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GOT : Chapter 100
🕑 Added 2024-06-02 09:00:02 +0000 UTC( Margaery POV )
Margaery hobbled down the halls of the Red Keep, trying to keep herself together after what she had just witnessed.
She knew that witnessing a trial by battle wouldn't have been pleasant, but as the wife of the deceased, her presence was all but required there. As such, she had asked Garlan, before he left, how to best prepare for this event.
And she thought that she could hold at the beginning, too. The sight of blood didn't completely revolt her, and neither did that of clashing steel.
However, as the fight progressed, the limbs started to come off, and it was then that Margaery had to turn away. She did her best to stay strong, but mostly looked directly into the blinding sun rather than at the scene unfolding near her.
The end of the trial was a mercy, but with it came the strong smell of blood and guts that the wind brought towards her. By this point, she didn't know who won, and she didn't care.
She managed to resist the urge to faint and stood strong for an excruciating dozen steps, before emptying the contents of her breakfast into the nearest bush.
She needed a few moments to breathe after that, and hurried back to her rooms.
A breath of fresh air and a swig of water later, she could finally start thinking rationally again. There had been so much death in what should have been the beginning of a golden age…but it was finally over.
The trial by combat was over, and Clegane had admitted Tywin Lannister gave the order to have Princess Elia killed. That thought alone sent shivers down her spine, but she tried to brush it off. The Hand of the King was now all but isolated, he would soon be ripe for the picking. Unbeknownst to him, Prince Oberyn had once again served house Tyrell's interests well.
Soon, she would be betrothed anew, and this time, to a much more amenable candidate, one that could be easily swayed and guided, and which was likely to be much less cruel than her previous husband.
After another drink of water, Margaery gathered two guards and set out in the keep halls, walking towards the Dornish quarters.
She arrived in front of a wooden door, and knocked twice. To her surprise, a woman with a green dress opened the door.
"Lady Margaery?" the woman asked with a voice half-surprised, half-mocking.
After all, the 'your grace' had disappeared, and she was back to being Lady Margaery. Not even once did they consider her to have been Queen, albeit for a mere few hours.
"Is Prince Quentyn here?" she asked, almost ordered.
"What is your business with him?" the girls' eyes narrowed.
Margaery felt herself losing patience. Who was this insolent girl? Another paramour she didn't know about?
"Peace, Myria." The prince stepped behind her. "Margaery. What an unexpected surprise."
"I wished to know if you had a moment to spare to talk." Her eyes darted to the girl then. "In private."
The girl growled, but the prince just raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose I have a moment to spare." Prince Quentyn nodded. "Don't worry, Myria, I'll be back soon. If Nym comes back before me, tell her I'm with Lady Margaery."
"Of course, my prince." She smiled at the prince, but it disappeared the moment she looked back at her. "My lady."
Prince Quentyn stepped forwards, and the door slammed shut.
"Curious choice of bedmate." Margaery remarked.
"Don't worry about Myria, she's just annoyed at being evicted so…forcefully from her rooms. We've been quite packed in recent times," the prince replied simply. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"
"In my rooms, would be preferable," Margaery said simply.
The prince nodded at her, brushing his hair aside and following her steps on their way to her room. She then dismissed the two guards, leaving only them two inside the large suite she occupied. Of course, these weren't the royal quarters, but they would have to do for a few more weeks.
"I hear you are leaving in two days," Margaery finally said.
"You are well-informed." Prince Quentyn replied.
"It's not exactly a secret." Margaery waved him off.
"I'm afraid I am not exactly useful here." The prince sighed. "My uncle is the one appointed to the small council, I only accompanied him as a guest for the wedding, to excuse my father's regrettable absence."
"You will be missed." Margaery smiled at him.
"You flatter me, but my presence was really unremarkable." Prince Quentyn shrugged.
"Missed, by me, at least." Margaery stepped towards him. "I liked our chess and cyvasse games. They were a welcome distraction in a very busy period."
Prince Quentyn smiled slightly.
However, Margaery didn't say another word. Instead, she took a step forward, till she could feel his breath on her, and brought her lips upwards to his.
His lips were soft, but he didn't answer her. She tried pushing forwards, but it was as if the prince was stunned. Suddenly, the Martell boy took a step back, his eyes wide in amazement.
"Marge…" he started.
"Sorry," she almost whispered. "I…I'm not sure why I wished to do this."
Her eyes met his. She expected him to bring his lips to hers again, but nothing happened. A shame. She had had her moment, but there would be nothing more, he was someone else's, and she was all but married once again.
"Come to Dorne," Prince Quentyn suddenly said.
"What?" Margaery found herself destabilized.
"Come to Dorne. We leave in two days, come with me," he continued. "There is nothing for you here."
"You forget that I will be betrothed…" Margaery stared in shock.
"But you are not, are you?" Prince Quentyn's lips curved into a smile. "You don't need to stay long, just a few days, to keep your mind off what you have just experienced. A sort of…rest, if you may. Along the sandy beaches of Dorne, it would do you good."
Margaery lost herself in her thoughts. Admittedly, that sounded great. The sandy beaches of Dorne, seeing the Water Gardens, bathing in the pools, forgetting about all the death in tragedy…but what of her house? There was not a moment to lose…and Margaery saw right through the prince's game.
"And…I would like to prolong my stay there afterwards, is that what you are suggesting?" she asked.
"I suggested nothing, but if you wish to extend your stay, I will not oppose it." The prince shrugged.
"A queer marriage proposal." Margaery almost laughed.
"Dorne does not frown on bastards," the prince quickly replied.
He had struck directly at her heart. Floris. Her little baby that she had to abandon at Highgarden. The only thing she worried about every single day, with the fear that at some point, she might receive a raven with unbearable news. The thought of her happy and playing with other little girls, safe and hidden away…
She shook her head inwardly.
"I will not be yours, will I?" she asked.
"Did you wish to?" the prince was once again quick to respond.
Margaery bit her lip. Admittedly, she had never really believed in marrying someone she loved, not as a daughter of house Tyrell.
"If you wish for love, I can offer what I can," the prince continued.
"Will your paramour…"
"Nym knows that we can never marry. She will accept that the woman who will become my wife will share my bed till she brings me an heir and a spare. However, the said woman I marry will also have to endure the fact that I will not love her and will bed another." The prince shrugged. "After she brings me an heir and a spare, she may do anything she likes as long as she does not get with a child that is not mine own."
Margaery frowned. The Dornish were a queer folk, but she had been aware of arrangements of these kinds in the Reach, although they remained extremely rare, and usually were due to the proclivities of one or both of the participants in said marriage.
The thought of being second to anyone herself, though, that shook her to her heart. Not to mention the main issue at hand…Dorne was but a petty prize when compared to the entire Seven Kingdoms. Tempting? Sure.
She had no doubt that her marriage would probably be better with Prince Quentyn than one with Prince Tommen. And Dorne was no small prize, either. However, she could rule Dorne and much more through the Lannister prince, while she would only be a consort to the Martell one.
"I…thank you for the offer, Quentyn," Margaery replied. "I will think about it."
"Margaery…" Prince Quetnyn continued. "If you wish to talk more about this, meet me at the foot of the apple tree in the lower gardens, two hours past the hour of the wolf. Come alone, or with one of your handmaidens if you wish, it will be more private. If you don't…it is also fine, and we shall see each other before I take my leave from the city."
"In the middle of the night?" she asked.
"As I said, it will be more private, and I can talk without restraint."
"If I wish to learn more?"
The prince nodded.
"I…will see what I can do," she replied simply. "You may take your leave."
The prince nodded and headed for the door. Before leaving, he left her with a few more words:
"Whatever happens, Margaery, know that this offer still stands as long as I am unwed. For the rest…well, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."
Margaery nodded, and with that, the Dornish prince was gone.
She didn't know what had possessed her to kiss the prince, but had she not brought him here for that sole purpose? And if she declined the prince's proposition, why did it feel so enticing? Free of much of the burdens that weigh on her, with a husband that would at least care for her and that had wits to match hers. They could usher in Dorne's golden age.
But Margaery knew that deep down, she wouldn't be able to settle for Dorne, nor would she settle to be second to a bastard. She needed to forget about the little Dornish prince, and turn towards the future. She would have Seven Kingdoms to take care of, and a new husband and king.
No, Margaery Tyrell wouldn't settle for Margaery Martell, consort of Dorne. She aimed higher, and soon enough, she would be Margaery Baratheon, Queen of all Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.
Only thing was, for now, she was not married to the King, the Andals were not all put to heel, the Rhoynar seemed to be slipping away, and the First Men were eerily silent…
Comments
Benoit Valtin
quel idiote, je suis sur que tu la fera mourir
