A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 69 (A Golden Flower) (Patreon)

House Tyrell Quarters

Margaery found herself reflecting upon the rarity of moments when she had been caught off guard, for her upbringing had been a meticulous tapestry of experiences and teachings, molding her into a paragon of grace and foresight. From the cradle to the present day, she had traversed a myriad of trials and tribulations, each serving as a stepping stone towards the realization of her purpose as a proud scion of House Tyrell. From the very beginning, the threads of her parents were intricately woven, guiding her towards a singular path that unfailingly led to her destined union with the Crown Prince of Westeros. This alliance held the key to her ascension as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

In the depths of Margaery's memory, a vivid recollection emerged, transporting her back to the cherished days of her youth. It was a time when innocence adorned their souls when both she and Prince Aegon were but wide-eyed children.

It was on that very night, as the moon cast its ethereal glow upon the realm, that Margaery's grandmother whispered words to her. With a voice imbued with the wisdom of ages past, her grandmother told Margaery would one day ascend to the exalted position of Queen, wedded to Prince Aegon.

The weight of this momentous revelation settled upon Margaery's tender heart, kindling within her an indomitable flame of ambition and purpose. She envisioned a future where she would stand alongside her beloved prince, uniting their House with an unyielding bond of strength and resilience.

That same night, in her dreams, Margaery found herself immersed in a fantastical vision. There, amidst the grandeur of King's Landing, the city's bells pealed joyously in unison, their melodic harmonies resounding through the air. The clamor of jubilant voices filled the streets as throngs of people congregated to honor the union of two souls.

In this wondrous tableau, Margaery and Prince Aegon stood side by side, their hearts entwined in love. She yearned to be the Queen of Westeros, leading her House to unprecedented heights. It was a memory that fueled her ambitions, igniting a fire within her soul that would burn brightly until the day she stood, hand in hand with her prince, as the revered monarchs of Westeros.

For this reason, Margaery was taught by her grandmother, taught about everything, what to expect from people, how to read them, and the power that a few simple sweet words could have on people. It didn't matter if Margaery meant them, as long as the person she was talking to believed them.

Margaery had tested it out in many knights and lady servants; it always baffled her how a few sweet words could change the mind of people; as long as she knew what someone was like, and what they wanted, Margaery knew she could always use something as simple as words to have her way with almost everything, many people underestimate the strength a few words could have, saying the right words could change the entire course of a Kingdom.

Margaery knew she didn't have weapons, she wasn't a warrior, but Margaery had her words and something else that was as important. Throughout her life, she had always taken great pride in the undeniable fact that she was exceptionally good-looking, effortlessly captivating the attention of numerous knights who were mesmerized by her radiance. Not only had men found themselves enraptured by her, but even certain women had found themselves lusting after her ethereal charm. She hoped her beauty would seduce even Prince Aegon.

Margaery still remembered her first day meeting the Crown Prince of Westeros; Prior to this momentous event, her loving grandmother had imparted countless nuggets of advice, exhorting her granddaughter to leave an indelible impression on the royal Prince. The echoes of her grandmother's words reverberated within Margaery's thoughts, permeating her consciousness to such an extent that they permeated even her dreams, forming a repetitive chorus that played on the stage of her slumber.

'As Margaery gracefully strolled through the gardens of King's Landing, her eyes were captivated by the kaleidoscope of colors that surrounded her. The vibrant blossoms seemed to dance in harmony with the gentle sway of the trees as if orchestrating a symphony of nature's beauty. The melodious songs of birds filled the air, their sweet melodies serenading her every step. With each breath, the warm embrace of the summer breeze caressed her skin, infusing the moment with an ethereal sense of tranquility.

Margaery was wearing an opulent golden-red gown. Crafted from the finest, most exquisite silk, the fabric cascaded down her lithe form, its ethereal touch akin to liquid velvet, as if it possessed the ability to glide through one's fingertips effortlessly. Embracing a daring design, the gown boasted intricate cuts that adorned her arms, gracefully exposing the elegant contours from wrist to shoulder.

With each movement, Margaery's arms became a mesmerizing canvas, revealing her innate grace and poise. To add a touch of captivating allure, she adorned herself with resplendent golden earrings acquired from the city of Pentos. Like radiant stars in the azure sky, these earrings shimmered and danced under the warm caress of sunlight, their delicate embellishments meticulously crafted to resemble the mythical mermaids that frolic in the depths of the sea.

Adorned with opulent elegance, Margaery graced her neck with a resplendent necklace boasting the sigil of House Tyrell. Crafted from the finest pure gold, its radiant shimmer evoked envy and admiration alike, for its value alone could secure a lifetime of prosperity. As though to accentuate her regal allure, she further embellished her delicate hand with a golden ring, nestling a petite and captivating sapphire upon her little finger, a precious gem that mirrored the depths of her captivating beauty.

Draped gracefully around her figure, Margaery's resplendent gown boasted a mesmerizing combination of golden and fiery red hues. Glistening threads of gold wove intricate patterns, culminating in a stunning floral motif delicately stitched in the area encircling her chest. With a regal length that gracefully skimmed her ankles, the gown exuded an air of elegance and sophistication, befitting a future queen.

A discreet cut, strategically placed in the chest area, offered a glimpse of Margaery's blossoming beauty. The slight reveal showcased her vibrant femininity, which would leave no doubt in the prince's mind that she was maturing into a woman who would one day become Queen of Westeros.

With delicate precision, Margaery carefully dabbed a drop of the finest perfume upon her pulse points, ensuring its intoxicating aroma would captivate without overwhelming Prince Aegon's senses. Elegantly making her way through the vibrant gardens of King's Landing, her steps were guided by anticipation as she approached a beautifully adorned table that awaited her arrival. Above the table, a graceful umbrella unfurled its protective canopy, shielding the carefully arranged setting from the scorching rays of the summer sun.

The air was filled with a symphony of voices, a delightful chorus of chattering, and footsteps that grew louder and closer by the moment. Margaery's heart skipped a beat as a radiant smile blossomed across her face, her eyes alight with excitement.

Emerging gracefully from around a distant corner, Prince Aegon and Loras appeared. They moved with an effortless grace; their steps synchronized as if they had been friends for years.

Margaery, ever perceptive, couldn't help but deduce the nature of their conversation from the animated gestures and occasional bursts of laughter. She imagined her brother regaling the prince with tales of daring sword fights and thrilling adventures, as boys are wont to do.

Margaery squinted her eyes slightly from the way Prince Aegon was walking, his hands moving as he spoke, and most importantly, his eyes as he spoke to Loras; Margaery almost sighed in relief, knowing her grandmother's first plan wasn't successful.

With a radiant smile that could rival the sun's warmth, Margaery's infectious joy illuminated the garden as Prince Aegon and Loras gracefully halted their steps before her. Prince Aegon's handsome countenance mirrored her own happiness, his lips curling into a smile that mirrored the twinkling stars in the night sky, while Loras took a confident stride forward, ready to introduce Margaery to the prince.

"Your grace, this is my sister, Lady Margaery Tyrell," Loras introduced The Crown Prince to Margaery, his voice filled with reverence. In a graceful display of courtesy, Margaery's head dipped respectfully in a gentle bow. Her eyes fixated on the ground momentarily. As she raised her gaze, she found herself captivated by the Crown Prince's striking presence mere inches away. Deep within his eyes, a mesmerizing hue of purple danced while cascading locks of resplendent silver framed his regal countenance, echoing the beauty surrounding him.

Margaery found herself unable to resist the undeniable charm and magnetic allure of the prince, as she couldn't help but acknowledge his striking handsomeness. As their eyes met, a surge of electricity danced in the air, causing her heart to flutter with an unexpected intensity. The prince's gentle touch enveloped her knuckles, his grip both tender and firm, sending shivers down her spine. And then, He lifted her hand to his lips, planting a delicate, lingering kiss upon her knuckles. Margaery could feel her pulse quicken, her senses heightened by the soft brush of his lips against her skin.

"Lady Margaery, I see the tales of your beauty do you no justice," Prince Aegon Prince's voice, soft and mellifluous, resonated through the garden while his enchanting smile showcased a perfect set of pearly white teeth. His lustrous silver hair, cascading in waves, served as a striking contrast against his regal attire, further enhancing his breathtaking charm. As his compliment reached her ears, Margaery couldn't help but release a delicate, melodic giggle.

"I have heard of your skill with swords. Congratulations on your victory in the tourney, your grace," Margaery spoke with a sweet voice like honey; As their eyes met, like two fleeting sparks in the night, Margaery's gaze caught a fleeting glimpse of melancholy within the depths of Aegon's eyes. Still, it vanished in an instant, replaced by a grateful smile that adorned his countenance, a silent appreciation for her thoughtful words.

"My lady is very generous with me." As he spoke, Prince Aegon gracefully pulled out a chair, inviting Lady Margaery to join him at the exquisite table adorned with delicate porcelain and shimmering crystals. Lady Margaery's countenance bloomed like a vibrant spring flower, her eyes sparkling with appreciation as she offered Prince Aegon a tender smile, acknowledging his thoughtful gesture.

Seating himself beside her, Prince Aegon settled into the plush cushioned chair, his posture exuding princely grace and charm. Almost instantaneously, a servant approached their table with a sense of urgency, his steps measured and respectful, his head bowed humbly as he eagerly anticipated their orders.

"A Sweet mint tea and a cheesecake," Margaery spoke, her eyes gazing at Aegon's reaction, and did not disappoint; his face briefly lightened up after hearing her choice of drink.

"My lady, the cheesecake is served after the tea," The servant spoke, looking at Lady Margaery; the latter quickly turned to look at him with a sharp look. "I want it served, and I want it served now," Margaery declared, her voice infused with authority, a subtle undertone of command resonating in every syllable. Prince Aegon fought valiantly to suppress a mischievous chuckle, his lips twitching ever so slightly. The servant, now flustered and uncertain, glanced at Prince Aegon, his eyes silently pleading for guidance.

"Lady Margaery is a guest. If she wants cheesecake, then she will get Cheese Cake," Aegon spoke, his voice friendly enough for a prince, but Margaery could detect a hint of command in his voice.

Acknowledging the prince's words, the servant, bowing with the utmost deference, swiftly departed to fulfill Prince Aegon's request, leaving behind a lingering air of anticipation. As the servant's footsteps faded into the distance, Margaery's gaze turned to meet the prince's.

"I hope you found King's Landing to your liking, Lady Margaery," Aegon spoke first with courtesy.

"I did. I heard the small folks have a 'bread house,' as they call it," Margaery spoke sweetly. As her mind wandered back to the time before she had reached the Red Keep, she vividly recalled her encounter with the common people.

She soon learned of their daily bread ration, whimsically referred to as the "bread house." It was not long before Margaery heard the whispers of gratitude echoing through the streets, all praising Prince Aegon for his benevolence in providing them sustenance without cost. Intrigued by this seemingly boundless act of generosity, she couldn't help but wonder about the prince's capacity to afford such lavish offerings. Even her grandmother had hinted at an elusive play at hand, insinuating that no one could truly be this generous.

As Margaery gazed into Prince Aegon's eyes, she detected a glimmer of pride subtly shaping his countenance, emanating from within his soul.

"The common people deserve to have food on their belly, just like the rest of us," Prince Aegon said with a tinge of melancholy, his voice carrying a weight that hinted at a deeper understanding of their plight. However, just as swiftly as the shade of sorrow painted his expression, he concealed it behind a facade of happiness, masking the inner turmoil that dwelled within him. Margaery reciprocated his smile, her own radiant beam reflecting the warmth of her heart. In that fleeting moment, she couldn't help but wonder if the prince had caught wind of her own endeavors, her tireless efforts to uplift the lives of the people in Highgarden.

"What was it like to grow up in Highgarden? It must be quite something to grow up in the most beautiful Castle in Westeros?" Prince Aegon's voice brimmed with genuine curiosity as he posed the question, his eyes alight with a spark of intrigue. Eager to share her cherished memories, Margaery's lips curled into a radiant smile, relishing the Prince's genuine interest in knowing her.

A sudden symphony of creaking hinges filled the air, liberating her from the clutches of her mind. Startled, she spun around in her seat, her heart racing, only to find Loras cautiously poking his head through the partially open door. He beckoned her to join him, his countenance etched with a gravity that demanded her immediate attention.

Margaery stood up from her seat without asking questions; she knew they needed to discuss the matter with the new prince of the realm. Yet, a flicker of disbelief lingered within her. It was one thing to receive word from Lord Stark himself, confessing to the audacious act of abducting a Prince of the Realm and raising him as his own illegitimate child. However, witnessing a living, breathing dragon—unleashed a surge of insecurity and fear within Margaery's heart. Margaery almost berated herself for feeling like that.

Margaery followed her brother; she asked where he had been, and he told her he had talked with Renly about something important after that, both walked in silence throughout the dimly lit corridor; Margaery preferred it this way; the silence gave her time to think of everything that happened today.

A Prince with a name and power to rule the entire Seven Kingdoms, Margaery thought; she had seen him during the meeting, but he looked nothing like Aegon; the new prince looked more like a Stark than a Targaryen; even Princess Rhaenys had the purple eyes of the Targaryens, Prince Aemon had neither the purple eyes nor the silver hair, but Margaery quickly figured that must of have made it easier for Lord Stark to steal the prince. It would be difficult to sell the lie if Prince Aemon looked like a Targaryen instead of a Stark.

"Margaery," Loras called out to her, his voice resonating through the dimly lit corridor, effectively interrupting Margaery's thoughts. With a graceful stride, she turned to face her brother, her captivating brown eyes meeting his gaze, waiting to hear what he wanted from her.

In a hushed tone, barely audible, "Garlan said the new prince might be dangerous to you and Prince Aegon," Loras warned her; as his words hung in the air, it seemed that even Loras himself hesitated to utter the word 'dangerous,' cognizant of its weight and the implications it carried. Witnessing this, Margaery felt an inclination to reprimand him for daring to utter such a potentially damning statement.

With a raised eyebrow and a barely concealed smirk, Margaery's lips quivered, almost on the verge of scoffing. Deep down, she knew that if Garlan truly harbored such thoughts, he would have confided in her directly. Yet, to her surprise and mild irritation, it was Loras who dared to utter those elusive words. "Loras," Margaery began, her tone tinged with a gentle reprimand, " it's better to keep your thoughts in your head. Once they're spoken, they're no longer a secret." As her words hung in the air, Loras opened his mouth. However, with a swift, piercing gaze from Margaery, a mix of warning and expectation, Loras found himself succumbing to her unspoken command. His mouth silently closed, much to Margaery's delight.

As Margaery strolled gracefully down the corridor, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the grand halls, her eyes fixated on the ornate door that guarded the entrance to her grandmother's chamber. With each step, the door grew larger, its intricate carvings and gilded edges captivating her attention. As she drew nearer, the faint murmur of voices seeped through the heavy oak, teasing her ears and piquing her curiosity. Margaery could distinguish her grandmother's melodious yet venomous tone, weaving insults like poisonous threads directed towards her father.

They were abruptly halted in their tracks by a chilling, bone-rattling sound that sliced through the silence like a bolt of lightning. It was the unmistakable, ear-splitting roar of a dragon, reverberating through the land and sending shivers down their spines. Margaery's heart skipped a beat, gripped by an overwhelming surge of fear, even though the mighty walls of Harrenhal towered around them, seemingly impenetrable.

Yet, despite their supposed safety within the fortress, the distant echoes of the dragon's thunderous roars managed to reach their ears. Loras's hand instinctively gravitated towards the hilt of his sword, his fingers tightening around the pommel as if seeking solace in its familiar weight. Peering at him, Margaery couldn't help but wonder why he clung to his weapon so tightly; after all, it was a mere blade against a Dragon almost as large as a castle.

"It must be the beast," Loras spoke, his voice on edge as the distance roars of the dragon faded away, but Margaery couldn't help but notice something different; to her, it sounded like two Dragons roaring rather than a single one. Margaery shuddered at the thought of two dragons being out there, but she quickly ignored the thought and turned her attention back to her discussion with her grandmother.

As Lady Margaery and Loras approached the imposing door, their path was intercepted by the formidable figures of Right and Left, the towering guards who stood as sentinels, their frames reminiscent of bears with broad shoulders and weathered countenances. As the two guards laid their vigilant eyes upon Lady Margaery and Loras, Left, with a forceful rap of his massive fist, broke the silence that hung in the air, resonating through the thick wooden door.

Instantly, the once conversation within ceased, its participants acutely aware of the presence outside. With a calculated movement, Left cautiously cracked the door open, allowing a mere sliver of light to pierce the darkness while he cautiously peered his head inside.

"Lady Margaery and Lord Loras are here," The words echoed through the stone walls, reaching the ears of Margaery, who stood near Left, catching snippets of her grandmother's commanding voice as she urgently instructed Left to grant them access to the chamber.

Left eagerly swung it wide. Margaery's eyes immediately sought out her grandmother within the lavish interior. To her surprise, the matriarch maintained a steadfast composure, concealing her true emotions behind a stoic facade.

As she stepped further into the room, Margaery's gaze shifted towards her father, who sat upon an ornate chair, his posture hunched and demeanor downcast. His face, flushed with a tinge of crimson, betrayed his embarrassment, revealing that her grandmother had once again reprimanded him.

Margaery gracefully glided to her seat beside Willas. With an air of quiet determination, his stoic countenance gave away little of the thoughts brewing beneath the surface as Loras settled himself beside Garlan. As the four siblings settled into their places, the heavy wooden door creaked shut. The room, saturated with an expectant hush, came alive with an electric silence that lingered in the air, ready to be shattered by Mace Tyrell.

"Mother..." "Quiet, Mace," Mace started to speak, but his words were swiftly halted by the sharp interruption of Olenna, who silenced him with a single word. It was no secret that Olenna often struggled to comprehend how her son could be so astonishingly naive, his simplicity contrasting starkly against her own shrewdness and cunning. At that moment, she couldn't help but marvel at how even a lowly servant possessed more wisdom than her dear son. With a flick of her gaze, Olenna redirected her attention towards Loras, her foolish grandson.

Perched upon her plush, throne-like chair, Olenna's piercing gaze settled upon her grandson, Loras. With a hint of impatience lacing her voice, she inquired, "Loras, have you talked with Prince Aemon?" The room seemed to hold its breath as the weight of her expectation hung in the air.

Loras, meeting her gaze with a mixture of remorse and frustration, responded without hesitation, "No, I haven't. We never really had a chance to talk," A tinge of disappointment tinged Olenna's features, manifesting in an exasperated exhale that escaped through her nostrils, betraying her annoyance at the circumstances.

With a mix of authority and subtle disdain, she addressed her young, naive grandson, Loras, who stood before her. "Well," she began, her voice carrying a hint of calculation, "tomorrow I want you to talk with him, challenge him in a spar," Yet, as her decree left her lips, Loras couldn't hide his crestfallen expression, for he had been eagerly anticipating the chance spend more time with Renly on the morrow. It seemed his grandmother's unyielding determination cared not for his desires.

"Of course, grandmother," Loras accepted with a strained voice; if Olenna was annoyed by the way he spoke, she did a good job hiding it; In an instant, her sharp eyes diverted, fixing upon the radiant figure of her beloved golden flower, Margaery.

"Margaery, you will have to talk with Prince Aemon tomorrow. I want to know everything about him," Olenna ordered with a look that made it obvious that she wanted her granddaughter to learn as much as possible.

"Mother, won't Prince Aemon give his dragon to Prince Aegon? He is the crown Prince, after all," Mace reasoned, looking at everyone else around the table as if waiting for them to agree; Margaery furrowed a brow; she didn't know if that could work.

"That's not how that works, Father," Willas reasoned, his words laced with a sense of authority and knowledge. All eyes turned towards him. Their gazes fixated on Willas, his hand gently rubbing his injured leg. With a calm and confident tone, he continued. "Once a Dragon bonds with a rider, that dragon won't change rider unless the current rider meets an... unfortunate demise," he concluded, his voice trailing off, leaving a lingering anticipation in the air.

In that instant, Margaery's eyes swiftly darted towards her grandmother, Olenna Tyrell, her lips parting ever so slightly. It was a fleeting moment but one that Margaery caught with keen perception. A glimmer of triumph danced in the depths of Olenna's eyes, quickly concealed beneath a veil of composure. Yet, Margaery couldn't shake off the unsettling sensation that coursed through her, an involuntary shudder running down her spine.

The last time Margaery had seen that kind of look on her grandmother's face was when King Rhaegar had accepted the proposal of marrying Margaery to his son Prince Aegon.

Growing Strong, Margaery repeated in her head. She knew fighting a Dragon wouldn't be fruitful for anyone, but one doesn't have to conquer an entire castle to get to the king; one could easily do the job through poison.

"That dragon is dangerous to all of us," Loras suddenly spoke, his face slightly pale, but Garlan quickly intervened.

"We don't know, Prince Aemon. He might have no desire for the Throne. If he did, why hasn't he already done something?" His words hung in the air, prompting a pensive expression to grace his mother's face. Meanwhile, Loras vehemently shook his head. Margaery, observing Loras's resolute stance, couldn't help but wonder what fueled his unwavering conviction that the Dragon and Prince Aemon posed a danger to them all.

"Are you willing to bet that on our sister and our entire family? We saw what Maegor-" "Loras!" Olenna's interruption of her grandson came suddenly, accompanied by a subtle rise in her tone that caught everyone off guard. The piercing gaze she directed at him was laden with disapproval, causing Loras to visibly shrink in his seat, overcome with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension. Margaery, couldn't help but gulp nervously; never before had she seen her grandmother speak so sharply and sternly to any of them. The atmosphere in the Room grew increasingly tense, punctuated by an uncomfortable silence that hung heavily in the air, until Garlan, breaking the stillness, found his voice and spoke once more.

"Grandmother, we can try to talk with the lady that Prince Aemon crowned," Garlan suddenly proposed; As his words hung in the air, a wave of bewilderment washed over the faces of everyone present in the room, including Olenna, whose brow furrowed in perplexity.

"Crowned?"

"I think her name was Lady Val, Prince Aemon crowned her as Queen of Love and Beauty, and after the meeting, she followed Prince Aemon," Garlan explained, realizing that after everything that had happened, everyone had forgotten about the Jousting.

Ohh, right, Margaery thought with a look of realization; she tried to but couldn't remember the face of Lady Val. Yet, amidst the haze of forgetfulness, one detail stood out vividly: cascading locks of resplendent golden hair reminiscent of the famed Lannister lineage.

Olenna kept a stoic face but couldn't help but berate herself for forgetting about the lady. She didn't remember her face. After the dragon was revealed to everyone, her thoughts had been elsewhere and not on who was crowned as Queen of Love and Beauty; Olenna doubted many even cared about it.

"Prince Aemon crowned her. I don't think he would if they weren't close." Garlan suggested Mace looked like he disagreed with what his son was saying. Margaery almost sighed in relief upon hearing that; she had known her grandmother long enough to know that she was already thinking of ways to seduce Prince Aemon. After all, a man who thinks with their cocks is very easy to control.

Olenna didn't say it out loud, but she doubted the girl was high-born; the chances were that she was probably a lowborn or even a bastard. A Dragon, and a Name on his shoulder, Olenna repeated in her head. Her whole life, she had fought to have her family on the Iron Throne; now, it all felt like it was slipping through her old fingers like water.

With an air of intrigue lingering in the room, Olenna's commanding voice cut through the silence, her eyes sweeping across the faces of those gathered around the table. Aware of the curiosity that brewed within each individual, she declared, "We will learn more about her eventually, right now. All of you leave except Margaery," As the weight of her words settled upon the room, Mace looked like he wanted to stay, but a gentle nudge from his loving wife, a gesture that silently urged him to acquiesce and depart.

Olenna noticed the look Willas gave her as he left the room, a look as if he knew what she was thinking; Olenna had no doubts that he did know; With the departure of everyone else and the soft click of the door sealing their privacy, Margaery shifted her focus towards her grandmother, who sat regally beside her.

"Margaery, tell me, have you given him your maidenhood yet?" Olenna questioned sharply, looking at her granddaughter in the eyes as if she could see right through her.

With a faint tinge of disappointment in her voice, Margaery responded, "No, me and Aegon have kissed several times, I tried to go to more intimacy, but he says he wants to save that moment when we marry," Margaery's heart carried a profound desire to be intimately entwined with Aegon, yet the prince's unwavering determination rendered him impervious to temptation; not even the sight of Margaery, bared in all her naked beauty, could sway him to surrender his desires and succumb to the allure of a passionate night with her.

With a nod of understanding, Olenna gracefully extended her hand towards the ornate goblet, filling it to the brim with wine that emanated an enticing aroma. Margaery eagerly reached out to accept the cup, her fingers delicately wrapping around the stem, relishing in the weight of the vessel that held the liquid.

As the ruby-red nectar cascaded down her throat, she felt a gentle warmth envelop her senses, a subtle intoxication. Her grandmother always gave her a cup of wine every time they talked since three years ago.

"Very well, tomorrow I want you to talk with Prince Aegon. Remember that we don't know anything about Prince Aemon." Olenna spoke tenderly before gently cupping her granddaughter's face.

"My golden flower, remember what I told you when we had our first talk," Olenna reminded Margaery; As the matriarch's words caressed Margaery's ears once more, a bittersweet shudder coursed through the young woman's being, as if a ghostly echo of that momentous encounter had reached out to touch her soul. Her entire body quivered ever so subtly as if the weight of that memory had settled upon her, causing her to relive the intensity and vulnerability.

"So Margaery, tomorrow I want you to take Prince Aegon to the Trident," Olenna spoke with a grandmotherly tone; Margaery nodded; she would do everything as long as what his grandmother told him in their first talk wouldn't come true.

Growing Strong, Growing Strong, Margaery repeated in her head. She wouldn't allow what she saw to come True.