sixthiterationlogs | The Doom of Valyria

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The Doom of Valyria

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Bungalow #53
WHEN: 09/10
OPEN TO: Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and others
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, injury, blood
STATUS: Open

During the Quake (Closed to Jon and Robb)

The quiet had lasted too long, lulling Margaery into a sense of false security. The day had passed easily, the majority of her chores completed and section of her land tilled and prepared for planting in the morning. With her work completed and her animals fed, she had returned inside her bungalow to make supper. It was one of her better days, at least, nothing was badly burned and it actually smelled appetizing.

Everything had been set on the table when the shaking began, soft at first, but enough to send Margaery into a panic. She could see green behind her eyes again, the sudden roar of Wildfire sharp in her ears, and the screams of the dying around her. She stumbled from her chair, darting towards the front door when the ground shifted violently from under her.

The walls vibrated angrily and the sound of crashes came from outside, her animals crying out loudly. Her vision became distorted and her feet twisted under her. The floor split and raised itself, the foundation becoming dislodged. Margaery stumbled, tripping over a large gash that opened beneath her.

Her body vaulted forward and collided against the edge of her side table. Stars appeared behind her eyes, her head ringing and aching as a stream of warmth poured down her cheek. She knew without seeing that she had injured herself, but was unable to move or think. She stared up at the ceiling in a daze, watching as her light fixture swung about, pulled in all directions by the quake.

Finally, it became dislodged and hurled towards the ground, inches away from Margaery's head. She flinched as glass flew around her. Her dinner table collapsed, throwing her meal on the ground. Plaster fell over her, larger chunks landing beside her and on her legs. She could move, she knew as much, she should move, but terror and pain kept her rooted against the ground.

The ceiling fractured above her, the beams collapsing on themselves. It would give, but only if a measure of weight was put on it. Finally, the shaking subsided. Her heart thudded in her chest as she listened to her house's protests. Water sounded from upstairs, likely rushing from broken pipes. The ceiling creaked and groaned, its weight giving out slowly. There was a loud scratching from above, her bed slowly sliding across the floor. The floor had angled towards the fracture, tipping her bed towards its weakest point, just above Margaery's head.

It's going to give. The bed will break it and it will all fall on me. Gods, I'm going to die here. She thought to herself, trying to prompt her body into moving. Still, it would not listen to her instincts. She felt paralyzed, vulnerable to death once again and once more unable to flee.

Later in the Evening (OTA)

She stared at her home in wordless horror. It had all happened so quickly but everything seemed to be ruined. It could be repaired, but for now, she was homeless and all of her plans had been upended.

The grounds in the animal pen had been cracked, gashes were scattered across the grass, overturning the dark soil and ruining the places her animals grazed. None seemed to be injured, thank the gods, but they were as spooked as Margaery was.

Her deck had collapsed, the support beams were dislodged, thankfully not entirely downed and broken across her porch. She had no idea where to begin repairing things or what to even do. There supplies were limited already. The damage of the quake would stretch everyone thin. How could she ask for more help when there were others just as bad, if not worse off than her?

She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands. She couldn't cry, but this left her very close to it.

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She sighed, hearing that sound of defeat and pain in his voice. There always seemed to be a constant battle between them, his need for honor and her desire to live as she pleased. It wasn't wise to argue with him or make him feel so out of sorts. She looked down at the sheet, tired and upset at the reaction she had caused.

"Robb," she said gently, not turning to look at him. She didn't want to see what she had done to him or the response he gave to her insistence. There had been so much horror this day, seeing him crumpled in the chair would break her further.

"I did not come with that intention. I am capable of remaining still, whether in chair, corner or bed. I am not attempting to force your hand." She pulled the sheet tighter across her. "If you would rather I leave, I will." It was said with a measure of apprehension, her voice choking in her throat. Despite her attempts to shield herself and keep from showing her fears, her resolve couldn't withstand her nightmares.

The thought of the empty room left her shaking as silent tears pricked at her eyes. Gods, but she thought she was safe here. She moved from the bed, finding the nearest corner and drawing her knees to her chest. It was where she had rested in the black cells, and oddly, it was a comforting place to return.

Edited 2016-09-20 04:44 (UTC)

It hadn't occurred to Robb before that moment how little he actually knew this woman who had so snagged his attention and heart. He'd imagined her own demons as being somehow diminished next to his own, but she'd lived in King's Landing for gods only knew how long, swimming amongst the cruelty and machinations of the Lannisters. He'd known she wasn't an innocent, but imagined her still as unblemished, a flower leaning toward him as if he were the sun. Seeing her there on the floor tore at him in a way he could not have ever expected.

"Margaery," he whispered as he instinctively crossed the distance to her, his own troubles forgotten. He slid arms beneath her knees and around her back and lifted her, carrying her back to the bed, where he sat and cradled her against him.

"I'm sorry," he quietly said, the words a soft plea pressed against her hair.

She shook her head, her ear pressed once more against his heart. It was not something that she had ever spoken of before or admitted aloud. When she was released from the cell and granted the chance to see Loras, all thoughts of relief and escape had been torn away from her, as cruelly as the food that Septa Unella has taunted her with.

"Make it stop!" He had begged her. The words had torn at her heart, banishing any thoughts of her own pain and fears. From that moment, she played the role that was asked of her, ignoring her suffering and the memories of the black cells. All of it was for Loras' benefit. Where did it lead her in the end? Loras was mutilated and forced to become a member of their sect and she was pressed to bed Tommen and bear children, children that she knew the High Sparrow would control.

She had thought she had power then, but in reality, she had never left captivity. She only moved from one cell to another.

"You didn't hear of how I died, Robb." She said softly, hoping that this would help him understand why she had come to his room. "It was wildfire. A store of it had been beneath the Sept of Baelor. It came from the ground, causing everything to shake until it burst through the floor and consumed us." She shook in his grasp, her arms and legs instinctively warming, as though the fire were around her once more.

"I was beaten and starved and tortured and for what reason? What purpose did it serve my family? The Tyrells were eradicated and uprooted. Only my grandmother lives...unless Cersei managed to kill her as well."

Edited 2016-09-20 19:17 (UTC)

There had been an unspoken agreement between them; they did not discuss death, not openly, and their courtship was the smoother for it. Robb hadn't the strength to revisit his own bloody end, and part of him had resisted acknowledging that Margaery had left Westeros as anything but healthy and whole. Now, he fully understood the wisdom in that self-protective instinct.

Emotions pushed up behind his chest, blurry and hot so that it was difficult to discern one from the other: Rage, guilt, helplessness, sorrow. His hand was shaking as he lifted it to Margaery's cheek and directed her gaze to his own.

"Look at me," he said, the tremor now in his voice, as well. "No one will harm you here. I swear to you. I would die again before I let any harm come to you."

She didn't want to doubt his word. There was conviction in his voice and he truly meant what he said, but the sad fact was that no one was safe, no matter who was at their side. They both learned that hard truth in Westeros. His father's bannerman betrayed him, as did Theon. Tommen, despite being a King, did not save her.

Margaery brushed her hand over his cheek, letting her fingers trail slowly down his jawline. "I know you would try," she offered, letting the pretty dream remain alive, "and I love you for that." She wanted that honor in him, that nobility and determination to protect the ones he loved. It was beautiful and strong, something that Tommen had never been capable of, no matter how kind his heart was.

There was at least something that she knew beyond a doubt. "Even if I am harmed, I know you will come for me." He wouldn't leave her in the Black Cells. He would fight for her, no matter her own attempts to free herself.

"No one will harm you," Robb repeated, a sudden sharpness in his gaze, his voice firming. "Never again. Do you hear me? Never again. I would kill the man who dared lift a hand to you." With his bare hands, if it came to that.

He covered her hand with his own, and turned to press a lingering kiss to the palm. "I love you," he said, looking to her again, pale moonlight in her hair. "Forgive me for not being where I ought to have been. Forgive me for my folly?"

He couldn't have possibly stopped the tide that had pulled her under, but it pained him to think he'd dashed even the possibility of trying.

"I would have come for you," he swore, tears pricking his eyes as he watched her. "I would have cut them all down who dared stand in my way."

The fierceness of his tone silenced her thoughts and left her speechless. The shadows of the night passed over his face, darkening the words in tone and look. She had never seen this determined side of him before, but had heard the stories. He was a man that called the banners when his father was imprisoned. He did not idly make threats, he took action.

She rested her head against his, gazing into his eyes with breathless wonder. She knew the courtly dance and the expected words between men and women, but these were true and they would be followed through, if the need arose.

"There is nothing to forgive you for, Robb." She murmured to him. "We both were preoccupied and didn't think that another quake would come. I'm grateful that you came for me and that you are safe." Had she lost him, she couldn't be certain how she would respond. He was her first and only love. It wasn't something she could recover from easily.

She shushed him gently and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I know you would have. It doesn't matter now. We are here in this place together. We have a new life and a new chance."

Robb shifted, settling her more firmly in his lap, and pushed the weight of her hair back from her face. He could not imagine what he had possibly done to deserve such a wonder as this woman, not after the missteps he had made in his last life.

She was right, even if the sting of his helplessness was slow to ebb. This was a chance to begin anew, to do things properly, to be the sort of man his father would have been proud of. He pressed his mouth again to hers, fingers curling under in her hair, hand pressing against her hip. "I love you," he murmured again into her mouth, and drew back just enough to look her once more in the eye. "Marry me," he whispered, skimming a thumb over her cheek.

She jolted back in surprise as he had done when he realized she was in his bed. Fear darted across her features, visible by the moonlight and more pronounced than when she spoke of her death. Her hands tightened around him, clutching him as though she could chase away the Stranger and spare him from the curse that seemed to consume anyone she wed.

"I'm cursed, Robb." She whispered, pulling him into an embrace. Her arms circled around him, shielding him from the specters of the night. Perhaps it was from herself that he needed to be guarded from. "Two of my husbands have died." Gods only knew what happened to Tommen.

"I would--I want to, but..." it was difficult to explain. Her fears weren't logical, they were visceral.

Edited 2016-09-22 07:25 (UTC)

"Margaery," Robb began, a hand consolingly against the back of her head, instantly bewildered. "Look at me."

He leaned back, tipping her face up by the chin, ducking into her line of vision. She looked utterly terrified, which he supposed should be some consolation, considering it was his own death she was afraid of.

"You're no more cursed than any other woman who has married a powerful man. You've said it yourself that this is a new start. I'm king to no one here."

It was a strange contrast to how their courtship began. Much of their actions and decisions had been born from her pressing him, adamantly seeking what it was she desired. Now, it seemed as though he was stubbornly refusing to turn away from what he wanted. They had reversed their positions.

But much as he did before, she felt herself relenting to what she knew would be the natural conclusion.

"Had I married you before...had my family sought an alliance with yours..." guilt settled forcefully in her gut, twisting her emotions as sharply as a dagger. "It's my fault. Maybe Renly and Joffery's deaths and what happened to me is the price I paid for not following the will of the gods."

Because it seemed like that now. This was meant to happen between them, they were meant to be wed. Only her ambition and refusal to relinquish the crown had cost her from this happiness. She wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

"My answer isn't because of guilt or obligation. I say this because I love you and my life only began again when you found me on my front step. I was yours in that moment and I am yours until the end of time." As she would not speak of death again, not with her answer on the tip of her tongue. "Yes."

As the word slipped from her lips, Robb abruptly realized he'd not expected her to say yes. Why she wouldn't, he couldn't imagine, and yet she'd always been so contrary to his desires and wishes, he'd naturally believed she'd continue in that vein.

And so it was that he stared back at her a moment, still poised for the blow, blue eyes blinking in the cool light of the moon.

"I'm sorry, did you..." The corner of his mouth hitched up, brow creasing. "Did you just agree with me? Because I thought Margaery Tyrell was obligated to thwart me at every turn."

She gave him a playful shove, laughing at the absurdity of the situation and also the truthfulness of his statement. Gods, but what was possessing her now? It seemed like madness, the same sort of madness that prompted her to accept that she loved him.

"You said yourself, I am a queen used to getting what I want." She said with a wry grin. "What I want is you and I intend to have you in my bed, in my heart and in my life. If you wish it to be as your wife, then I shall be your wife."

She laughed once more, dipping down to brush her lips against his. "Just don't expect to get your way always."

Edited 2016-09-22 07:52 (UTC)

"And in that order, I suppose," Robb teased her, his hand falling to rest possessively against her outer thigh. "That was obvious enough from when we first met. I thought you might eat me alive right there on the front steps."

Fingers slipping to the back of her neck, he pulled her in again for another kiss. "I reckon I'd be happy enough to let you have your way after this," he promised in a murmur, nudging against her nose with his own.

"I am a Tyrell," she nipped at his lips, "my blood runs hot and that heat consumes whomever I choose." It seemed to have worked a number of times before, as she was the one who pursued her lovers, rather than the other way around. Much like her grandmother, she always made the first move.

While it wasn't why she had come to his bed, the intimate talk and the declarations of love had raised her desires. Being so close to him, both in heart and body, she had forgotten the terrors of the night.

"In all things?" She whispered, loosening the sheet around her form until it was slipping free.

He ought to have expected it, really. Hadn't he only just recalled how she'd tried to lure him to her bed upon their first meeting? And yet, Robb's mind abruptly reeled as he realized what her hands were doing in the space between them, the sheet pooling at her hips before he jolted himself into motion, hastily pulling the cloth back up and tying it with trembling fingers across her chest.

"Not all, not this night," he said, visibly shaken, knowing she could feel him half-hard already where she was seated across his lap. "The point of being wed is waiting to actually be married," he added with a softly tremulous laugh, and pressed another kiss to her mouth. "And it wouldn't be fair to Jon."

She could feel him beneath her, but didn't fight him in his protest. Moving his hands, she tightened the sheet around her, protecting him from the sight of her body or any further temptation.

"You are cruel," she teased him, a sly smile on her lips. "Though I can't imagine how Jon factors into any of this." His brother was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment, her thoughts mainly focused on his hardening member and how much she wanted to stoke the fires between them.

"You'd speak to me of cruelty?" Robb asked with a little huff of laughter. "I've no idea how any man keeps his head around you, I honestly don't." He paused, considering. "Or perhaps they don't and that's the point."

He tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip. "And if I must spell it out, he might hear and it might make him uncomfortable. Or lonely. Apparently he had some serving girl he had feelings for while he was at the Wall. I'd rather not rub his nose in my own happiness if I can help it."

"You may be surprised, but there has been at least one instance when a man resisted my allures." He was her brother's lover, but that didn't need to be mentioned. She still felt a measure of loyalty to Loras and the secret he carried, no matter if he confessed at his trial.

She leaned in to kiss him once more, letting her lips linger against his own. "Ygritte. He told me of her." Which might be a further surprise in an evening full of them.

"We have no Septon or Godswood here and I have no taste for lavish weddings." She had her fill of them. "I hope you have no intention of making it a grand affair. If you do, we may have to follow some customs that I can't imagine you will enjoy." The taking the bride and groom to bed, for example. Robb didn't seem the sort of man who would approve of it.

"My father forbid the bedding when he wed my mother," Robb said, and arched a knowing eyebrow. "I think you might be underestimating how belligerent we Starks can be when it comes to our lady loves. But no, I'd not have a grand affair if I had a choice. Honestly, I'd be perfectly satisfied with you and me beneath the closest thing we can find to a heart tree."

She had friends here, he knew, and Jon would need to be there, of course, but he was done with pompous displays. He reckoned the old gods hadn't much need for such things, anyway.

She smiled, holding tightly to his arms as she remembered her previous three weddings. Tommen's had been a minor affair, lacking in the same ostentation that Joffery's had received. As though that would stave away the Stranger's gaze. Renly had married her hurriedly at High Garden when he had arrived to accept the Tyrell forces, yet even he died.

No matter the ceremony, her husbands did not have long for the world. Yet, she was willing to risk another man, a better man than the rest. For what reason? For her own happiness? She had thought too long on her own happiness and her family paid the price. The things she had discussed with Jon were lodged firmly in her head. She hadn't behaved honorably, as the North preferred. She knew who and what she was and it was far removed than the sort of woman Robb might really wish.

"Are you certain this is what you want?" She asked softly, turning her face away, afraid to see the answers in his eyes. "You hardly know me, Robb." He might not like what he found when enough time passed. "Are we doing what's right?"

Edited 2016-09-28 23:08 (UTC)

"What's this now?" Robb asked, his eyes going soft with concern but a faint, encouraging smile still curving his lips as he ducked his head to try and catch her gaze. "Where have you gone? You were here just a moment ago."

Hardly knowing her seemed a trivial concern; it would not have stopped any man in Westeros, and Robb brushed the thought swiftly aside now. That they wanted each other was more than most matches could hope for; the rest would sort itself with time, he was certain of it.

"Why wouldn't it be right?"

She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. She curled into him, seeking his heat and optimism. She had tried to be positive about this place, but she was rushing into every opportunity presented to her here. She asked him if what they were doing was right, but it was a question she had to ask herself, yet so far hadn't.

"I am afraid," she admitted softly, ashamed to speak the words aloud. "I have lost everything and everyone. I have nothing here, no one save for you. I don't put much stock in the gods, but all of this could be my punishment for the things I've done." What if she wasn't meant to be happy?

"I don't want to lose you too."

"What things?" Robb asked, bewildered, a hand instinctively cradling against the back of her head as she clung to him. "Are your gods so cruel as that, when you've already paid such a high price?"

He pulled the heavy weight of her hair back over her shoulder and kneaded gently against against the smooth skin at the nape of her neck. "I'm right here," he murmured. "As is Jon, and your friends, and that damned cow, and the sheep that refuse to be sheared. You haven't lost us."

How could she even begin to explain it all to him? The games, the seductions, the power struggle and all of the lives she toyed with. She wasn't pure and that was who she believed she was. He balked at her working the fields and tried to place her on a pedestal. Were they in Westeros, it would be ideal and it would be the role she'd adapt to...

...but here and now, she couldn't deceive him and she couldn't let him go into marriage with recognizing the woman she truly was. She had decency and kindness, but in terms of ambition and the lengths she'd go to achieving it, she was closer to Cersei than he might be able to stomach.

"I was forced into my death. I don't think that is the price." She admitted darkly. "You don't know me, you don't know the things that I have had to do to survive. Joffery in particular. I looked away from so many of his horrors and for what? The crown? It hardly seems to matter anymore." Her hands tightened around his back, clutching him tightly. "I laughed and pretended to enjoy his sick displays at our wedding. I even suffered through that mock tournament he made, celebrating the deaths of his enemies." She wouldn't add that Robb had been among them.

"I gave my brother over to the Faith Militant, convinced him to surrender his birthright, the chance to have children and inherit High Garden. I signed away my family, all of it for the crown." Make it stop, Loras had whispered. Let them win. "I'm not honorable or perfect. If you had a wife, shouldn't she be someone that you can be proud of?"

"It isn't merely the idea of losing you, it's what it would do to me. I have never suffered a loss like that before. Renly, Joffery, Tommen, I didn't love them. I love you. Through my own decisions, actions or standing with the gods, you could be taken from me." Seven hells, better for them to be lovers than for her to bind him to something he would later regret.

Edited 2016-09-29 06:32 (UTC)

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