Queen No More
Nineteenth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
"Trust these old ones always to the letter, never to the spirit, men lie to keep power or to take it, but the fey lie to play like children grown over-mighty in their whims," so had spoken Olenna Tyrell to her granddaughter and few indeed would deny her wisdom, even among her foes. Why then was Margaery standing before the rosewood bowl, her hair unbound and her feet bare in the prickly grass under the waning moon? She knew that ritual magic was the most perilous of arts. The girl shuddered and not from the cold. She had seen men die and worse than die when they reached out their hands for truths beyond the power of their minds to grasp. Yet still she had to know.
I won my answers fairly and at no small cost, Margaery told herself, the memory of the
twitching thing that had risen from the surf to plague the shores of the Sunset Sea fresh in her mind, its pincers meant for the cracking of heads and its tentacles for the tearing of living brains from them and melding them with its own unclean flesh. Though her blows had been far from the most telling she had ended the thing, freed the mind and spirit of the fey-sworn mage trapped within. Not that she had been aware of that at the time, mostly she had been trying not to vomit over the damn thing because she did not want any part of it touching her, but the nymph whose lover the creature had devoured had come to her the next day offering a reward.
Perhaps I should have asked for beauty, perhaps I should have asked for grace, the daughter of House Tyrell thought,
but does not father assure me that I am worthy of being queen as I am? Why then should I not indulge the desire of my heart? Her hand tightened upon the delicate dagger in her hand as she intoned the invocation.
To Moon above and Earth below
To Wind that blows and Stars aglow
I ask now a question soft and true
Shall I bear a Crown aright or askew?
In one swift motion Margaery drew the blade across her palm and let the blood flow into the water of the bowl, then caring nothing of the stinging of her hand she leaned in to see... to
know. The girl saw herself a maiden flowered and come into the beauty that so many had assured her would be hers. A crown of gold wrought like a stag's horns lay upon her head and in gold was her throat encircled, but her dress was black like widow's weeds, her eyes haunted and distant.
This was not the vision she had wanted, not the crown of a faerie kingdom upon her brow, the child looking into the waters knew, but she could not tear her eyes away.
What do you fear? What binds you as cold iron binds phantoms and fey? She wished to ask the silent image beneath the waters. The mirror was hers, the spell hers also, and it moved to her will, the answer as plain as it was painful.
Never had the queen uttered a single spell, never had she dreamed it, faithful and true to the last, bought and sold three times over, ever a maiden yet the mob named her whore. Sins she had a plenty, the young queen, murderer, regicide, false friend, and betrayer, but the mob did not care, the court cared less, too busy walking over corpses of their own to care for the ones she had made... too relieved to be rid of
him.
The Margaery that watched was suddenly overcome by an urge to ride to King's Landing and kill the golden haired boy, kill him again in the true world under the sun so that the world might be spared his cruelty.
No, that's wrong, she swallowed painfully, remembering Danelle's lessons given as much in deed as word.
He is a child now and has done nothing, an innocent... and so am I. Letting out a shaky breath the young sorceress forgave herself for what she had seen in the dreadful vision, just as the water cleared again.
"Is... is this what will happen or can happen?" she knew not whom she asked.
"It's what might have happened, a step a little to the side," the melodious voice of the nymph, Aife, replied out of the darkness, her crimson hair the only part of her clearly visible in the dark.
"Well if it can't happen why did you show me?" the young sorceress asked angrily, heedless of the blood now dripping onto her dress.
"Because it is not in my power, child, nor in the power of any fey lord or lady to show what will be if the Sleeping King awakens and takes you for his bride, we do not ourselves know," the nymph answered plainly for once. "But you were the queen in that vision, your question is answered is it not?"
Had it been answered? Margaery wondered. She had seen herself passed from one king's bed to another as though she were in truth some particularly costly strumpet, she had seen how easily fear could drive her to cruelty. She did not wish to be afraid. Could she then trust the power of a king at her side to keep her safe?
The answer was simple, the answer was plain as the moonlight on her face.
No.
OOC: Sorry this took so long. I actually rolled the fight against the Neh-Thalggu and Margaery did really well given her level, but then I began to wonder if a combat encounter really said more of her character than you guys already know? I could not honestly say that it did so I came up with the fey reward and I thought of what she might most want... that's when inspiration truly struck.
