Great Council extremely miserable, even with Sansa, Talla and Desmera at my side. There were times where they definitely weren't helping, though, like….
"...oh, Theon is so amazing," Desmera gushed. "He's so handsome and his skill with a bow is unmatched! And have you seen him in his doublet—"
Yup, tuning her out once again. Perhaps I would have entertained it in my normal state of mind, but I was incredibly cranky and irritable for Old-Gods know why. I was always so prim and proper, so observant of the social courtesies, but, hearing hours after hours of nattering by the three ladies around me, I could not help but feel annoyed and question myself exactly why any of it mattered to begin with.
I briefly tuned back into the conversation, trying to hear if there was anything of note to remember.
"...from what the Dornish tell me, Daenerys Targaryen is not likely to arrive back in Westeros, given that she is married and with a healthy baby boy," Desmera gossiped, as she nudged Sansa with a glint in her eye. "King Aegon is in need of a Queen, and between you and me, he's not so bad on the eyes himself…"
Sansa's face went as red as her hair as she laughed nervously, and then something clicked in my mind.
Pause. Rewind that bit.
Gossip about Theon, gossip about my brother that I frankly did not want to hear, gossip about Aegon, and….Daenerys with healthy baby….boy? Wait, what?
"Repeat that again," I demanded quickly.
"Aegon Targaryen is in need of a…Queen?" Desmera offered, confused.
"No, not that part, the part before that."
"Daenerys Targaryen is in Essos with a healthy baby boy and her husband, and rejected Aegon Targaryen's offer to come back to Westeros?" Talla commented.
"Did they say anything about dragons? Specifically, baby dragons?"
"Dragons? Well, the sigil of their house is a dragon, if that's what you meant," Talla answered.
Not so smart after all, Talla, I thought.
"-but other than that, no," Talla finished.
No. No. No. The word echoed in my head. Healthy baby boy. Husband. Essos. Daenerys Targaryen. Aaaaand BAM! No stillborn baby and dead husband. No magical sacrifice! No dragons! NO DRAGON BBQ!
"But what about her dragons–" I blurted out, before I clamped a hand to my mouth, when I realized that there were no dragons to begin with, because like an idiot, I had somehow magicked them out of existence!
You've got to be kidding me, I thought hysterically. There are no fucking dragons. No dragons means I can rule on the Iron Throne, but no dragons means, like Robb said, no fucking defenses for the Long Night. We're so dead. Soooooo dead.
Fears of becoming an ice zombie quickly replaced my fears of becoming dragon BBQ, until my Queen-of-Thorns training kicked in and I forced my mind into some semblance of order.
What do I know? I know that the dragons are gone, and I know that I have two dragon eggs in my possession, waiting to be gifted to Jon and (f?)Aegon, depending of if he was real. I know that I needed those eggs to hatch if we wanted to survive the Long Night and to ensure that my children and my children's children survived, and I knew that the only three possible players that could hatch dragons were Jon, Aegon, and…Daenerys, who had been taken off the board as a viable option, at least for now.
What did that mean for Robb and I? That meant that I needed to make sure Aegon was real—
Except it really didn't matter whether he was real or not. Dorne believed that he was real, because otherwise they won't be supporting him. The Golden Company backed him regardless of whether he was real or not. Daenerys fucking Targaryen didn't bother to come back to Westeros, accepted Aegon's claim, and flat out rejected Aegon's probable offer as Queen in favor of finding her zen in the Dothraki Sea. Finally, Jon was a bastard, so unless the claim was really necessary for Bloodraven magics (which, you know, he probably would have told Robb at this point if it was), or this was a Rhaegar Wins universe (which it wasn't), I could safely assume that:
Either (f)Aegon was not so (f) after all, that Varys had actually done something right by smuggling Aegon out, and he was actually (real!)Aegon, which made sense, considering the frightening similarities I had seen between Jon and Aegon, and the utter lack of Bloodraven warnings, or…
It didn't matter, which…well, if the universe was telling me that it didn't matter, it really didn't matter.
So…congratulations, Margaery. The only thing he needed was an actual Queen to, you know, support him in his quest to keep the South stable, given by the fact that Willas had been pretty adamant in supporting him.
I thought of the possibility that If I had, you know, waited a bit, and had not been so hasty in avoiding the fate of Daenerys Targaryen's three dragons and becoming dragon BBQ, I probably could have been a good contender for his queen at this moment (hey, maybe there's another SI universe where Margaery becomes Aegon's queen!), but if I was being honest, absolutely fuck that.
I was very happy with being Robb's wife (and in fact, besotted with him) and being Queen of the North. Not only was Robb a great husband, but I was in a very good position to survive the Long Night and keep my family intact. Would Aegon have been able to help House Tyrell prepare for the Long Night and avoiding ice zombies as the winter experts that was House Stark? Robb was the smartest choice for an SI interpersonally and politically, and I was happy to keep it that way. That, and all the wonderful benefits he brought me that I was fairly certain Aegon could not.
Now that Daenerys Targaryen was roaming the great grasslands of Essos, let the next sucker— I mean, beautiful noble lady, deal with charming the dragon prince—
Oh fuck, that was Sansa.
I cursed Sansa's inability to keep from falling for the wrong prince. First Joffrey, now this?! The only thing that could have been worse than this was Jon, which absolutely would have been a "Sweet Home Winterfell" situation.
My original plan had been to throw Shireen Baratheon at Aegon if Daenerys did not take her place as Queen to unite Stannis and Aegon's causes, split the realm evenly with the North and to have one child marry Willas and Arianne's to appease the South, and another marry Robb and I's to cleanly secure the split, and then, everything would be perfect. We then cue to sweeping the Long Night away through…magic, and the realm would be in prosperity.
Did Sansa's…development, change things? Absolutely. Sansa was probably the better political option, but that also meant that a clean split with the North would not be possible. Don't get me wrong, Sansa would absolutely make a kickass Queen on the Iron Throne, and would probably manage to do better than Shireen Baratheon, but it also meant a headache for Robb and I on the negotiation table as to how the North would be semi-autonomous while still fielding a Stark Queen.
The only solution I could really think of off the top of my head was a Dorne solution, but…that would be really hard to negotiate. I would probably have to discuss it with Robb later. Suddenly, a wave of nausea struck me hard, and I vomited on the ground.
Ugh. That had been bothering me as of late.
"Margaery!" the girls exclaimed worriedly. I groaned.
"Sorry, girls," I said weakly. "I've just been feeling unwell as of late."
Talla's eyes sharpened, strangely enough.
"How long have you been feeling sick?" she asked.
"Not too long, I don't think," I answered. "Maybe a few days before Robb and I arrived to the Great Council? I had chalked it up to just general malaise, but…"
"You should probably go to the Maester," Desmera pointed out wryly. "Vomiting in the middle of the day is a worrying sign."
"I'll get Robb." Sansa said firmly. "If there's anything ailing you, my brother certainly needs to know as well."
Worrywarts, the lot of them. Still, they each meant well, so I heeded their advice and went to the Maester without Talla and Desmera. Sansa dashed to find Robb to meet at the Maester's camp.
"Maester Lomys!" I exclaimed. "How wonderful it is to see you here!"
"I was needed by the Tyrell delegation, my Queen, and here I am," he said gracefully. The pointed looks of Robb and Sansa may have also played a role in this.
Normally, I probably would have spoken first with all the grace of the lady that I was, but I was not feeling well, and frankly, a little hunted by the looks on everyone's faces, so I crossed my arms and waited for the Maester to speak.
"So…" Maester Lomys started after an awkward silence, "I have been told that you are vomiting often and generally feeling unwell, my Queen?"
"I…yes, Maester," I answered. "It started a few days before Robb and I arrived to Bitterbridge, and I chalked that up to general malaise, considering the fatigue, but…"
"Fatigue, vomiting, malaise," Maester Lomys listed, "Are there any other symptoms you have noticed?"
"She's more irritable?" Robb offered dryly. "More tired, more irritable, mood swings,"
"Robb!"
"Sorry, love, you argued with me as to whether I was forcing you to ride in a wheelhouse and burst out into tears and asked if I thought you were a useless cow when I suggested that you should."
Sansa giggled, and Maester Lomys noted down those symptoms on parchment, a smile creeping up his face.
"A bit of a personal question, Your Grace, if I may ask…"
"Go ahead, Maester."
"Does your, ah, chest area, hurt a little more than usual, your Grace?" Maester Lomys asked. Now that I think of it, my breasts were aching a little more than usual, and it had started the same time as the sickness, so I nodded my affirmation at the Maester.
"Have you had any strange…desires for certain foods?" Maester Lomys questioned, and I blushed red as I thought about the last night, when I had asked Robb to tell the guards to make salty fish and pair it with sweet lemoncakes, but I nodded anyways.
"And finally, when did you last bleed?"
"Uh, a, er—-"
Shoot, that had been about two moons ago.
"I guess it was two moons ago, but I don't—"
Maester Lomy's smile was fully visible now, as was Sansa's radiant smile. She looked as though she could barely contain the desire to hug me, though for what reason, I did not know why.
"Your Grace, you aren't afflicted by general malaise. There's nothing wrong with your health. However…"
"However?" Robb prodded.
"However, the next heir to House Stark will be born in seven or so moons, your Graces, as you are pregnant. Congratulations!"
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
And as Sansa enveloped me in a squealing hug, and my husband fainted dead away on the ground, the only thing I could think was:
Oh shit, I'm pregnant.
CATELYN
"The ledgers show massive increases in revenue, Lady Catelyn, as of our latest report. There are at least twice the amount in coin we have had since the last accounting, and even more of an increase if my projections are correct."
"Double?!" she asked, shocked. "Truly?"
Maester Luwin smiled and nodded.
"Your son's latest project is a massive success, and your good-daughter's notes and proposals have been critical to the success of trade." He noted. "The trade of wood for valuable material, as well as the creation of many other trading ventures through White Harbor has created competition for the southern ports and encouraged trade with Essos. Shipbuilding is flourishing, and there is talk of establishing another port near White Harbor merely to keep up with trade."
"And the crops?" Catelyn asked. Her gooddaughter had specifically requested the import of crops from far off Essos to 'test' whichever crops would work on Northern soil.
"Most were failures, but a few crops had shown potential; a Summer Island crop harvested from Sothoryos known as "potatls" that has shown surprising resilience in the Northern climate, and a crop from Yi-Ti known as "rice" which had flourished in the Neck's swampy climate." Maester Luwin reported. "Not only am I told that rice fields are forming within the Neck, but the grains produced are uniquely hardy in Northern weather. Alongside the increase of glass gardens using Tyrell glass, it is safe to say that we will be well-prepared for winter."
Catelyn gasped, her other hand on her extremely prominent belly. "Then, Luwin, that means…"
"..that the North is flourishing under young Robb and Margaery's guidance, and may even become as profitable as lands such as the Reach in the far future. Truly, the only thing that would be needed is to populate the North more widely - the woodcutters have reported a need for more men to increase supply merely to keep up with trade alone, let alone the resources needed to grow crops."
Not only that, we would have more than enough funds to create a Western port that would encourage faster trade with the Reach and Dorne. Perhaps the seat of this little one here, in my belly, this last piece of Ned, if it is a boy.
Catelyn nodded briskly. "Yet this foolishness with the Wildlings, and the mining of dragonglass of all things…"
Maester Luwin sighed. "With the profits coming into the North, Wildling attacks make Northern holdfasts more vulnerable than ever. The Wildlings are a numerous group of people who may even perhaps enjoy the safety of life behind the Wall, provided that they swore their allegiance to a liege lord. Perhaps young Robb has a point that we must negotiate with them for the future of the North, though, how it would occur, I do not personally know. Nor do I understand the need for dragonglass mining in Skagos, but perhaps there is a reasonable explanation somewhere as well. As for now though, here are some trade agreements you need to sign."
Catelyn nodded, and briefly took the time to scan the contracts on parchment before signing them, finalizing the creation of another trade route between Essos and White Harbor in the process. However, as she stood up, a painful birthing contraction unlike anything she had ever experienced suddenly swelled and she cried out in pain as the feeling swept her. Distantly, she noticed wetness dripped down her thighs, and as she mustered the strength to look down, she saw bloody water on the ground, signifying that an all too familiar event was about to begin.
"Your Grace!" Maester Luwin cried out in shock, "We must get you to the birthing bed immediately!"
****TW: CHILDBIRTH****
It was a long birth. It was an exceedingly difficult birth. All she could tell was that with the candlelight it had been at least a day alone.
Already, the birthing had started off on the wrong foot, with an early birth and contractions much more painful than any she could remember having, but compounded with the intense bleeding and pain, Catelyn was uncertain as to whether she would survive this birthing bed.
And with Ned gone….oh, Ned.
She struggled. She screamed. She cried. She begged to the Mother for mercy, to the Old Gods of her husband and children for deliverance, to anyone, and anything to stop the pain. Five births, yet nothing could have prepared her for this.
"Your Grace!" The midwife cried in panic, "The baby is on its side, we may have to cut you open to deliver the babe!"'
Her breaths came in harsh, gasping pants, and she struggled to breathe in the rhythm that her midwife in Riverrun taught her all those years ago.
"Your Grace," Maester Luwin said gravely, "we may need to choose between you and the babe."
"If you must–" she forced out, "choose–" a wail– "BABE!"
"Yes, your Grace," Maester Luwin replied. "Begin the procedure."
As the procedure came through, Catelyn realized distantly and coldly that she was not likely to survive this bed. Not with the pain of this birth and the complexities of the procedure.
Oh, Ned, I will be seeing you sooner than you think after all, she thought sadly. No grandchildren to see, no grandchildren to hold, merely a last gift to House Stark and the world.
Her wails and screams filled the room as the Maester and midwives turned the baby around, and she staunchly ignored as much of the pain as she could, thinking of the babe in her belly that she must deliver, for herself and for her family, but she had one last request to make before she went.
"Get–"
Catelyn struggled to say the words, but she knew in her heart what she must do.
Rickon was too young to see this, but Arya needed to be there. "Get AryaAAHH–"
–And she let out a piercing wail as the pain overwhelmed her. "-and Ser Domeric!"
She forced herself through the motions, running solely on instinct alone. An indescribable amount of pain filled her as she continued, but she pushed onward, onward, on—
"The babe is crowning, your Grace!" the midwife exclaimed. "Push!"
She nodded, and surrendered herself to the birthing process and running on instinct, doing her utmost best to deliver her baby into the world. Finally, she pushed one last time, and felt something release as the cries of a baby filled the air.
"It's a boy, your Grace!" Maester Luwin announced.
"My baby.." Catelyn said faintly, as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "Please.."
"Milady, we will clean him up," the midwives said, as they cut the umbilical cord. "We will use soap to wash the baby gently, and we will have him back very soon."
Catelyn felt a deep exhaustion in her body, and she shuddered as the rest of the midwives attempted to stymie her bleeding, but the looks on their faces were grim, and in her heart, she knew what would happen next.
It will not work, but…perhaps for a single moment more.
****TW: CHILDBIRTH****
Finally, the midwives handed over her baby, and she cradled her baby in her arms in the natural position she had learned with all of her other babes. Tufts of dark hair were atop his innocent head, and as the baby opened her eyes, she saw the dark gray that her husband had shared. He cried - a strong, loud scream that filled the room, one that brought a smile to her face.
He will be a strong son, a worthy boy of his own. Oh, my Ned, look at what we have made.
Suddenly, Arya rushed into the room with Ser Domeric in tow, and Arya paled as she saw her mother's state of health.
"Mother…" Arya said softly. "Mother, you—"
"My little wolf," Catelyn murmured softly. "I'm afraid I will leave you soon. I don't have a lot of time—"
"What are you talking about, Moother?" Arya demanded frantically, hysterically. "You're going to be fine! You're not going to die, you can't—"
"Oh, sweetling," Catelyn sighed, as she stroked her daughter's face. "We both know I am out of time.."
She watched her stubborn daughter, her little wolf, put on a brave face, her face brimming with the same expression Arya always held when she was trying to hold back tears.
"This is your brother, Eddard, named after your father," she murmured, her voice so faint that it was hard for anyone else to hear, and she handed the baby to Arya. "Please take care of little Ned and Rickon for me."
"Mother, you can't, not after Father—" Arya cried. "I'll— I'll be good, I'll go to my courtly lessons, I won't fight anymore, I'll be a perfect lady,, as long as you don't die—"
Her future goodson gave Arya a meaningful and loving look as he grabbed her hand, and she instantly quieted, seemingly realizing the gravity of the situation.
"Little wolf, you will always be a fighter" Catelyn said softly and fondly. "I am only sorry I did not see it sooner. Protect your family, and remember, family, duty—"
"-and honor," Arya finished softly.
"Dom," she continued, and his eyes moved immediately to her. "Take care of my daughter. Let her fight for her family, don't kill her spirit—"
"I won't, Lady Catelyn," Domeric said quietly, his head bowed. "I promise you that I will support her with all that I have."
Catelyn nodded, her complexion rapidly becoming paler and paler.
"I love you all, and I am so proud of all of you," Catelyn whispered. "Promise me that you will tell everyone that." And with a desperation she never knew she had, she looked at Arya. "Promise me, Arya!"
"I promise!" Arya cried, hlding onto baby Eddard, with Ser Domeric at her side. Was this what poor Lyanna felt in the pain of her birthing bed? No matter, she would see her goodsister soon.
"I love you all," Catelyn said her last words as loudly as she could.
"Mother, no! No! NO!" she heard Arya's wail. "MOTHER!"
The voices faded as she closed her eyes. Ned appeared next to her, his smile sad, as he motioned to her to come along, and as she followed him, her breaths faded little by little, until she knew no more.
Ending A/N: I lied. This is Game of Thrones, after all. Next chapter, a deeper look into the Great Council, perhaps the beginning of the Council itself. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
