BARBARIC. Margaery Tyrell

004

「004」

They arrived at Last Hearth, and the Umbers greeted them, although Margaery only thought of sleeping in a warm bed. They had ridden all day, and the ride had made her tired. Dayron accompanied the lords into the grand hall after the maid had brought her to a chamber in the castle.

Margaery got out of bed, she couldn't help but feel starved. After she had her hair braided, she walked downstairs. She watched as men threw chairs across the rooms, drunk. A few had already tried to start a fight.

The smell of ale and sweat was in the air. A group of men had their faces covered, they were singing. She kept her southern etiquette, though, and walked over to where Dayron sat at the main table, holding his drink with a smile.

The men at the table stopped talking and stared at her. She was a stranger, a southern woman. "How fortunate our lord must be," Greatjon Umber said, clamping his fingers around Margaery's buttocks. She attempted to smile as she flinched at the searing sting, "to have such a bedwarmer."

She gritted her teeth and took a seat next to Dayron, who chuckled and quickly glanced over at Margaery with empathy. Margaery leaned in to drink her northern brew while her husband spoke with Greatjon.

>>

She retired to her chambers, with frustration and a stinging ache in her backside. there was no use, Northern men didn't respect women or wives. Their ideas of propriety were so primitive.

She unfastened the laces on her wool dress, allowing the fabric to puddle around her feet. She untied her braid, ran her fingers through her auburn locks. As she heard the door unlatch, Dayron entered the room, slowly, quietly. His gaze was lowered, he was holding a platter in one hand, with bread and meats.

"You didn't eat," he whispered, quietly walking across the room although every floorboard made a creaking sound with his footsteps. He placed the food platter on the bedside table, before silently undressing.

She wanted to make a comment about how rude and childlike his bannermen were but she held up her wall and gave him a smile: "Thank you, my lord."

Margaery walked over to the platter and grabbed some bread and bit into a piece. She pulled the bread apart with her teeth and chewed. He watched her silently. She chewed and swallowed, then took a sip from her glass of water.

How did everything work out?" she said, setting down her food. "Pretty good." He nodded."Yeah, he wants to go hunting and apparently it clears his head."

She smiled and shook her head, saying, "You northerners with your hunting."

"I've been hunting all my life," he said, "and I've never missed." Margaery's smile faded, and she sighed. "It's not a sport I've ever found much pleasure in."

"Why not?" he asked, reaching out for her to take his hand and hold it. "It's barbaric. Why must we kill them?" Margaery remembered the way her brothers loved hunting, coming home after fortnights with deers for the court to eat.

He shrugged. "It's tradition."

"Try not to hunt for a fortnight, me and my bed will miss you," Margaery remarked, stepping between his knees and wrapping her arms around his neck. She secretly grinned as she joked. He flushed profusely at her boldness and drew her closer, kissing her neck. He could feel the sheer cloth of her chemise underneath his fingertips. She laughed as she reached down and pulled the garment over her head, tossing it towards the corner of the room.

He growled and drove his fists into her thighs, leaving bruises on her flesh. She crawled on top of him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

 Margaery learned to appreciate their private moments in their rooms. where no one will be able to see him as she did. She was well aware that it meant a great deal to him as well.

>>

Margaery drew her shawl firmly about her body as she watched the Umber's stablehands assemble their horses for the hunt.

She was disappointed following her visit to the Umber's Maester; she was not pregnant. Her grandmother's voice could be heard in her thoughts, chastising her for not being pregnant yet. What if she couldn't carry children, rendering her worthless and forcing the Starks to send her home?

The men departing the castle, spears on their shoulders, laughing with each other, jolted Margaery out of her trance. She grinned at Dayron, who she had to agree looked very attractive in armour.

After a slap on the back from Greatjon, Dayron walked over to her. He kissed her hands as he clasped them. She grinned broadly at the display of affection. "Try not to perish in a hunting accident, husband," she jokingly said. "I'll try not to," he replied, laughing heartily.

Her grin faded, and she kissed him on the cheek before stepping back. He turned around and walked back towards his horse. He went to the top, nodded solemnly to Margaery, and then galloped away with the hunt. Margaery watched after him as he disappeared into a thicket of trees.

Margaery's hand went to her stomach as she struggled with her concerns. "It's better you come inside my lady," feeling a gentle nudge from a young girl; one of the servants. "I'm fine. Really," she said, her voice somewhat shaky. "I'm just so nervous," she said, rubbing her hands together. The servant snorted loudly, "no one is warm in this weather," she laughed, "winter is coming." 

Margaery nodded as she followed the girl inside. She learned the girl's name was Wyalla and her family worked for the Umbers for years. The girl seemed to be in no hurry to tell her anything more about herself.

"They say, the Wright walkers are back," Wyalla spoke, pulling a chair from under a table and leaving it beside the fireplace. "They climbed the wall to escape them." The girl seemed so young, not yet in her teens.

Margaery silently listened to her. "Those are tales told to me as a little girl, up north people say otherwise," Margaery said. "I know the Wight walkers have not been seen for years. Do you know why they are called Wight walkers?" Margaery asked. The girl seemed to hesitate, "I do not know, I was told it meant they were monsters that had to be killed." She looked down at her hands, "I have never seen one of them, but I have heard stories."

Margaery took a seat and walked up to it. Her gaze was drawn to the flames in the fireplace. "Are you with child, my lady?" Wyalla asked, her eyes fixated on her stomach. Margaery shook her head, frowning.

"Your time will come, my lady, children are bastards they climb over everything including you, best you wait," Wyalla said as she gripped her hand. The two women laughed heartily with each other.

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WORDS: 1181

AUTHOR NOTES:

Having offspring was very essential in (historical) times, but they won't have them until I believe it's time. I hope I'm writing Margaery correctly; I imagine her as a seductress who utilises her femininity to obtain what she wants. prob the best character there is on GoT.