the great war

the test

Time had passed, the days stretching into weeks, the weeks into 3 months. As King's Landing bustled with the final preparations for the royal wedding, Margaery and Hope's friendship had grown, like a delicate flower taking root. But Hope's scars were still raw, her trust tentative and fragile.
As the sun rose on the eve of the wedding, Hope found herself standing before the ornate doors of the queen-to-be's chambers. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the door, the unanswered question of loyalty lingering like a specter.

The ornate decorations, the servants' hurried movements - a mocking mockery of the opulent marriage that loomed. And as she stood there, her thoughts turned to that night, a fortnight past, when the shadows had been pierced by the looming figure of Joffrey Baratheon.
His intent had been clear - a sneering, lecherous grin, his hands reaching for her. But Hope had fought, using the skills her uncle had taught her, her fury a palpable force.

Hope remembered that night with a visceral clarity, the bile rising in her throat as her hand clenched around the doorknob to Tyrion's chambers. She had escaped that night, fleeing the claws of the cruel prince, and had sought refuge in Tyrion's chambers.
The memory of Tyrion's expression, the way his eyes had widened with horror at the sight of her bruised and disheveled appearance, still haunted her.
What happened? he had asked, his voice low and urgent.

Hope, what happened? Tyrion repeated, his voice rising with alarm as he took in the sight of her trembling form, the dark stains of blood marring the delicate fabric of her gown.
Hope's eyes, wide and wild like those of a cornered animal, stared back at him. Joffrey. She whispered, her voice quivering. He tried...he tried...
Tyrion's face darkened, his expression thunderous. He what?!
I will kill him.
No. You can't. You can't leave me alone. Please.
He fetched a robe, draping it around her shivering shoulders.

Tyrion took Hope's hands, guiding her to his bed, her legs shaking with each step. He drew the covers around her, tucking her in, as he would a child in need of comfort and safety.
Rest, Hope. You're safe here. He murmured, his mismatched eyes filled with a kindness that surprised even him.

Hope nodded, her eyes already fluttering shut. She was asleep before he could finish his sentence.

Margaery's voice was like a beacon, drawing Hope from the murky depths of her memories.
So what did you get me as a wedding gift? the queen-to-be asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement and mischief.

Hope blinked, her mind still fogged with the remnants of her thoughts. A gift? she echoed, her voice hoarse. I'm afraid I've been...preoccupied.
Margaery's expression shifted, her smile softening into something more sincere.

You are more than enough. You will be with your people, in your country. You are Princess Hope of Moresnet. You deserve to be with those who love and respect you, your own people, your own kingdom.
You would send me back? You would be kind to me, after everything the Lannisters have done?
Margaery reached out, placing her hand on Hope's arm.
You are not of this place. You deserve to be among those who love you, those who are your people, and those who respect your crown. As queen, it is my duty to ensure the happiness of my people. Even if they became my people by a marriage.
Thank you, Margaery. I didn't expect such a kindness.

Hope turned away from Margaery, leaving her standing in the chamber.
The Queen-to-be watched as Hope's ladies fell into step around her, their movements synchronized like clockwork. As the Princess of Moresnet retreated from her presence, Margaery couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue. Hope Mikaelson was not like the other southern ladies she'd encountered.

Next day

The day of Joffrey and Margaery's wedding arrived, and King's Landing was abuzz with excitement. The castle glittered like a jewel, the streets thronged with the noble and the common alike, eager to catch a glimpse of the young couple.
Joffrey, dressed in his finest Lannister crimson, sauntered into the Sept of Baelor, his smug smile beaming as he took his place at the front.