Of the Dead and Damned
"Ambition is the immoderate desire for power."
~Baruch Spinoza~
Margaery was never dumb, and understood what she was getting into.
The pomegranate was ripe in her hands, and the smell from it was almost pungent. The skin was bright red, like blood in her hands. The taste of it almost overwhelmed her, but she only needed one bite. Just one bite of immortality and power.
This would be his undoing. She would be his undoing.
Immortality was power, and to rule over the dead, even more so. Their number grew every day. Or would, if they weren't being constantly destroyed by their king. Totally destroyed, so many souls, never to be seen again. Their existence was lost and forgotten.
Margaery would not be forgotten. Her existence wouldn't be lost or destroyed, but Joffrey's would be. Oh, she would be his dutiful queen and pretend to love him, pretend to worship him and the very ground he walked on. But only for a time.
She was to be the princess of spring. But princesses were nothing compared to queens. Her grandmother was tricky, and would never be killed by the likes of her. The Queen of Thorns had killed many to have her power, and wouldn't hesitate to kill her own granddaughter. Besides, she was a goddess. There would be hundreds more granddaughters and grandsons. She had forever, after all.
Joffrey was new into power though, his father only recently turned to ash and dust, only remembered by the stars. Soon, he would join his father.
She waited under the tree, and when the dead came for her, she went with them gladly and easily. She would sit on the throne of blood and wear the crown of bones. She would sit alone.
The ghosts were pale and made of dust, with armor of bone and darkness. They led her to the castle, which glitter with gems and precious metals. Underneath it all was pale bone and rotting trees. The smell of corpses lead the way to the doors of silver and gold, with ruby encrusted door knobs. Beyond the door was room upon room. The doors that were opened allowed her to view scenes of torture and ecstasy. None of it bothered her, and she ignored it. Soon enough, it would stop. She would stop this man's reign of terror. She cared not for a kingdom of the terrified.
They led her to a lavish room of crimson and gold, a large bed with jet black velvet bedding in the center of the room. The bed didn't appear to be made of wood, but of bone dyed a golden hue. The dresser was made of the same material, along with the wardrobe that she was led to before the guards left the room, and entered bowing hand maidens.
They put her in a dress made of rubies and onyx-colored velvet before they allowed her to be seen by the king. She didn't mind. This was to be her coronation gown, once the king was dead. Besides, the flowers of her dress had turned brown and wilted, and the green color looked eerie and reminded her of dead things and swamps.
After dressing, she was taken to the king, who looked her over and then smiled. She forced herself not to feel the terror that was rushing through her veins, and reminded herself why she was doing this. For power. For the people. For immortality.
Joffrey was a cruel man, even to her. The dead moaned in pain all around her and she could not blame them. There was no kindness in him. Even surrounded by those that appeared monstrous, the only monster she ever saw was Joffrey.
It was six months before she could escape them, and she didn't hesitate to go to her grandmother. Despite everything, the Queen of Thorns would help her. They protected their own.
With a dress of red, like blood, and roses of every color adorning her, her grandmother was beautiful. She was old, old enough for her fingers to remind Margaery of spindly tree branches, always reaching. The old goddess was her salvation. She handed Margaery the poison with a smile and she smiled back.
They had called her a child, before she had ate the forbidden fruit. They had called her idiotic, despite her beauty. They had told her that she could never be a queen. But here she was, a queen. And soon, she wouldn't have to share power.
Six months later, she was back in Hell, with black roses braided in her hair and wearing a dress of gold. There was poison on her lips, and when her husband kissed her and took her to his bed, she waited.
She watched as he began to turn purple, his eyes bulging. She shoved him onto the bed, and watched as he choked on his own tongue, as the veins in his eyes popped and busted. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his month. She smiled.
How anyone ever considered such a monster beautiful, she didn't understand. He had always looked like this in her mind. She had always seen him dead, held it close to her heart. It had been what kept her going.
She kissed him once more, and didn't shut his eyes. He could watch as she took everything from him.
First, she took the antidote, and then she dressed in the velvet gown with the rubies. She took the crown of bones of Joffrey's head and sat it upon her own. Exiting the room, she quietly told the guard that the king was dead, and to inform those that needed to know. The ghost stared at her and then smiled.
Her coronation as the sole ruler took place a day after his death. She wore her dress and crown, with roses of red and black braided in her hair. Everyone was there that needed to be, and she sent a letter to her grandmother. She never received a reply, but she didn't expected to. There was no response needed. Of course she would be able to do it.
They burned Joffrey's body afterwards. She wanted him to see her on the throne. She wanted him to know that she was the queen of the dead and the damned, and that she was beautiful like a rose, but was one of bloody petals and steel thorns. She was the princess of spring and life turned queen of death and ghosts. She was powerful, and immortal.
But immortality belongs to the dead.
She stared through the window made of bones, and smelled rotting flesh. Hell was on fire, in a way that it never had been before.
She hadn't forgotten that Cersei was queen of family, and would want vengeance. But the news shouldn't have arrived to her this fast. Margaery closed her eyes.
The messenger god belonged to Cersei, so of course her message to her grandmother would be intercepted. She couldn't believe her mistake. It was so clear in hindsight. But now, she supposed it didn't matter.
There was still poison left. How ironic that it would end her as well. It tasted sweet going down her throat, and she thought of pomegranates and blood on her hands. She didn't gag on the poison either.
The pomegranate had been its own type of poison, and had sentenced her to this fate. But Joffrey was dead, so at least others had been saved, if they weren't killed in the haze of fire and revenge.
Maybe she was the monster in this story. Maybe she had been the villain all along and she had been too blind to ever really see it. Maybe this had been her fate all along.
They found her in her dress of rubies and velvet, her crown atop her head, and her face of purple and eyes of red. She had died amongst the ghosts of those long dead and forgotten. But she had taken immortality and power, like her dream.
They burned her with her crown and roses woven in her hair, and a strange sort of smile upon her face. The queen of lions stared at the queen of the dead as she went up in flames, her vengeance not sated. Margaery had went her own way, created her own path, and continued it into the stars as she turned to smoke and ash. She had no regrets, unlike Cersei, who would find that winter had come and planned to stay.
Somewhere, a ghostly warrior smiled and thought of a girl turned queen who wore rubies and power and bones, and hadn't realized that immortality was for those that were damned.