Chapter Text
No more.
I've had enough of crowns and kings. What was the point of it all?
Her first husband preferred the company of her brother. Her second husband preferred to mutilate little animals. Her last husband was little more than a child who loved animals. All of them taken away. Renly dying at the hands of his brother dabbling in sorcery. Joffrey died at their wedding by her grandmother's protective leathery hands. Tommen died at the hands of his own mother in her twisted way of "protecting" him.
And now, from what her Father is telling her, she is to be married to the new King Aegon VI. Handsome as he is, it's not worth it. She once thought of herself as being able to be a Queen; much like Good Queen Alysanne. But there is no point of it. I had nearly died because Cersei had tried to kill me in her madness and nearly succeeded. And now, Father wants to send me off like I am a broodmare.
What was the point of it? How many much more am I to endure just to lay a crown upon my head?
She had entered the service of the Queen at her father's behest to see just how Aegon was overall. A good man, a wonderful king but that dream had died. It made her think of Sansa in a way. Not a day had gone by that she regretted leaving her once her family had told her to all but abandon her as she had married the Imp. It would be nice to see her again.
As Father had began to make preparations for her to wed King Aegon VI, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. I'd marry anyone else rather than become Queen. She had come to like Queen Daenerys, and Prince Jon seemed to be an amiable man. And it is because of Prince Jon that she was able to make her choice.
Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill was not like any other knight she had met. Stern, dutiful and steadfast, Ser Gendry is quite an impressive knight with his own right: a natural with axes, pikes, warhammers and surprisingly quick with a sword in spite of his size. She had often met and smiled at him whenever they passed by, and he would awkwardly return it. The conversations between them were often sparse ranging from simple polite conversations to their duties to those they served. Her own service to Queen Daenerys and his to Prince Jon's.
With a great amount of courage and a small amount of drink, she had asked Daenerys that she be married to Ser Gendry. He is very handsome with his coal-dark hair and piercing blue eyes. And it would help Loras remove any notions that he is Renly reborn. Daenerys and Jon had willingly gave her their blessing while Gendry himself seemed to be reluctant to say the least. It had taken some prodding on Jon's part to all but cow Gendry into marrying her. I'll finally wed a Baratheon as you wanted me too Father.
Their marriage was in the godswood and small, not as she imagined when she was a girl but quite quaint. The Old Gods seemed to be more content and peaceful than the Seven. As a gift to them, Jon and Daenerys named them and any children they have Lord of Whitegrove and to be granted the name of Belgrave; a house long gone and dead in the Reach. The sigil of their new house was quite fearsome as well: a rampant white bull on a chequy field of green-and-gold. Normally, a bedding would be called but Gendry said that their would be no need for one.
Once the news was dispensed that she was now a married woman, her father all but roared that he had no daughter. As strong as she stared him down, telling him that she's no one's pawn, it had still hurt that her father thought less of her because she was not a queen. Her mother offered her sympathies, while WIllas and Garlan told her husband to treat her with the utmost respect as a lady of her station should be. Loras would normally be chastising him as well, but he is a member of the Kingsguard bound by his duty and too broken to do anything even if he wanted to. The sun had set on her old life, and would begin soon.
Their new home felt strange. It all felt strange; being cut off her family, no longer being able to call herself a Tyrell.
But now is not the time to lament my decision for I have made it. And right now, she felt grateful to Daenerys and Jon, and even Aegon for granting them such a wondrous castle. Whitegrove is so beautiful with walls and towers made of white stone. Its floors and pillars were crafted from white marble veined with gold. The rafters were carved from the trunks of weirwoods. A true sign from the power that the Peake's had.
The servants that had been assigned to them were quite amiable and friendly. Several men who had been in Stannis' service, Timon the Scrapesword and Dermot of the Rainwood, and his own companion from his brigand days, Anguy the Archer from the Dornish marches. And surprisingly enough, some men who had been accused of being her lovers had sworn themselves into their service such as Ser Tallad the Tall, Ser Bayard Norcross, and Ser Humfrey Clifton. Even several maids who were once in Cersei's service such as her attendant Jocelyn Swyft, Serena Stackspear, and Cyrelle Serrett. Her lovely cousins had been removed from her retinue as she was no longer a Tyrell.
As she looked to Gendry, her husband, she noticed just how out of place he looked and must have felt. He had been raised among the smallfolk of King's Landing, learned smithing as his trade. He had not asked for this life nor had he expected it. He had lead his band of brigands, the Brotherhood without Banners, and had taken the Crossing with less than fifty men; slaughtering the weasels of the riverlands. He was a leader amongst men, but not a lord. But I can help him with that.
When he came to their chambers, she felt her throat tighten and her heart pang. She had seen and felt faint glimpses underneath his clothes, yet here is her husband in only his small clothes. The candlelight seemingly bouncing off of his hard muscles. Not a single soft spot.
"G'night ... Margaery" he said in a rumbling low voice. he then goes to the left side of their featherbed and simply falls asleep. As much as she can respect that he would not force her to bed him, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed. Three husbands and still a maiden still. And here is her husband by her side, muscled like a maiden's dream, and not bedding her. She then daintily placed her hand on her shoulder, and gently kissed him by the juncture of his neck. "Good night, my lord husband"
"So, ya married 'er, and you haven't fucked 'er?" Anguy said, cocking his head.
"Whaddya want me to do, Anguy? Tell her to go on and suck my cock when I want?"
"That is what you lords do now, don't ya? And it's not like you have no experience with girls. You do remember Long Jeyne Heddle, don't cha?"
He recalled all too well. He hadn't taken Jeyne's maidenhead because he wanted to or desired her. He had cared for her greatly, and she had feared some raper taking it. A favour it was, just a favour, he kept saying to himself. Yet, it continued all throughout whenever they got the chance. After the orphans and Willow were asleep, she would come to the forge, her skinny fingers wrapping around his cock. He hadn't been sure what it was. Love, lust, affection, he couldn't tell. All that he knew was that he would protect her no matter what.
But Jeyne had not been his first truly. Lem had gotten him a woman to make a man out of him and Tom insisted on it to prove himself, whatever that meant. Though, they either didn't know Jeyne or wanted him to try bedding other woman as well. Her name was Hildy; she had a a pug nose and a shaggy mane of hair, and her nipples were as large as map markers. Though she wasn't a whore, she had been paid well enough to "do the deed". It felt uncomfortable to say the least but she had shown him just how to touch and please a woman. It was only once, and he had apologized heavily to Jeyne. And she had quickly forgiven him once he had shown her what HIldy had taught him.
The last girl that he had bedded prior to his wife was Bess Bracken. Fair of hair, fleshy and buxom. He felt guilty by her, she had been raped by the Mountain during his pillage of the riverlands. While it had not been his fault, he felt it all the same. Yet, surprisingly enough, she had managed to assuage him of any guilt he had felt for something the Brotherhood could not have prevented. Eventually, they came to bed one another. He had felt a bit apprehensive about bedding her, but she quickly flashed a smile and assuaged him of any and all guilt. She made more noise than Hildy, that was certain. And she was sneaky as Jeyne, often sneaking to his small chambers so that they may bed one another.
All that had to end. And from what he had heard, Bess and Jeyne were both pregnant with his child. Jon had told him that they would be very well compensated; Bess's child would be an heir apparent to House Bracken and Jeyne's family have been elevated to lordship and her child heir.
None of it felt right. Jon had understood, and Dany as well. But Margaery Tyrell had apparently asked that he marry her. He didn't understand why she did. All that they said was that she was a fair maiden in need of his protection. After Daenerys herself, she may be the most beautiful maiden in Westeros. Margaery, with her thick, softly curling brown hair, large brown eyes, pale, smooth unblemished skin, and a slender, but womanly figure. Margaery, fair and lively, with a shy and sweet smile was now his wife. His wife. She'd be more befitting as a wife to a king, not him. I should have married Jeyne when I had the chance, and done right by her properly. Or offered that to Bess.
But now was not the time to lament on such things. Margaery is his wife now. Someone to be treated with the utmost care and respect. And never dishonour her. Any conversations between them were no longer as brisk as before but still felt awkward, at least to him.
She was made for all this; the duties of a lady of her station. She often jested with Anguy and inquired about her own ladies. It made her a bit different than most noble ladies he had seen and known, and he didn't know many. She was always interested not only in the comings and goings of their new castle but also talked to any smallfolk whom suffered a grievance in theri lands. I'm truly not worthy of her. Why did she want me for her husband?
"My lord, I was wondering as to wh - "
"Gendry. I'm not your lord, I'm your husband. You can call me by my name, my lady"
"If that is the case, then I insist you call me Margaery"
"Of course, Margaery. Uh, just what is it you wish to ask?"
"I was simply wondering as to why you have not done your duty by me, Gendry?"
He could feel his blood turn warm. "M-M-My du-duty? I have done my duty by you, my la- Margaery."
"Yes, you have been a good and true husband who hasn't strayed from my bed. Yet, you haven't been in my bed. Are you as much a maiden as I supposedly am?" she said, staring at him intensely. Ferocity and curiosity melded into her flashing golden brown doe eyes.
"I am not!" he retorts loudly, his pride having got in the way. "I-It's just that ... I'm not ... well, I mean I am but ... I ... Do you want me to bed you?" he said awkwardly.
She looked at him surprised. "You are my lord husband. It's to be expected. It's my duty by you to be bedded by you, and grant you many sons and daughters trueborn and healthy"
But I'm not trueborn, not truly, he nearly says. But his throat holds back the words. "Are you certain that it is what you want?"
She then leans her body close to his. Her dainty fingers faintly stroking the muscles on his arms. "Yes. I ... I have dreamed of you, you know. Desired you. Had you not desired me?"
"It's hard not to. If you want to be ... bedded ... by me, would you actually ..."
Margaery cut him off with a kiss. She tasted wonderful. Like a myriad of every sweet thing had come to life and bloomed on those sweet lips of hers.
"You are most welcome to my, I mean, our chambers, Lord Gendry," she said with a smile.
He does not know why he thrums with anxiety as he enters Margaery's (our) chambers; gods know he no longer a green boy. But has not truly shared a woman's bed with such intimacy. The last thing he wants to do is make the bedding unpleasant for her. And they had barely touched one another since their wedding day, nearly two moons ago.
Gendry's breath catches as Margaery comes into view. She sits in the center of the large featherbed, her legs folded beneath her; her soft curls cascade over her shoulders, which are all but bare in the silk night dress she wears, the material so delicate Gendry can see every inch of her in the candlelight. Desire warms his blood as Margaery rises up on her knees, her eyes darkened with passion as he climbs onto the bed.
Her mouth tastes like honeyed wine, and her skin smells of roses.
The night they were wedded, he had not taken the time to truly look upon her; he feels drunk on her now, running calloused hands over the length of her. She inhales deeply through her nose as he touches her breasts, and, as he captures a nipple between his lips, he practically feels her heart speed up beneath his face. As Margaery breathes his name, her fingers sinking into his hair, Gendry wishes to show Margaery the pleasures which can be found together.
She cries out in surprise as he drags his tongue up the length of her cunt, her fingers biting painfully in his hair; Gendry sees she is trying to rise on her elbows, lower body moving as if she is not certain whether she is trying to move away or move closer, and he gently pushes her hips against the mattress, lifting his head to meet her gaze.
“Trust me,” he requests huskily, and Margaery's eyes widen before nodding, settling back against the pillows, her breathing hitched with arousal and nervousness.
It takes mere minutes to make her peak, two fingers crooked inside of her, his tongue gathering her wetness; when he suckles at her nub, Margaery shouts as her body tenses in pleasure before every muscle relaxes. She whimpers as he withdraws, peppering kisses up her body as she comes down, and, as he carefully eases himself inside of her, Gendry groans as she spasms around him. The faint feel of her maiden's blood trickling down his cock.
Initially, he is a bit shocked that she had still been a maiden after all this time. But then he realizes that she had been a maiden all this time. Women always dream of losing their maidenhead to some gallant and brave lord. Something he could never truly be. Margaery then looks at him, those brown pools of hers bearing into his soul; understanding just what he is thinking in a way. She nods, urging him to carry on with it.
Margaery catches his rhythm easily, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, and he realizes he won't last long. He slips an arm beneath her thigh, hitching her leg higher, and Margaery moans loudly as he sinks deeper into her, tossing her head back with the sensation.
“Genndrrry, Gendry,” she begins to chant, and it is hearing her voice – raw and desperate – saying his name which tips him over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of her.
They lay joined for several moments, both trying to catch their breaths, before he moved off of her; to his surprise, Margaery follows, settling into the crook of his arm, resting her head against his broad chest. She kisses the patch of skin in front of her before sighing, “I quite liked that.”
The bark of laughter catches them both by surprise, but it immediately sends Margaery into a peal of giggles. Gendry rises from the bed to throw open the windows, Margaery pulls back the bedclothes, motioning for him to join her. As he slips into unconsciousness with the taste of Margaery still on his tongue, Gendry thinks this is the first time she has truly felt like his wife.
In the morning he wakes to someone tracing the scars on his chest. Gendry opens his eyes to see Margaery sitting up beside him, unconcerned with her nudity, fingertips gliding across the puckered skin; if she is embarrassed at being caught, she doesn't show it. Instead she just smiles and greets, “Good morning, Lord Gendry.”
“Come here,” he orders in a sleep-roughened voice, pulling her down for a kiss.
It is the first – but, by no means, the last – morning that Gendry urges Margaery atop him, watching as she gracefully rises and falls upon his cock.
He is not good with words. Though their conversations come easier, especially in regards to the running of Whitegrove, Gendry finds himself struggling with intimate discussions. Margaery often leads the conversations, and he truly appreciates it; he has always found out more by listening, and what he quickly learns about his wife is that Margaery is shrewdly intelligent, bitingly funny, and, beneath all her maidenly beauty, has a spine of Valyrian steel.
It is not long that she had begun to swell with his child; their child. Her skin softer, her breasts larger and a bit more fiercer than before. Margaery had also wanted to be fucked raw, before she had begun to truly swell with their child. She was more wild and wanton in bed; almost like a beast in heat. They fucked for what would seem and feel the entire day. She would often be on her hands and knees, demanding to be fucked like bitch. Sometimes, she would place her mouth on his cock, her lips and tongue teasing until his seed bursts in her mouth. Other times, she would daintily place herself on his cock; sheathing herself down to the hilt and slowly moving around his cock.
Always shouting like a madwoman, "YES, YES, GENDRY! IT'S SO GOOD!! FASTER, HARDER!! KEEP FUCKING ME!! OH, BY THE GODS! BY THE GODS, YES!!" By the end of it, they would be completely sated. Margaery would curl up by his shoulder while he would absentmindedly stroke her sweaty back. Always wondering how an oaf like him ended up with such a beauty like her,
By the end of the year, he hears screams of pain and anguish. He thinks to himself that he should not have done such a thing. The Gods have made it fit to take my wife from me. Maybe even our babe. But all those fears were set aside once he heard the shrill wails of a babe. Her babe. My babe. Our babe. He enters the room so uncertainly. As he takes in the sight of Margaery and their babe, he found himself unable to breathe. Margaery's hair is wild and untangled. In her arms, a pair of lively arms reaching up at the air.
"Meet your son, my lord," Margaery said in a low rumble. Their son is a tiny thing with a pouty mouth and a mop of black hair. His eyes are a mix of his and Margaery's: resplendently blue yet with small flecks of amber in them as well.
"What do you want to name him?" she asks. There were some names he had thought of, but they probably wouldn't suit their babe. The name suddenly came to him. "How 'bout ... Watkyn?" She then looks at him then at their babe. "Watkyn. Watkyn Belgrave. I like it. Hello, Watkyn" she said, cooing at their babe. Nothing could ever make him happier.
It had almost been five years since she had any contact with her family; her old family.
Though she was now part of a good noble house of the Reach, she did not always keep a steady hand in what was happening in the Reach. What she did hear about the Tyrells had not been good. Lord Mace Tyrell had been executed on the grounds of being a turncloak; once for Renly, twice for Joffrey, thrice for Tommen then attempting to gain sway in the new Targaryen court. She did feel a small pang in her heart, but he decided that she was not worthy to be his daughter, so he was not worthy to spill tears for.
Her sweet cousins Megga and Elinor had died in the birthing bed. Their husbands Arthur Ambrose and Mark Mullendore swallowed in grief. After much waiting, Willas had finally married; to Sansa Stark no less. Garlan had been named Lord of Dunstonbury and Leonette had granted him a little girl and is hopefully expecting a boy. Last she heard of Aunt Janna, she had passed after the birth of her son, which had followed after the death of her husband Ser Jon Fossoway of New Barrel. Her grandmother Olenna had finally and peacefully passed in her bed.
She had received letters from both Loras and her mother. Both pleading that she come. A part of her does yearn to see her brother's sweet handsome face, and feel the warm tender embrace of her mother's arms. But the her attention had gone to other matters.
Gendry still had trouble in completing lordly matters and duties but was slowly growing into a genial and amiable lord that the people loved. Watkyn growing tall and strong like his father. Lia still a babe, crawling all over the keep. And they were already expecting another child, hopefully another boy.
No, Margaery Tyrell was stupidly ambitious girl with notions of grandeur. Margaery Belgrave is a lady, wife and mother to a growing brood of children. Her old life was gone, and nothing and no one could ever take it away. This is her home.