The Throne [open]
Jun 11, 2013 13:13:13 GMT
Post by Margaery Tyrell on Jun 11, 2013 13:13:13 GMT
She wasn't supposed to be here.
And that made it all the more exciting.
Margaery paused just inside the doorway of the Great Hall, watching the way the late afternoon sunlight slanted through the high windows and illuminated the Iron Throne at the end of the room. It seemed to be wreathed in a ghostly haze, as if was only an illusion and would disappear at any moment. She had never been in the Hall when it wasn't full of people, and she could hear the sound of her own breathing and her footsteps echoing off the walls as she moved down the carpet and closer to her goal.
It had not been difficult to gain entrance. A few flirtatious words, a winsome smile, and the guards had let her in. She was the future queen, after all, and could go where she pleased. Some of the people she helped in the city already called her 'Your Grace,' even though she wasn't yet married to King Joffrey. Her heart always leapt in her chest when they did so, for it sounded so right and perfect to her ears. Her ambitions were finally being realized, and while she had heard from Sansa Stark that Joffrey's personality left a lot to be desired, that did not matter to her. When he was with her, she knew how to be the kind of woman he wished for, one who shared his interests and praised everything he did and said.
Here, alone, Margaery could let down her guard and simply be herself … a sixteen-year-old girl who would do anything to be queen. She had yet to win her future mother-in-law over, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Queen Cersei, too, fell under her spell. For when she set her mind to something, nobody could resist her charms. Or at least that was the opinion she held of herself.
She stopped just below the stairs leading up to the Iron Throne, gazing up at it and admiring the way the muted light played over the edges of the many blades that formed it. It was a symbol of power to Margaery, a power that she desired more than anything in the world. She had come here planning to sit upon it, to view the Hall the way the King himself viewed it … just to get a taste of what it would be like to have ultimate power.
Yet now, she hesitated, uncertain as to the wisdom of her plan, and immediately berated herself for her foolishness. Margaery Tyrell was afraid of nothing, and slowly, deliberately, she began to climb the steep steps.
And that made it all the more exciting.
Margaery paused just inside the doorway of the Great Hall, watching the way the late afternoon sunlight slanted through the high windows and illuminated the Iron Throne at the end of the room. It seemed to be wreathed in a ghostly haze, as if was only an illusion and would disappear at any moment. She had never been in the Hall when it wasn't full of people, and she could hear the sound of her own breathing and her footsteps echoing off the walls as she moved down the carpet and closer to her goal.
It had not been difficult to gain entrance. A few flirtatious words, a winsome smile, and the guards had let her in. She was the future queen, after all, and could go where she pleased. Some of the people she helped in the city already called her 'Your Grace,' even though she wasn't yet married to King Joffrey. Her heart always leapt in her chest when they did so, for it sounded so right and perfect to her ears. Her ambitions were finally being realized, and while she had heard from Sansa Stark that Joffrey's personality left a lot to be desired, that did not matter to her. When he was with her, she knew how to be the kind of woman he wished for, one who shared his interests and praised everything he did and said.
Here, alone, Margaery could let down her guard and simply be herself … a sixteen-year-old girl who would do anything to be queen. She had yet to win her future mother-in-law over, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Queen Cersei, too, fell under her spell. For when she set her mind to something, nobody could resist her charms. Or at least that was the opinion she held of herself.
She stopped just below the stairs leading up to the Iron Throne, gazing up at it and admiring the way the muted light played over the edges of the many blades that formed it. It was a symbol of power to Margaery, a power that she desired more than anything in the world. She had come here planning to sit upon it, to view the Hall the way the King himself viewed it … just to get a taste of what it would be like to have ultimate power.
Yet now, she hesitated, uncertain as to the wisdom of her plan, and immediately berated herself for her foolishness. Margaery Tyrell was afraid of nothing, and slowly, deliberately, she began to climb the steep steps.
