stories had never been far from her ears … it had been margaery who had encouraged tommen to attend small council meetings and with him, he brought back tales of the dragon queen who existed on the other side of the narrow sea. the mother of dragons, was what they had named her ––– breaker of chains, the unburnt. it certainly seemed as though daenerys targaryen was an extraordinary woman and she must have been, for her grandmother to have pledged allegiance and sat upon her council. highgarden had been sworn to this dragon queen, though they had died all the same whether they had been sworn to any side other than house lannister. the tyrell had wondered that if she had perhaps, made it back to the castle that she had grew up in with enough time, would her grandmother and their bannermen have suffered the same fate? or could margaery have talked them out of their actions, shown them a better way?
there were no hostilities ; only heartache. once upon a time, the tyrell had everything that she could have dreamt of and more. but savagely, it had been stolen from her … much like everything that once belonged to daenerys had.
there was one difference between both women ––– margaery tyrell had been raised, taught the true etiquette and had been involved with her familial political affairs for as long as she could remember. it was as though she been taught nurtured to sit by the side of a king and reign upon the seven kingdoms as queen consort. now however, she wanted no part in it. margaery tyrell could not care about who sat on the iron throne, as long as it was not a lannister. no matter what amount of justice or kindness was brought upon the realm, it would not replace what had been taken from her by those who lusted to see her demise. daenerys on the other hand, had been smuggled as a babe. kidnapped from her own home and sailed across the rocky waves to carry her to safety.
ringlets dance around her waist, rose pins placed delicately against the auburn of her crown as she enters the cold and dark room that is barely lit by flames. even the fireplace is not enough to warm the castle that she now resides ; a thousand leagues from home and everything that she has known. the climate did not agree with her … margaery tyrell was southron, from the way she styled her hair to the way her tongue curved as she spoke, utterances escaping her petals. but now, she dressed as though she was from the north. and no amount of cold could ever match to the lifeless feeling that attacked at her veins every day she awoke. the black cells should have stolen her mind ––– insanity filling that precious head of hers, but nothing could be worse than this.
“ your grace. i must apologise ––– for my absence in the courtyard on the day of your arrival. ” a polite smile tugs upon her lips, though sapphires are still filled with sadness. so, this is the woman who her grandmother had swore alliance to. wispy lashes fell to her cheeks, bowing ever so slightly as though it could add to her regret but she refused to dwell upon it. daenerys targaryen had abandoned her own war … one that margaery desired to see go ahead much more than she would ever be able to explain to sansa or any other northerner that she now lived amongst. but she was not northern. nor was she harsh, stubborn or abrupt. margaery tyrell was much like her grandmother.
“ i thought it was time that i met with you. whispers reached my ears that my grandmother had pledged herself and the tyrell forces to you before she was ––– ” the words cannot leave her lips and yet, she knows that she must utter them. if this dragon queen was going to deliver justice to cersei, then margaery would have to be strong. they were her words after all, weren’t they? growing strong. not quite as powerful as others that belonged to the many houses that once dawned upon westeros, but meaningful to her nonetheless. “ before she was murdered. i know that i may come across as a threat, a usurper perhaps but i wanted to let you know … i stand behind you too. i would swear you my bannermen, swords and shields but it would appear that i have nothing left to swear to you. ”
Oh, how lovely and beautiful. Daenerys had heard the rumors of the fair features of the Tyrells -- and Margaery is certainly fair. Charming. Daenerys shakes her head. “There’s no need to apologize. I understand my presence is quite... unnerving to most.” The dragon queen come to take their lands and their homes. To burn their stone castles into the dust. Raised in savage, wild lands. Perhaps it is that difference between them that makes Daenerys fit as a ruler -- having grown up a slave to her brothers whims. She better understands the people. Her silver brows pull into a frown, pinched.
Margaery Tyrell. Yes, she had suffered. A fresh new queen tossed ruthlessly to fanatics. Daenerys can’t possibly imagine the fortitude and will it took to survive that -- mentally and physically. To turn your back on the very foundations of which you were raised. It was all an act. Daenerys’s throat feels tight, belly fierce. “You’re the furthest thing from a threat,” she assuages, her hands clasping over her center. Her eyes drift to the fire, Margaery’s words still settled on her ears. Little promises of her loyalty. There’s a gnawing blackness at the corners of her mind -- telling her not to trust, not to give.
Too many times has she been fooled. Tricked. She is no longer the naive little girl playing at queen. She has the lives of millions on her hands, and a throne that rests in quicksand. Her eyes go back to Margaery. “You owe me nothing,” frankly said, a softness to the tilt of her voice. “Though I appreciate the sentiment. I wish for nothing more than your alliance. And you’ve given me that in spades -- your grandmother gave me that.”
Her lips twist, recalling the memories. “She was a good woman. She offered me the wisest council I’ve had in a long while,” she nears the flame, palms oustretched to sap some of its heat. “Come, sit. Would you tell me about her?”
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