sixthiterationlogs | Pride Cometh Before a Fall

WHO: Margaery and Robb
WHERE: The Stark Bungalow
WHEN: After this
OPEN TO: Robb
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence and animal death
STATUS: Closed

After the exhausting events moments before, Margaery wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep for the rest of the day. She felt spent, drained emotionally and physically. Save for the throbbing of her eye, she felt as though she weren't even present in her body and mind. It was the first time in a long while that she had been struck. The memories it raised were painful and frightening, threatening to return her to the nightmares that she had finally shaken away.

She didn't want to dwell on any of it. Her anger and hysteria had run dry, leaving her feeling like a husk. Along the way, her eye had begun to swell. The light summoned tears, stinging her eye and ratcheting up the pain. She covered her face with her hand and pushed on, finally reaching the bungalow with a sigh of relief.

Once inside, she started to head towards the bathroom, passing Robb in the hallway. Not expecting him to be home, she glanced up at him in surprise before hurrying her steps. She had no desire for him to see her this way. It was humiliating enough that the rest of the village witnessed it.

"Everyone is outside, near the inn. There was an attack." She said casually, as though she didn't have obvious signs of injury on her face.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Time felt mutable and slippery for a moment, spooling into the surreality of slow motion when Robb first laid eyes upon Margaery's damaged face, and then snapping violently back, surging him forward after her in a rush, his eyes wide with a sudden, shaking fury.

Firm hands clutched her slender shoulders and spun her around to face him, his anger overspilling in a shuddering, thin-lipped exhalation of breath. "An attack by whom?" he asked, the deadly calm of his voice belied by the tremor in his grip.

She had nearly made it to the bathroom when she heard him coming behind her, followed shortly by his hands on her shoulders. She tried to brush him away as he turned her to face him, but felt too tired to put up any real struggle. Instead, she kept her head lowered, hoping to shield the significant damage behind her hair.

"I don't know." She said softly. "Bushy was found slaughtered, ripped apart by some animal." It hurt to consider. While she tried to remember the purpose that these sheep served, it was hard not to feel attached, especially to that particular ram. He had been the one that she was trying to shear when she and Robb had reconciled. He had been stubborn, tempestuous and very much like Margaery. Despite herself, she fell in love with the ram.

"None of the other livestock were disturbed, just him." She intentionally left the rest of the events alone, choosing to direct his attention to anything other than her face.

The feint was sloppy for her and obvious, and Robb barreled forward with sharp-eyed and single-minded intensity, irritation itching under his skin at the idea that she'd even attempt to talk around anything so baldly serious as someone laying hands upon the woman who was to be his wife.

"Margaery," he said, rapidly losing patience. "I don't care about the gods damned sheep. Do you think I've not seen what it looks like when someone's been hit in the eye? Who touched you?"

"Robb," she said with a sigh of exhaustion, trying to pull away from him. Everything had raged out of her control and she had little desire to instigate another fight. She remembered his promise the night after the quake. He had sworn to kill anyone who laid a hand on her. She didn't think that promise would be tested here.

"Can we leave the matter as it is?" She pleaded, well aware that it was a futile question. The pain from her eye caused her to wince, reminding her that she still needed to find a way to reduce the swelling. "I lost my temper and this was the result of it."

Edited 2016-11-22 11:42 (UTC)

"No we can't leave the matter as it is," Robb grit out, although his grip relented when she pulled. "What sort of man do you imagine I am?" he continued, dipping so that he could meet her eye. "What sort of husband would I make if I didn't question my wife when she'd obviously been treated ill? Who do you think I am? This isn't some Southron court where people overlook that sort of thing."

Her eye looked painful, and not simply because the bruise was on her face. Sighing in frustration, Robb jabbed a finger at one of the living room chairs.

"Sit. I'll be right back, and then you're going to explain to me exactly what happened."

They hadn't any snow yet, but the water from the tap was from the river and decently cold; it would have to do. He dampened a cloth at the kitchen sink, wrung it out and carried it back.

"Put this on your eye, it'll help with the swelling."

She wanted to argue about his assumptions of the south, but this was hardly the time for arguments and she didn't have the energy to make justifications. In the end, she really didn't care, it wasn't Robb that she was angry with. Her pride was as bruised as her face and she did not want to relive the moment. He was right, however. If it had been him with the injury, she would respond with the same horror and fury.

Without objection, she took a seat at the table, resting her face in her hands. When he returned with the cloth, she followed his direction and placed it against her eye, wincing at the cold, nerves screaming in protest.

Where did she even begin?

"When I saw Bushy and the way he was killed, I overreacted and blamed the Wildling girl. I lost my temper, called her savage and she struck me." It was simplified, but it was explanation enough.

Edited 2016-11-28 14:33 (UTC)

Robb blinked, taken aback. "What Wildling girl?"

They weren't in Westeros, there weren't Wildlings here. If they somehow came through to this place the same as the rest of them, how would Margaery even know this girl was a Wildling? She'd never been to the North, and he was quite certain she'd never laid eyes on a Wildling in the whole of her life.

"There was a Wildling girl that was living in the woods. I forget when, but I came upon her during one of my scavenges. When I discovered who she was, I quickly left and hadn't spoken to her until today." Though now she has to wonder why she didn't say anything before. Was it such a small issue then?

"I think she has moved to the village, but I don't know where. I have tried to keep my distance." She shrugged her shoulders. "I have failed at that, it seems."

"I don't understand," Robb continued on, oblivious to Margaery's explanations. "How would you even know she was a Wildling? Did she tell you herself?"

He supposed if this woman had claimed she lived north of the Wall, that would explain it, and it gave him a chill to think of Margaery's conversation with the woman being long enough for them to establish such details.

"You're lucky she didn't cut your throat, then or today." Secretly, he thought having the reminder of a black eye would be a good lesson; Margaery could see it every time she looked in the mirror, which was no small amount.

"Some of the things that she said and did lead me to that conclusion." It was hard to explain to him or to anyone. Her life had centered around reading others and rooting out exactly who they were and what they wanted. Given that Wildlings didn't live their lives with the same sort of intrigue and politics, there was no mask for Ygritte to hide behind.

It hadn't taken long for certain phrases and terms to be used that it alerted Margaery to the truth. Once she knew enough, she had excused herself and stayed away from the woman.

She was hardly in the mood for a lecture or more disapproval. She had heaped enough on herself. "That is stating the obvious," Margaery said, pulling away and getting once more to her feet. "I brought this on myself, I know that already."

Robb watched as she drew away, and his lips thinned a moment before he let out a long sigh.

"I'm not cross with you," he said at length, his voice more gentle, although he made no attempt to follow after her, thinking it best to let her have her space if she wanted it. "I know you've never had to deal with these people before. But they are truly dangerous, Margaery. Don't speak to her again, and stay out of the woods unless you have a capable escort. All right?"

He would know better than she did about what the Wildlings were capable of. All she knew, she had heard from her septa and from the Night's Watchmen that would come appealing for more men for the wall. Robb, however, grew up with the overhanging threat of them. She had acted rashly and stupidly. It was as he said, she was fortunate to have only been hit.

"All right," she nodded, moving closer to him to place her hand on his shoulder. "But she is in the village now, not the woods."

Pride Cometh Before a Fall

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject