The walls of King's Landing loomed over them as the party emerged from the Kingswood. The muddy waters of the Blackwater flowed sedately before them; taking its time as it made its way to the Bay. Above them the hills of the city rose, crowded with the shops and homes of the smallfolk. And perched atop Aegon's High Hill, overlooking the river's mouth was the Red Keep. Its stones seemed to glow crimson in the late afternoon light. It's right up there, Margaery Tyrell thought, the Iron Throne and the King.
The Tyrell host made its leisurely way north, plodding up the Kingsroad. Father had insisted on bringing hundreds of retainers and more still had joined their party as they traveled up the Roseroad. That was not to mention the thousands of knights and men-at-arms who must accompany them to show the power and majesty of House Tyrell. Margaery just wished that the grandeur of the Reach could have moved just a bit faster. They seemed to stop at every castle and holdfast on their way; taking them nearly two turns of the moon to travel from Highgarden to King's Landing. Margaery wanted to spur her horse and gallop ahead of the party, but that would not be becoming of the future queen of Westeros.
Her cousins Megga, Alla, and Elinor, her ladies-in-waiting, were riding in the wheelhouse probably complaining of the jolts and bumps of the road and gossiping about the handsome knights they wished to marry. Most days Margaery would have joined them, but today was special. She would enter the city ahorse, for all the smallfolk to see and adore her. If only they would finally get there.
Margaery had wanted to be queen ever since she was little; listening to stories of Alysanne the Good and the sister queens Rhaenys and Visenya. The prospect of the power and splendor of being Queen had always excited her, not to mention the love and respect that would be due to her. Queen Margaery Tyrell, she had often whispered it to herself as she lay abed. Father had told her that one day she would be queen if he could arrange it. But Grandmother had laughed when Margaery told her. Your fool of a father couldn't arrange a game of cyvasse; he hasn't a political bone in his body, the oaf. Best give up that ambition now, sweetling, else you'll end up as puffed up as your father. But it hadn't mattered, she was at King's Landing and she would be Queen.
Up ahead she spied a group of riders under the King's banner. They appeared to be an escort party not more than a dozen in number. As they approached, Margaery made out the livery of Baratheon guards behind a finely dressed lord who was conversing animatedly with a knight of the Kingsguard. To Margaery's surprise she realized that the Kingsguard was none other than her brother Loras.
"Loras!" she cried, throwing caution to the winds and rushing to him. Margaery had not seen her favorite brother in over six moons since he had left Highgarden for court. Not that she didn't love Willas and Garlan in their own ways, but Loras was different. They had been inseparable as children, being only a year and some months' difference in age, constant companions in their games and merriment. But then he had gone off to Storm's End to squire and had returned to Highgarden only infrequently and always with a seeming longing to be gone again. And when he had been made a knight (at the young age of five and ten, no less) and returned home, Margaery had found him changed. To be sure, in many respects he was still the same brother who had played dress-up with her in their mother's wardrobe, but he seemed more reserved somehow, keeping her at a distance. He had been back hardly two moons when he had left for King's Landing.
Loras laughed as she burst from the party in her eagerness to greet him. "Well met, little sister," he chortled as she reached him, breathless.
"Loras!" she protested good-naturedly, swinging off her horse, "You didn't tell us you would be meeting us so soon! And wearing a white cloak too! When did that happen? Tell me verything!" Margaery hugged him quickly, and then looked at her brother expectantly.
"Well, I had to have some surprise for my favorite sister," he said with an easy laugh.
"I'm your only sister, you dummy," she said, smiling nonetheless.
"Very true; your wit has grown as great as your beauty, sweet sister," Loras said with a chuckle and a smirk. He produced a white rose from his saddlebag and presented it to her with a graceful bow. "To the most beautiful woman of the Realm, Lady Margaery Tyrell." Margaery laughed, and accepted the rose with mock solemnity.
The young lord seated on his horse nearby interrupted with a small cough. Smiling, he said "Well Loras, it seems as though your sister is just as charming as you have said, but perhaps the rest of us may want to be introduced to such a lovely young lady."
"Of course. Margaery, this is my good friend Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End. Renly, may I present my delightful and beautiful sister, Lady Margaery Tyrell."
Margaery was taken aback for a startled moment, then recovering, she dropped into a polite curtsy. Lord Renly certainly had changed since she had seen him years ago when he had come to Highgarden with Loras. He had always been handsome, but he had filled out a bit more; the lanky youth becoming a well-muscled young man. In addition, he had grown a short beard, which suited his face well. Lord Renly's blue eyes twinkled with merriment as he had Loras exchanged some private joke.
The rest of the Tyrell host caught up with them and Lord Renly greeted her father courteously, offering to escort them to the Red Keep. Lord Tyrell accepted graciously, and they rode through the River Gate together under Baratheon and Tyrell banners. And though Margaery waved and smiled at the cheering crowds, she was unable to keep her attention from wandering back to Lord Renly for very long.
Margaery stood outside the large doors to the Great Hall, her stomach a bundle of nerves and excitement. This was it, she was about to be presented to the King. Nervously, Margaery glanced down at her low cut dress one more time, fidgeting with the hem. It was green silk with gold trimmings, the Tyrell colors. Her father stood at her side, ready to escort her up the hall. His suit was well tailored in the same colors, but Margaery saw it fit a little too tightly. He smiled at her encouragingly when he caught her eye. The doors swung open. It was time.
As they made their way to the Iron Throne in the distance, Margaery forced herself to admire the hall and the hunting tapestries hanging from the walls. They were nice enough, she supposed, but Willas had told her that the skulls of the Targaryen dragons had once lined the hall. That would certainly have been more imposing.
The Red Keep was not as beautiful as Highgarden, with its white marble spires and fields of golden roses. The reddish stones were not as pleasing to look upon, and the towers seemed almost like ugly spikes jabbing the sky in comparison. And of course it was set amongst by the noisy, stinking city of King's Landing, not the wide expanse of natural beauty that surrounded Highgarden. And yet there was something of an imposing majesty about the castle. An aura of power came from it, seeming to say: I am here and I will rule you.
The same was true of the Iron Throne, Margaery saw as they drew nearer to it. It was certainly not what anyone would call pretty, a hulking monstrosity of melded iron and sharp barbs, but it radiated authority as it loomed over the rest of the hall. And perched atop its spikes was the King.
Margaery swallowed nervously, it would all come down to this. She saw Loras standing at the foot of the Throne, guarding the King. He smiled at her, and gave her a wink as she approached. Lord Renly was there, and her heart gave a flutter despite her wishes.
And then they were there. Margaery curtsied before the King as the Herald announced her and her father. Rising up, she got her first look at the man who would be her husband. He was fat. There was no way around that. His waist was stretched even tighter than her father's. His once well-muscled arms (or so she had been told) had declined into flab. His bushy beard was streaked with gray. Margaery saw no sign of the Demon of the Trident only a fat old man. But the golden crown sat atop his head.
"Your Grace," her father was saying, "might I introduce my maiden daughter, Margaery. She has heard much of your valor and strength and has long wished to see you."
The King's ruddy face was laughing jovially as he japed with Father. As Margaery looked more closely she saw some similarities to his younger brother, Renly. They had the same blue eyes, and their smiles were similar in shape. But by the gods, was he fat. The thought of marrying him, much less what would come after, made her slightly queasy.
Suddenly, she realized that the King was looking at her; with a start of embarrassment she realized he had asked her a question. Only half knowing what she was saying, she spoke of being in awe at the splendor and magnificence of court. The King laughed genially and turned back to her father, but Margaery noticed that he often glanced back at her. His eyes seemed to roam her body, as if appraising her. He also appeared fascinated by the low cut of her dress, staring at her chest when he addressed her. Margaery felt her face redden and heat rising to her cheeks as she tried to maintain her composure without stammering.
Back in her new chambers that night Margaery thought about the events of the day. Megga and Elinor were chatting animatedly about the excitement of court and how much fun they would have with the new knights and lords. Alla was brushing Margaery's hair humming softly to herself. Margaery looked at her young cousin through the mirror. "And what did you think of the capital, Alla?" she asked.
"Oh, it was grand, I suppose," the girl said with a start. "But I think it's a little big for me."
"Yes, it can be overwhelming," Margaery nodded sympathetically.
Margaery looked back at herself in the reflective glass. Large brown eyes stared back at her, framed in smooth ivory skin. Long curling brown hair settled on her shoulders as Alla worked. She knew she was pretty, at least everyone told her so. But the scene in the throne room today had been… uncomfortable to say the least. She had felt like a juicy piece of meat the way the King had been staring at her. He seemed to be licking his chops in his anticipation to devour her. The thought of it made her shudder slightly.
As she lay in her bed that night waiting for sleep, fantasies of being queen returned to her. She was sitting atop the Iron Throne surveying the entire hall as they paid their respects to her. But when she looked to her side, it was not Robert sitting next to her, but Renly. If only the other brother were King.