If Love Is What You Need A Soldier I Will Be
they say before you start a war
you better know what you're fighting for
well baby you are all that I adore
if love is what you need a soldier I will be
It was her father who arranged the betrothal. It was her father who broke it. And they would make him pay for it.
'My love, forgive these badly written lines but I am in a hurry to be by your side. I am riding for Winterfell on the morrow and send our fastest raven with this letter. You must know that none of the rumors you might hear were spread by me and if they hurt your soul I am deeply sorry for the pain my father and his rash decisions have caused you. But you need to believe me that I only desire to be the wife of one man and one man alone. I will be by your side soon if I take our fastest horse and I swear by the Old Gods and the New that nothing may separate us from that moment on.
Forever, your loyal Lady Margaery',
says the first letter in her writing, hastily scribbled onto a piece of paper and he can almost see her running up the Maesters tower and attaching it to the dark feathered bird in a hurry. Her words would warm his heart if there was not the other raven he received shortly afterwards. Dark wings, dark words…
'It is with our utmost honour and pleasure that we announce the union of His Grace King Joffrey, of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and Rhoynar, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, by marriage in sight of the Seven.
You are hereby sincerely invited to witness the ceremony held at the Great Sept of Baelor'
There is a date written under it in elegant hand but what does it matter now if this takes place three or four moons from now?
"What is it", Theon asks because he must have paled noticeably while reading. He feels sick to his stomach - he knows Margaery would never do this, her first letter meant to remind him of how much they feel for one another, how much both of them were looking forward to their wedding. It must have been Mace Tyrell, who will marry her off to another King closer to his home and more profitable to his house. His fists ball around the piece of paper. It is a sick joke to send him an invitation for everyone in the North and the Six Kingdoms knew that Lady Margaery was betrothed to King Robb of House Stark.
"It is an invitation to King Joffreys wedding to Margaery", he says, voice hard and emotionless even though anger and desperation and betrayal all burn in his veins. He cannot show it, not even before his closest friend. He is a King, no boy who cries over lost opportunities. He is a King but he hurts nonetheless.
"That son of a b-" Theon stops, when Robb looks down on him, shaking his head. "I am sorry, Your Grace, but you cannot tell me he sent this letter with best intentions."
When had Joffrey ever had someone else's best interests in mind? No, this is a stab aimed at his heart to show him how less the other Kingdom thinks of him, to make him believe Margaery has given up on him. But she has not. He knows she has not and that she will wait for him.
"You do not have to go to King's Landing, Your Grace", Maester Luwin says and he can feel the old man's worried eyes on his face. He shakes his head. No, he does not have to. He could leave this letter unanswered, forget about the young Lady he loves with all his heart and wed a daughter of one of his banner men like they had urged him to do for so long now. He had never accepted though because the moment he had laid eyes on Margaery he knew he could never belong to another. And he never will. He could ignore Joffrey's words and her father's betrayal but there is a reason his beloved tried to escape to Winterfell, there is a reason she sent him a warning.
"But I do", he answers coldly because he owes it to Margaery to fight for her, for them. He owes it to her not to sit in his castle and let her marry Joffrey. "I do but I will not go for their wedding." He takes a deep breath but it will not make him change his mind, nothing could. "Call the banners."
They had met in a world full of white and grey and cold. She had shivered under thick furs but he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful than the girl before him with long, chestnut curls cascading from under the hood of her cloak and doe eyes taking in her surroundings with awe while snowflakes settled on her dark eyelashes. He had barely registered Lord Tyrells words of how honoured he and how beautiful the North was. The girl beside him was much more worthy of his attention. So when he thought it appropriate - after welcoming the family and leading them into the castle - he had bowed before her and pressed a kiss to her cold hand which made her blush so adorably he needed to suppress his laugh.
"I hope you will not be cold for long, my lady", he had said and she shook her head, granting him a small smile. "I am sure I will adapt shortly." When she had followed her family into the castle and taken one last glance at him, he knew he had made the right decision in accepting Mace Tyrells proposal.
At first he had thought of it as a purely political marriage. He needed the wealth of Highgarden and the crops of the Reach for his own people even though House Tyrell was bound to another kingdom. He did not expect for the young lady to take his heart the moment he met her because he had expected a simple southern flower that would freeze and shiver in the cold of Winterfell.
But when had he showed her around her future home on the second day of her stay, he soon realized she was anything but simple. Her brown eyes had grown wide with everything she saw, her musical laughter echoing through the woods. "So this is where I will become yours", she had asked, pointing towards the heart tree while glancing curiously at him but he could have sworn there was a glint of playfulness in her eyes. He had felt blood flooding his cheeks and scratched the back of his head nervously. "Aye, you know we take to the Old Gods here but if you want, we can have another ceremony in my mother's sept." He had almost stumbled over his words and grew annoyed with himself. Her presence made him as nervous as the boy he had not been ever since his father was killed by wildlings and they put Eddard's crown on his head.
"No", she had said and her lips broke into the sweetest of smiles. "If I am to be Queen in the North I will make my vows in front of the northern gods. Your Lords already do not accept me as it is so I have to make them see that I am more than a fragile rose." He had been surprised by her honesty and how easy she seemed to accept the northern culture and had shaken his head in astonishment, taking her hand with a small laugh and leading her back towards the castle. "It is not important what my Lords think. You will be their Queen soon and they will bow to you like they do before me", he had promised and she had looked so happy, he had wished for nothing to ever wash that smile from her face.
She had kissed him only a week after her arrival, stealing him away into the godswood and running her hands through his hair. She tasted like summer, like apples and berries and wine and left him absolutely breathless. It had been clear to him then that this marriage would not be based on advantages and gold but maybe even so on love.
-
"You foolish child!" As soon as her grandmother sees her - red eyes and dark circles underneath - she shakes her head disapprovingly. "What you did could have cost our heads, do you not understand?" It looks like she wants to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her but instead she sighs and sits down at the small table in the solar.
They had caught her only a day's ride from home and dragged her back to Highgarden, back before her father who would have disowned her if there would have been anything else he could have taken from her. They had put her into a sweetly decorated carriage and brought her to King's Landing the next day. She was greeted with smiles and warm hugs but underneath the masks she could see how everyone disapproved of her. "This is the Lady who would rather be with the harsh, cold King in the North than our beloved Joffrey", she heard the maids whisper. They hated her and the feeling was mutual but she was taught to smile politely and be the ever so gracious lady, so smile she did.
"What father did was dishonourable and wrong. I was promised to King Robb two years ago and he threw that alliance away to bring me to this place", she exclaims frustrated, running her hands through her loose waves. Olenna looks at her warningly, shaking her head again and again and she feels so childish and silly. "I never meant to disgrace our family", Margaery adds softly then, sitting down across from her grandmother and when their eyes meet she can see a gleam of sympathy in the old lady's gaze. With that last string of hope she grabs her hand and gives it a soft but urgent squeeze. "Please, grandmother, you need to make them see that this is wrong. I cannot marry Joffrey, it will break Robb's heart." She does not even want to think of what it will do to herself, of what it had already caused her. Olenna scoffs only, but keeps their fingers intertwined.
"What do I care about that boy and his hurt pride? His kingdom was never part of ours, never taken by the Targaryens and instead that stupid aunt of his broke lose a revolution that set those Baratheons on the throne. They dug their own grave then and we need to think of our house. You are far better off as Queen of the Six Kingdoms than Queen in the North" and she mumbles on of roses that will fade in snow and how she would be envied by every women in the realm but Margaery stops listening, looking down instead because this was her last hope and she lost it. No one gives her a choice, no one wants to understand.
She remembers how her father told her, looking at her with so much pride in his eyes she thought she would cry tears of anger because did he not see? She did neither desire to be Queen nor to be the wife of that blonde boy sitting on a throne and leaving the country in ruins. Her body, heart and soul belonged to another man, another kingdom. They thought they would make her happy but in reality they destroyed her.
"Margaery", her grandmother calls out with anger laced into her voice. "You must wed the King or we all will pay for your mistake. The Lannisters do not take betrayal lightly and what you did could almost be considered treason. You cannot do it again, do you hear me?", and she presses on her hand so hard, it brings tears to her eyes. "They will have our heads on spikes on these walls because your father was dumb enough to make an arrangement you could not keep. They will destroy us all, you and Mace and your brothers, so you will bring that pretty smile to your face, stand before the king and tell him how much you admire and love him, do you understand?"
No, she does not and she will not understand, all of them be damned, but she cannot curse her innocent brothers to such a cruel fate. So she nods, any sign of hope fading from her eyes.
But when she stands before Joffrey and lies of how much she has come to love him from afar, how she only ran because she was scared of Robb Stark's wrath, she thinks of auburn curls and loving smiles and Tully blue eyes and somehow hope returns to her.
"It is decided then", Joffrey exclaims grinning down on her but all she hears are her own words she wrote him and how he must know that she will wait forever if she has to until they will be reunited. "Three moons from now you will be my Queen. And I will love you from this day until my last day."
Three moons, she thinks, please let that be enough.
He has twenty-thousand men who could easily be outnumbered by all the armies of the Six Kingdoms. Bloody murder, his men call it, a waste and useless. But it is not to him. When they pass the Twins he promises off Sansa and Bran and feels sick to his stomach under the judging eyes of his mother. "All this for a simple girl", he hears the Greatjon say one evening. "If this is Robert's Rebellion all over again she will be dead when we reach King's Landing and even if he takes Joffreys head, this war will have destroyed him." The words make him angrier than he has ever been and he just wants to make all of them see that Margaery is not a simple girl and they will get to her in time, they have to.
His uncle, Lord Edmure, allies with them when they reach the Riverlands. "Maybe it is time for us to rule ourselves again", he says and Robb does not correct him that the Lords of Riverrun never were kings in their own right.
He only realizes he does not have a plan when his Lords and Ladies are gathered one evening and look at him with waiting eyes. "It was only a betrothal", Rickard Karstark calls out after a while, earning nods and encouraging shouts. "Stop this foolishness, wed one of our daughters and let it be." Robb has to stop himself from slamming his fists on the wooden table and Grey Wind growls at the Lords words as if the thought of leaving Margaery hurts him just as much as it does his companion. "Mace Tyrell betrayed me", the King hisses through clenched teeth. "He spit on my honour, he spit on the North and you want me to stand by and let him gloat over how he embarrassed the North and its King?" Silence fills the room only broken by the heavy breaths escaping his lips. "You want everyone to laugh at us? You want them to think we are easily fooled; that we let traitors and oath breakers live out the rest of their lives in peace? If that is so, you can take your men and ride back North to your wives and let them sing songs of how we were not even able to rescue one simple girl. So whoever wants to leave, do it now!"
His voice and fingers shake with anger, with anxiety. No one rises, as he expected. There is one thing the North values above anything else and it is honour. They will not have a southern Lord betray them and let him find peace. ("When we hunted the Targaryens off our land, that family were only stewards to a King who was dumb enough to get his entire house killed by dragons!") If he betrayed their King, he betrayed them and even though Robb hears whispers of "She is still just a girl" or "We are digging our own grave" none of his men leave.
They win the first battle gloriously, the Lannister army not prepared for the strength of the Northerners and even though they were outnumbered one to three, they lose few men, instead taking several high Lords captive including the Kingslayer. When they reach the encampment outside the castle, his mother runs towards him and hugs him so close, it almost hurts more than all the scars he endured during the fight because he can feel her desperation, her worry and anger at him for risking his life for a simple girl. He knows she liked Margaery but to her this is not worth the danger he puts himself in.
Three days later, two thousand men of the Vale arrive, bowing before Robb and swearing fealty to him in the name of his aunt Lysa.
"I did not expect her to come to our aid", Catelyn says that evening over a small meal of bread and meat. Robb shrugs. "They say she wants the independence of the Vale for her son, Robert. We are the only ones who can give her that." He sends her back home after that, home to his younger siblings who need their mother because he cannot be selfish and keep her to himself. He is a King. He is not meant to be scared and in need of comfort from his mother.
More men sent by Lady Arryn join forces with them the longer they stay at Riverrun and the number of his army grows to about fifty thousand. Soon, news of the Baratheon brothers raising their banners to end Joffrey's three year reign and put Stannis on the throne reach them. The whole country is at war, again, because of a simple girl. The whole country is at war and all the child king seems to have left are the Westerlands and the Reach.
There are feasts with loud songs and laughter echoing through the castle walls even though they only fought one great battle, but to them it feels like they are winning without even trying. To Robb it feels he is losing with every day that passes and Margaery is held in King's Landing.
She had imagined the soft lines of his face all the way back from Winterfell and only when they finally reached Highgarden had she admitted to herself that she did so because she missed him already. She had kissed him several times - in the silence of the godswood, one morning in his chambers, in corridors and corners away from prying eyes because it had been what her grandmother told her to do. "Make him lose his head over you. A few kisses in dark corners should be enough. No boy of ten and eight could be able to resist you", were her words when they departed Highgarden and she had done what Olenna suggested. The only thing she had not planned on was how good it felt when Robbs arms would sneak around her back, his hands covering her cheeks, his fingers trailing through her hair or that it would only leave her wanting more. His lips had tasted of salt and snow, soft and cold against hers when she pressed him into a wall, only a few corridors away from her parent's temporary chambers. She remembered how she shivered in his arms when he had breathed her name as they broke apart.
At the beginning she had been happy to hear she would be Queen and marry a man of her age even though he lived so far from home. She had not expected he would make her heart flutter, her cheeks flush and her breath catch in her throat.You are acting like a foolish handmaiden, she thought whenever she would catch his gaze on her but she could not help the smile that would turn the corners of her lips upwards.
Only a few months after their journey back to the Reach he had followed her wish to visit him. She had sent a raven with words of how much she would love for him to see the roses and the sun and the castle of Highgarden and he wrote back, announcing his arrival three moons later. Her heart had pounded against her ribs with excitement and she almost flew down the stairs to her father's chambers, presenting him Robb's words. But even through her happiness did she notice her father's displeased features. "Surely, when His Grace is to leave back to Winterfell we will accompany him so we can be wed", she had asked, never taking her gaze of the Lord of Highgarden but Mace had merely shaken his head.
She had eyed her father curiously; suspicious as to why he wanted to wait so long for them to be married. She was a flowered woman and it was unusual to make several visits to the betrothed's home without getting married. Mace only told her not to worry her "pretty little head" and that he wanted his daughter to be wed when spring came so she would have at least a small piece of home with her. Soon she had forgotten about her father's suspicious behaviour, finding silly excuses so she could give all her attention on preparing everything for her betrothed's arrival; a feast with bards and meals of the North, the best wine of the South and a beautiful dress in grey and white with golden roses to hug her slender figure.
When the day finally came, she had waited in the courtyard next to her family and as her eyes landed on Robb's her breath caught in her throat and a smile tugged at her lips. Her memory had not done him justice, not even in the slightest. She had found herself wanting to run into his arms and kiss him breathless but only curtsied when he approached, her gaze lingering on the floor as was appropriate. "Your Grace", Mace had called out while bowing as far as his fat stomach would let him. "It is an honour to host you and your men at our home." The King had said nothing in return and carefully Margaery had raised her eyes to look up only to be met by his warm smile. He had almost ignored her father and with surprise she had felt Robb taking her hands in his, coldness meeting warmth, raising them to his lips before pressing a soft kiss to each of them which sent a shiver down her spine. "My lady, it is good to see you again." It seemed to her than that she had lost her head over him and not the other way around.
Highgarden was much easier to sneak away to silent corners. The gardens were one of her favourite places and by the time she had reached her eighth name day she had known every inch by heart. The first time she led Robb to them she could not suppress the laugh escaping her lips and pride overtaking her as she took in his awestruck expression. "You were right", he had breathed. "This truly is beautiful." His blue eyes had roamed over everything he had never seen before - fields of roses, exotic plants and fruits andso muchgreen - but she had only tugged at his hand to make him follow her even deeper into the gardens.
"I am afraid we do not have the possibilities to create something even close to this at Winterfell." He had sounded almost sad and when she turned around to face him there was regret pooling in his eyes. It was the first time she had noticed that Robb Stark, King in the North, was afraid of not making her happy and it seemed so contradictory to her that she had raised her hands to cover his cheeks, shaking her head in surprise. "If I wanted gardens and roses and warmth I would stay at Highgarden", she had said plainly and he had scoffed.
"Aye, but your father-…" he had stuttered but she had not let him finish because how did this man always and always worry about something and not just live for a moment? "The Others can take my father", she had whispered and leant in to finally press her lips to his in a kiss that left both of them breathing heavily.
"So you think you can be happy at Winterfell?"
"I will tell you exactly how happy I will be, if you can catch me", she had laughed and turned around to run and hide in the woods. He had found her, in the end, like he would always find her.
She would never admit it but her legs are shaking slightly when she enters Joffreys chambers. "You wanted to see me, Your Grace."
He sits across the room, loaded crossbow in hand that points directly at her and when he raises his gaze, his eyes are so full of disgust; it sends a shiver running down her spine.
"Yes, My Lady, I have something to ask you." He beckons her to come closer and slowly she takes one step after another so she is only three feet away from him, her eyes fixated on his hands which stroke the weapon as if it was his very own child. She can only guess why he wanted to see her, why he seems so angry. She has heard the rumours, has heard the maids whispering behind her back: he is coming for her. Whenever she would catch their voices hushed, mumbling words of Robb riding south for her she cannot help the smile that comes to her face.
But now she is standing directly before another King – a King who is nothing but cruel and ruthless and enjoys hurting others. The crossbow is still directed at her while Joffreys lips turn upwards in a sick grin. "Your former betrothed is marching south, killing my men."
His gaze is fixed on her, green eyes seeming to look right through her. She swallows hard and tries to remember how to smile one of these innocent, lovely smiles which seem to fool everyone around her. "Your Grace", she starts, her voice trembling oh so slightly but Joffrey interrupts her, face stern with anger. "Do you know why", he demands to know. She needs a moment to think of an answer that will keep her alive and sound believable at the same time. Slowly, carefully, she takes one more step towards the boyking, her hands raised in front of her while her heart might just beat out of her chest.
"No, Your Majesty, I do not know. I can only guess that…", she pauses and slides next to him onto the bench, so she is out of reach of that damn crossbow. He raises an eyebrow at her but does no move to speak or point the weapon at her again, so she looks to the ground, face a mask of guilt. "I think my wish to marry you instead of… instead of King Robb has hurt his pride deeply and he wishes revenge on that", she lies and is surprised how easily the words slip off her tongue. You're doing this to survive, she reminds herself. So your family might survive. "From what I saw of him, he is no man to take such a betrayal lightly."
She turns her head to look at Joffrey who seems rather pleased with her answer, a slow smile curving the corners of his lips upwards. "Oh, I thought as much. My father always told me of those Starks and their honour", he spits the words out as if they were venom in his mouth and she cringes with the need to defend the family she had come to care for so deeply. "That aunt of his was the reason my father got the throne but she was a whore nonetheless, running around with men who she did not belong to." His gaze hardens, his hand darts out to catch her wrist and he pulls her in closer. "You do well not to talk about Robb Stark at all, do you understand." She is so shocked by his sudden outburst, by the way his fingers dig into her flesh that no coherent sentence can leave her mouth. "Your Majesty I can assure you I… I never… I am glad that…"
"As you should be", he hisses between clenched teeth. "Or you will regret it dearly." The next moment he lets her go, the features of his face soften and he raises his hand to run it through her hair. "My sweet lady", he smiles but gestures for her to leave the next second and she does, trying not to make it look like she is in a hurry to get away from him.
When she finally reaches her chamber and can slow down, her heart is still racing and pounding against her ribcage while her wrist burns. She will most likely have a bruise the next morning but she does not care. Slowly a smile spreads on her lips, silly laughter escaping before she can pull herself together; because Joffrey is scared. And if he is scared of Robb it can only mean he is losing and soon enough she will leave all this behind her.
It is far too easy, he thinks day after day. With the joined armies of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands he has over 70 000 men at his command, an army he could never have imagined in his dreams. The days blur into one another, some filled with battle some with lingering in one place so his soldiers can have a bit of a rest. The King in the North, however, cannot enjoy as much as an hour of sleep. He paces in his tent or through the encampment, counting the minutes until they can take off again. It is far too easy and for some reason he is afraid that it all might just be a trap – that maybe when they arrive in King's Landing Margaery's bloodied body will hang from the castle walls or she will wear a crown of gold and rubies on her head instead of the one of bronze and iron his smith had crafted for her moons ago.
It is on one of his walks, his forehead wrinkled with worry, that Roose Bolton accompanies him. "We are past the God's Eye, Your Grace. The letter from King Stannis states the forces of the Stormlands will meet ours at the Blackwater Rush." The Baratheon brother's had decided to ally with the King in the North only a few days before to secure an even larger army and Robb needed their ships to take the city. It felt surreal how the whole realm seemed to unite to clean the Iron Throne of Joffrey, all because of a simple girl.
"We'll have almost a hundred thousand men", he wonders aloud while his eyes roam over ranks of tents and soldiers, some drinking, some sleeping. "There will be no real battle. The Tyrells just now raised their army." He knows his men are tired as he is himself; he knows they want to go home to their wives and children and wait out the winter which is sure to come now. All he longs for are the safe walls of Winterfell and Rickon's silly laughter and Bran chasing Arya around the halls and Margaery leaning into him. It will all be over soon, he wishes.
"Your Grace, we have a fair chance at winning but", the other man stops in his tracks and his eyes roam over his king's face – tired and worried and a little bit broken too. "I have heard rumor that our men are worried about the purpose of this war."
"What is there to be worried about", Robb demands to know, his voice as sharp as the blade of his greatsword. "Joffrey robbed me of my happiness. Now we are returning the favor."
They'll ride for the Blackwater Rush the next morning, the sound of horses echoing through his head like a mantra: We will make it in time. Gods, let us make it in time.
She had visited him one last time, when the winter had seemed to fade into spring, another False Spring. It had been one of the happiest times when Margaery had been running around the courtyard, skirts swirling in the snow, while engaging in a snowball fight with his younger siblings. Even sweet, courteous Sansa had not been able to deny the future Queen's doe eyed pleas and it was a snowball of hers that hit him right at the head when he stepped outside. Pieces of ice had trickled from auburn curls and down his face and the cold assault had shocked him so much that he was not able to laugh or speak so much as one word. Sansa had guiltily looked towards the ground, cheeks stained red from snow and embarrassment and it was Margaery who strolled towards him as gracious as ever, hands outstretched to frame his face while a happy smile grazed her lips. Ever so gently she had brushed the melted wetness from his face with her gloved hands. "I was wondering when you would join us. I believe the King in the North must defend his castle when the snowballs attack." It had been an afternoon filled with laughter and silly war shouts, without duty or obligations.
Later, the King and his betrothed had dined together in small lit chambers, seeking some time alone from the watchful eyes of her brothers or his mother. "Father said he wants to wait until spring comes before we are wed." Her mouth had been curled into a pout; her eyes so full of annoyance that a small laugh had escaped his lips at her grimace. He had tugged her closer until she had been seated in his lap and he could bring his mouth up to hers. "Then maybe I am to talk with your brothers and send a raven to your father. If it is what my Lady desires."
She had left for Highgarden a fortnight later, despite her wish to stay. When they bid good-bye in the courtyard where everyone had gathered to see the Tyrells off, she had promised to write to him as often as she could and that she would convince her father to not delay the wedding any further. "I will see you soon, my king", she had whispered a little out of breath before kissing him hungrily. It had taken him so much by surprise that he had stumbled a little but catching her nonetheless. His cheeks had still been burning when her horse had disappeared through the gates. It had been such happy, carefree weeks that should be crushed so soon.
"Willas has written another letter." Olenna shakes her head disapprovingly, throwing the piece of paper on the table. It lands between plates of fruits and cheese and cake. "He will not attend your wedding. He says it is because he must stay at Highgarden in his father's stead." She makes an angry, hissing sound through clenched teeth. "He always liked that northern King almost as much as you did."
Margaery does not give an answer. Her gaze is directed to her plate, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth upwards. She has heard the handmaiden's nervous whispers of Stannis leading his fleet down the Blackwater and joining forces with the King in the North so they might take the city. She has heard how they call it Robb's Rebellion and her Lady Lyanna reborn. Those are silly tales and silly beliefs because her story will have a happy ending. She will not die locked away in a tower and never see Robb again.
"What are you smiling about", Olenna inquires, face contorted in annoyance as is so often the case now. Maybe she had thought Robb a better husband too, yet they do not need the North; they need the favor of the king in their realm, as her father keeps reminding her.
Still the thought of Willas refusing to come because he hates for his sister to be married to the wrong man is a relieving realization. She remembers seeing him and Robb talking in Highgarden, hear of the letters they sometimes wrote all in friendship and none because of duty or her. It had been so simple how both of them had fitted into each other's family so easily; how she had come to love little Rickon and wild Arya, courteous Sansa, smart Bran, even mostly silent Jon; how he had gotten along so well with all three of her brothers. Joffrey had neither met the most part of her family nor did he care. He barely spent any more time with her than necessary though she was grateful for that.
"You think that boy will come and rescue you?" Olenna scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief at her granddaughter's unusual naivety. "He will die in this war that is for sure."
The words send a shiver down her spine, freezing her bones and sucking the air from her lungs because even the thought of Robb dead and lifeless, blue eyes staring into nothingness, scares her to her core. She swallows, hard, jaw clenched with determination as she turns to her grandmother. She means well, she knows she does, but she does not want all their wishes if it is to be Queen to a monster.
"He will not die." It is a promise, a prayer, she repeats to herself at night, at the sept, in the godswood of the Red Keep. Joffrey will have nothing and she will go far north. It is the most beautiful of dreams.
It should not be that easy. They should not break through gates so easily, should not fight citywatch and Lannister men and have almost no resistance. Mace Tyrell's army had not even made it half-way to King's Landing, and maybe that was thanks to Willas, and the rest of the forces proved little resistance.
His blade and armour are coated in blood of enemies and friends alike – some he killed, other's he held while dying, wishing it would not cost as much as it did. For a simple girl. His legs move quicker the closer they get to the castle because he has to save her. She is in danger, a city attacked by him means Joffrey will use her against him if he is not fast enough.
His muscles burn from exhaustion and still he runs faster, ducking and slashing his sword at screaming enemies, blood dripping everywhere and he must look every bit like the savage king those southerners think he is.
He is not the first to enter the throne room, his man scattered across the great hall, weapons raised as if to run at any moment but their eyes dart from him to the throne as he enters. Two kingsguard lie motionless on the floor beneath Joffrey, his eyes wide with fear, body shaking, hands shaking and bloody and holding a knife to the only person that matters in this room. The world is spinning beneath the king's feet, breathing rapid as blue eyes meet frightened brown ones and notice the tears on Margaery's cheeks.
"You or one of your savages take one more step and I'll cut her pretty throat in half." The boy king's voice is shaking, sweat and tears covering his face and a broken laugh tears from his throat. "I am dead anyway. You will kill me no matter what I do. And I will take this bitch with me if I must, so it will kill you too."
"Joffrey.. Your Grace", she chokes out and just hearing her voice breaks his heart, splits it in two. She had always been so strong and full of life and seeing her lips shuddering now, fingers curled around the arm that is violently pressing her body to the one behind her, makes him regret once more he ever let her go that day when spring seemed to come and she promised to be back soon.
"Shut up or I will-…" They never know what he intended to do as images blur together, an arrow hitting the half of his chest not hidden by Margaerys body and he chokes, eyes cast down to where blood seeps into his clothing. Robb turns, finding one of Stannis determined man standing in front of his own king with a bow held high; but as Joffrey collapses, strength fading, and everyone is rushing forward he slams the knife into Margaerys stomach, digging with all the power he still has before falling to the floor and taking her with him.
The screams tearing from his throat are animalistic, like the wolf he is, as he runs to catch her, too late and only able to cradle her in his arms, hands pressing around the knife to stop the bleeding. She feels too soft, too small next to him, lips slightly parted and eyes wide with pain but her own hands slip through his. "Margaery", he chokes and cries for help though someone most likely already ran to find a maester. "Margaery, just-…"
"You found me… you came." Her voice breaks with a cough, her body shaking with fear and pain and he has not noticed he started to cry until he can see the wetness dropping on her cheeks.
"Shhh, just-… just breathe, be still, I am with you now, I…"
She raises a hand, blood painting her fingertips, and caressing his cheek, drawing a pattern only she can understand while he shakes his head frantically. "No, you will be alright, we will-…"
"Robb…", she whispers and there are other words he can almost feel on her lips, weighing on her heart but whatever it is, it is lost forever as a last shaky breath escapes her, the corners of her lips tugging into a sad smile before brown eyes stare into an eternity of nothingness across his shoulder.
They were right. Another rebellion, a war raging because of love, ended in tragedy and bloodied bodies.
Tales of Robb's Rebellion will always end with the king's wolfish howl, with him baring his teeth at any man trying to tear him away from her body or clawing at anyone reaching out to him. Maybe that is the reason Margaery Tyrell was buried in the crypt beneath Winterfell though not even a Stark by name. They say King Robb was not able to part from his beloved even as she had found death and once he died – unmarried, childless and with a smile on his face – they buried him next to her, their statues forever remaining with linked hands.