Chapter Text
‘Father is dead. Mother is dead. Loras is dead. Tommen is dead.’
The Rose of Highgarden sat idle on her large bed while she ate some grape. Her chambers were much nicer there, at home compared to those from Maegor’s Holdfast where she used to reside during her time as Queen to both Joffrey and Tommen. The air was cleaner too; the disgusting smell of rot and shit being replaced with that of perfumed southern flowers. However, the feeling of dread King’s Landing possessed had already sunk into her hearth.
Margaery’s body was covered in a black dress made of silk, symbol of her mourning. In truth, the girl had wondered if her attire was for appearances sake; for she was not able to shed a single tear as she attempted to cope with the recent events. The daughter of Mace Tyrell, the late Lord Protector of the Reach, had formed a mask during her time as Queen, one that she no longer could wear off or mold after her own desires. A look of sternness was now on her still pretty face as she recalled how fate brought her in her current position; three times widow and orphan.
At only 18, Margaery had been married three times. Her first husband, Renly Baratheron, was 12 years her senior when their wedding ceremony had taken place two years ago and was the youngest brother to the late king Robert. He was a lean man of middle height with brown eyes and chocolate hair, charismatic and quite comely. Kind and thoughtful, Renly was the first and probably only man that filled Margaery’s body with sexual desire. She’d learned from her mother and grandmother that as wife she had one most important duty – to gift her husband with heirs; multiple and preferably male.
A sad smile formed on the girl’s face as she remembered the man… and her foolishness as a girl of only six and ten. Surely, the Gods would gift her with a nice, handsome husband who would treat her well; only had he been interested in her… or any woman for that matter. The affair between Loras and Renly had left her dumbstruck and for a moment she’d felt filled with rage, dissapointment and jealousy. Only for a moment, until her grandmother assured her that it was for the better to have a man who didn’t love her but held her in high regard and treated her with respect than a drunk fool who would bring harm upon her.
For a little… Margaery felt contentment with her situation, as odd and slighty embarrassing the whole thing was; until the Gods decided to take him away. She remembered crying when her husband was found dead in his own tent. She didn’t love him as her brother did and their marriage was largely based on an alliance that would situate House Tyrell closer to The Throne rather than love or lust, yet that unfortunate event saddened her deeply at that moment. Her husband had died, yet her house’s ambitions and hers had not. She was to be queen and nothing would stop her.
The first son of Cersei Lannister was rather…an improper match for her. And even for the realm itself,for the small folk couldn’t have survived under the rule of another mad king. Still, Margaery was ready to do her duty and serve her house. Her grandmother, however, couldn’t let her only grand-daughter in the arms of such a monster and had ‘solved’ herself what she thought to be a problem.
Without even realizing, Margaery had become betrothed to Tommen, a sweet boy of barely three and ten who worshiped her and treated her kindly. As sweet as he was, he was easily manipulated, which proved in the end to be more of an issue than an advantage. His mad mother, Cersei, filled with rage and jealousy, had thrown not only her and Loras in the hands of The Faith but the whole King’s Landing. The sheer stupidty that the Lioness presented had left Margaery in awe. How could anyone in the right minds leave a dubious organization as the one lead by The High Sparrow himself gain so much power was beyond her; the only explanation bein madness enriched by stupid counselors and probably too much wine.
Yet only madness wasn’t enough to lead to the events that followed. The girl’s failure of imagination with regards to what the queen mother would be willing to do had almost cost her her life if it hadn’t been for her mysterious savior. Never could the Rose of Highgarden believe someone had in them that much cruelty to burn almost half of a city.
‘I should’ve seen it sooner. I’m supposed to be dead yet here I am safe while most of my family burned alive.’ The chestnut haired girl was angry and blamed herself, had she not neglected Cersei while trying to play The High Septon, maybe she would’ve been able to prevent the horrible events that just occurred.
As she took another grape from the silver plate a handmaid rushed to announce she had a visitor. The serving girl opened the door and let herself out before Margaery could even gasp as she saw who sat in front of her. Tall, lean and more broadly shouldered than she remembered him, Garlan Tyrell was now a man in his prime and not a lad of seven and ten who ran away from marriage a decade ago, sealing to Essos. His strong arms brought her delicate body tightly near his chest in a powerful embrace.
“Marge.. I’m sorry I wasn’t any faster. If only.. maybe father, mother and Loras would be with us.” Said her brother as he released her from his embrace, while a single tear found its way down on his slightly tanned face.
“So it was you who managed to save me?” asked the Rose of Highgarden.
“One of my entrusted men. Only he wasn’t fast enough…” responded Garlan with a hint of bitterness and regret on his tongue.
“What has happened cannot be changed, dear brother. You did what you could and what you did is something I’ll never be able to thank you enough or repay you for your efforts”
“Silly girl! We are family and we look after each other. You repay me by being alive, for we and grandmother are the only one of importance left of our house”
“You’ve spoken with grandmother?!” inquired his sister in a calm and composed voice.
“Walk with me outside, dear sister, for we have much to discuss.” Demanded Garlan as he offered his hand to help her.
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The gardens of Highgarden were really a wonder to behold. Flowers of all types and trees of the South keept the air fresh and nice while butterflies with a most interesting colouring and sometimes small bees flew freely all around. In a spot safe from the brightness and heat the sun radiated over these rich and fertile lands sat the last three members of The Great House of Tyrell around a small round table.
“My contacts in King’s Landing tell me that The Young Wolf of Winterfell has succesfully laid siege over the city. It appears we are on the verge of a new era, of a new king, one of the North.” Lady Olenna informed her 2 grandchildren as she paused to gather her thoughts.
“What of our troops inside the city?” inquired Garlan with a hint of worry in his voice.
“Fortunately enough, my message to Lord Tarly reached in time and he had half the mind to command our soldiers to yield. It appears the northmen are as honorable as they say and we suffered little casualties. That however, cannot be said of the Lannisters.”
“What of them?” Asked Margaery with a morbid curiosity, as the image of the murderous and mad queen reappeared in her mind.
“Tywin’s children are all prisoners. Jaime Lannister heavily injured, but apparently he is tended to. All of them await trial.”
“Good” said the young woman in response, more to herself though. “What are we going to do next?”
“A raven should arrive later in the day from King’s landing. Robb Stark will demand us to return to King’s Landing for an audience.” Answered the Queen of Thorns and then took a bite from her lemon cake.
“And I suppose we can’t do nothing but obey his orders?!”
Margaery could sense frustration and bitterness in her brothers words.
“Of course, my dear. He’s our king and we’re going there to pledge loyalty to him.” Olenna stoped for a second to take a sip of her tea and continued. “And to ensure our house’s future, naturally.”
“Do you really think the heir of Ned Stark is willing to take as a wife a woman who has been married thrice from a house who shifts their allegiance as they please? The Starks are not as desperate as The Lannisters, grandmother!” spoke Margaery in a neutral tone, one that didn’t imply nothing but the naked truth.
“Oh dear! You don’t think I’m going to pimp you to our possible allies like your late father did.” Responded Lady Olenna with a semi offended voice. “Besides, your brother here wouldn’t allow it. Despite our recent losses …we’ve never been better financially. And that my sweetling is due to the man sitting next to you.”
Pride could be seen glowing from the old woman’s wrinkled face as she pointed to her nephew and asked him to tell Margaery of his accomplishments beyond the narrow sea.
A couple of hours later, the three of them got up from the table heading towards the castle as the sun started to hid under the sky. Tomorrow would be a long day as House Tyrell would be headed once more to that cursed city that Margaery swore she won’t set foot again in.