Margaery Tyrell’s Weighty Undoing (Patreon)

Tags: Weight gain, Mobility issues, light sweat

--- Cersei Deals With a Rival ---

“Oh, Your Grace!” Margaery Tyrell said, walking forward to take Cersei’s side. Cersei suppressed a shudder as the Tyrell girl stepped close to her. If there was one thing that Cersei hated, it was social climbers. “I was meaning to talk to you.” Margery continued, apparently ignorant of Cersei’s cool demeanor. Cersei wondered if the girl was truly ignorant or if she was just pretending. Her court was packed with thieves, liars, and conmen. Her twin hadn’t cared about any of them, her mongrel brother had encouraged them, and her father sought to use them. She, on the other hand, would be the one to snuff them out. These sorts of things always seemed to fall to her. The men in her life seemingly always proved useless or outright harmful. Cersei sighed, readying herself to make conversation with the newest whelp that would steal her son and throne away from her.

“Ah, Margaery, how good to see you.” Cersei nodded her head, her face not changing in the slightest as she spoke to the younger woman. As a lion of Lannister should, Cersei had learned to hold herself in noble bearing at all times. Her face was cool but not entirely stony, having the effect of inviting conversation but not indulging in it. She looked her rival up and down, surveying her. The kingdom was ablaze with talk of how youthful, vibrant, and beautiful Margaery was, it made Cersei sick. She had to keep from clenching her fists as she spoke to her rival. The little wretch stood there so politely, hands held just at the level of her navel. Diseased, wretched fakeness on a level that Cersei had never seen before. She despised it. “And what are your plans for the day?” She asked, her anger simmering just below the surface.

“I believe that I will be walking in the gardens. Margery leaned in close. Cersei fought to keep from pulling backwards out of revulsion. “Between you and I, these constant feasts and royal living has been going to my middle a bit. I need to exercise some of it off.” Margery patted her stomach, it budged not an inch. Margery was hardly bigger than she had been a month ago. Cersei almost scoffed. The worries of younger women were always so pitifully stupid. As if the daughter of a noble house on track to marry a prince should worry about her weight. Cersei was so frustrated by the younger woman spilling her worries that she almost missed what Margery said next. “I was a tad plump as a young girl, with a fondness for cakes.”

The Queen Regent caught herself, stopping her mean spirited thoughts in order to consider what she had just heard. The young rose had just accidentally handed her a fine social dagger. Unable to stop sneaking snacks? Concerns about her middle? A history of plumpness? These were the sorts of weaknesses that Cersei could exploit with no trouble. A smile grew across her face unbidden as she thought of ways to start tempting the younger woman. Cersei did not even bother to hide her smile, instead warping it to fit yet more false pleasantries. “The worries of women. Men can enjoy themselves to their heart’s content, but a woman is discarded the moment she gains a pound.” Cersei sighed, inviting Margery to speak more. She let the younger woman prattle on, busy preparing a list of recipes that the cooks should become familiar with.

--- Girl Chat ---

“Margaery, it's so good to see you.” Cersei said, her tone as sweet as the basket of honey rolls that she was carrying. “I had just been coming to find you. I so enjoyed our dinner last week.” Cersei smiled, her statement more genuine that many she had spoken that day. “I was thinking that we might have a quick afternoon snack together.” She took Margaery by the arm in a gesture that mocked something the younger woman had done once to her. Not waiting to hear what Margaery had to say about the matter, Cersei began to steer her future daughter-in-law towards a secluded corner of the palace. She wanted somewhere where the two of them could be alone. It was not hard to find intimate settings within the Red Keep, all of them perfect for Cersei to employ her latest scheme. The tall, blonde woman had been feeling more alive than usual lately. It was fun to have another fly caught up in her web. Cersei had realized just how dull things in the palace had been getting. Here was a chance to liven her days.

“Oh, I would be delighted, Your Grace, but I’ve just finished with my lunch.” Margaery said, putting a hand to her stomach. “Between the two of us, I’ve been wanting to lose a little weight for the wedding.” Delicately, she tapped her stomach. Cersei was delighted to see the visible bounce in Margaery’s middle section. The girl was clearly trying to hide her growth via folds in her dress, but it was obvious if you were looking for it. Margery had found herself tripping into nearly a stone’s worth of extra padding. She had inched her way towards 10 stone at least. Cersei fought to keep her face calm. She was giddy with the knowledge that her campaign against Margaery was already taking effect. Her delicate flower was receiving proper nutrition and was thus on track for a full blossom and bountiful harvest. There was no chance that Cersei would let her go now.

“Oh, my dear, I was really in need of someone to help me with these.” Without removing her arm from around Margaery’s, Cersei slid back the covering on the basket she held. Plump rolls dripping with honey rested in the basket. They had been labored over extensively by the chef that Cersei had employed in her scheme. Extra sugar in both the dough and the honey for maximum effect. The rolls were created for the sole purpose of destroying Margaery’s youthful figure. Men waged war with bombs of wildfire, Cersei instead had created calorie bombs for her campaign. “Besides, I could stand to tell you about what this servant did this morning. It was truly dreadful.” Cersei said, her arm iron-tight around Margaery’s. There was little hope of escape for the other woman. She quickly accepted her fate.

“Yes, absolutely. . .Your Grace.” She said, walking in step with Cersei.

----

Before long, the two found themselves in a quiet alcove set far aside from the main paths of travel. It was a quiet little study, with only some candles burning for light. The whole place had a dreamy, sleepy ambiance to it. The kind of place where two ladies could talk and eat for hours without anyone interrupting or leaving. Cersei led most of the conversation. Some of the stories she told were true and other things were complete fabrications simply meant to keep Margaery in her seat and munching away. All of it was gossip though. If nothing else, Cersei knew about the kinds of women that made up the royal court. Women in high positions craved tall tales about their rivals and neighbors above anything else. She could spin these stories all day long. In that same vein, it appeared to Cersei that Margaery had the same endurance when it came to eating. Whilst listening to Cersei’s stories Margaery had continually nibbled at the rolls that the queen had brought. Cersei was not sure if it was her childhood gluttony being uncorked again or if she was simply trying to please Cersei by any means necessary. The blonde was pleased with either option.

“So, how do you like the rolls?” Cersei asked, unable to keep herself from pressing the issue.

“They are delightful, Your Grace.” Margaery said, a slim hand under her mouth to catch crumbs. “I’m so glad that you chose to share them with me.” Cersei simply nodded, her eyes fixated on her companion’s body. It was truly obvious how chubby Margaery was becoming when she ate. Her belly fell onto her lap, visible even despite the thicker folds of cloth around her dress, and bobbed up and down as she took bites or talked. Cersei could only imagine what that round orb of pale fat must look like when Margaery was naked and alone. In her mind’s eye she could see the Tyrell girl slinking to the bath, shrinking into her light brown curls out of fear that someone would see her naked, fat body. It was a delightful thought. Cersei took further pleasure in the double chin that was forming around her future daughter-in-law’s face. Margaery had always had a round face. Some said it made her look cute, but to Cersei it seemed to make Margaery look foolish and ignorant. Now, with the influx of extra food and fat, that round face was truly becoming moon-like in appearance. “You will have to send the recipe to my grandmother so she can have her cooks prepare these.” Margaery said, popping half of a roll into her mouth.

Cersei bristled at the thought of Olenna Tryell. The old gargoyle haunted the grounds of the palace, existing just to be a thorn in Cersei’s side. “Oh, I will make sure to send that to the old dear.” Cersei said, trying her best to keep her jaw from clenching. More than ever she resolved to fatten up the Rose of Highgarden. She might have preferred pulling the southern seat of power down brick by brick, but turning the beautiful Tyrell heir into a spoiled pig was certainly the next best thing. Cersei resolved to send two more baskets of rolls along with some lemon cakes to Maraery’s room that evening. The way that the chubby woman ate, she would enjoy them greatly.

--- An Uncomfortable Fitting ---

“It is beautiful. . .uuggh. . .but maybe a little tight.” Margaery said as her handmaidens struggled to force the dress around her body. Of course, the Tyrell woman was being far too polite about the situation. The dress was entirely wrong. Or, perhaps it was more acceptable to say that Margaery’s body was all wrong. The dress had been commissioned for a beautiful and slightly chubby woman. Instead a pig had shown up to claim it.

Time had passed since the initial fitting, during which Margery was already beginning to look plump. Now, months down the line, she was obviously fat. Well beyond 17 stone, Margaery had made a slow entrance into the stitcher’s shop that morning. Her gut led the way, coming through the door before the rest of her. The sack of fat now bobbling in front of her could well and truly be called a gut. No longer the flat washboard she had once possessed nor even the cute potbelly that had resided on her frame months earlier. No, now she owned a real hog of a gut. It bounced and wiggled slowly, rocking side to side as much as it did up and down. As the seamstress and her handmaidens worked at the dress, Margery could feel its slow and torpid movements.

Her gut moved like a bag full of wet sand, pooling wherever possible and even running between fingers. Margaery bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. She was supposed to be the future princess of the kingdom, it would not do to have a meltdown in the middle of a store. She was the rose of Highgarden and must behave as such. Advice on public perception from her grandmother came floating back to her. While it helped on the surface, it made her feel all the worse in her soul. Olenna Tyrell had always been a woman in control. She possessed deep control over herself and her subjects. Never, in all her life, would Olenna Tyrell have been unable to control herself around food. Margaery cringed as the women moved to working around her thighs and buttocks. While her stomach was her most distinct feature, her rotund ass certainly came in a close second. Bulbous and dimpled, it jutted out behind her. Her conscious thought patterns were a dance between uncomfortably feeling her gut or her ass heave and jiggle. “Perhaps it would be best to. . .ggghh. . .start over and. . .uuggh. . .take new measurements?” Margaery grunted as the women stretched and tugged the fabric over her blossoming booty.

“Impossible. This is fabric I slave over for weeks.” The Tyroshi woman said, her face inches away from the plump brunette’s ripe buttocks. She looked and inspected the stitching, for the first time doubting if work she had done would hold. It was hard to believe that this was the woman whom she had first measured. What stood before her was a pig with noble bearing and diction. “We can adjust, we can add, but we cannot start anew.” Were this another customer the shop owner would have sterner words, but the future princess was given a pass. Yet, the shopkeeper longed to give a peace of her mind. She was used to speaking freely and found any restriction chafing. But, it was easy to talk yourself out of business when you pointed out the reasons why a noblewoman was not fitting into her dress. Instead, the seamstress tried to make her point with her tools. Draping a tape measure around Margaery, she took new measurements of the fat girl. She tucked it around her voluminous belly, feeling the fold that was created by her gut hanging down over her naked thighs. She then slid the tape measure up, feeling the fat and growing breasts. She knew the name Tyrell and their domain. This Tyrell was certainly growing a garden herself. Apples for breasts, melons for buttcheeks, and a whole watermelon for a gut. The lordling was a cornucopia of fleshly fruits. How lucky for the man who crawled in bed with her finally, as long as she wasn’t the one on top.

“Thank you for your. . .thoroughness.” The highborn woman replied, blushing as she felt the tape measure bury into her plump flesh. The fat on her body moved and danced wildly as the smaller, older woman moved from section to section.

“Yes. We shall take measurements and adjust accordingly.” The reply was followed by a grumble as she measured one of Margaery’s arms. Quickly they were becoming like legs of turkey, the biceps almost as big as a knights. . .though decidedly softer. At least, the seamstress thought, this girl was young. She had more than enough time to correct her trajectory. It was natural for a woman to put on a few pounds as she crested into full maturity. The seamstress hoped that Margaery would be one of the ones that pulled out of that spiral. She was far too pretty to sink into obesity. The seamstress sent up a silent prayer to The Maiden and The Mother, praying that this young woman’s beauty would be preserved and protected against whatever or whomever sought to destroy it. The seamstress felt a little better after her prayer. Surely The Seven would protect one as young and beautiful as this princess to be. Whatever could be said of the common folk, at least the lordlings had their prayers answered. Should she have known the truth and who Margaery was up against, she might have considered her prayer as being spoken in vain.

--- Weighty Paranoia ---

“Oh, Lady Margaery, what a lovely party this is!” The noblewoman flagged the queen-to-be over to her table. Margaery had been on her way back to her own table after finishing socializing with some distant relatives when she had been flagged down. For the first time in her life she considered doing something rude. She wanted to pass the woman by and simply sit back down, but couldn’t manage it. She had good reason though, every justification in the world but especially a physical one. Margaery was tired of standing and walking. Her fat was weighing on her, draining her of stamina and breath. Her dress was too tight, despite being upsized two or three times. She knew that the train of her skirt was pressed deeply between her large asscheeks, just as her stomach was causing her corset to burst with each course she sampled. It was embarrassing, but that sort of physical embarrassment had become almost banal to Margaery. She was used to things not fitting, used to not being able to hold up her stomach with one or two hands, and used to the constant desire to nervously stuff her face. “I knew I could count on the noble house of Tyrel to have the best food available.” The woman leaned back and patted her stomach lightly, Margaery wondered if that was a slight against her and the 25 stone she lugged around.

“Oh, thank you.” The young, obese woman said through cheeks so puffy with fat that they pushed her lips into a constant pout. “It was actually the queen that selected the menu. She has such knowledge of food. I’m afraid my palette is rather unrefined.” Margaery said, hoping that it wouldn’t incur a comment. So many of these women looked for any excuse to throw a barb. Margaery knew she was hopelessly fat, she did not need the harpies of the court pointing it out to her. Even now, her stomach was pressing onto the table and shoving one of the plates out of the way. While governed in her light blue dress, she knew a wall of pale white belly fat lay underneath. In a way, she almost felt good about her fat being hoisted up by the table. As slovenly and unkempt as it looked, it meant tens of pounds that her tired body no longer had to support. “What has been your favorite dish so far?” Margaery asked, trying to shift the conversation actively.

“Hard to say, I’m so little invested in food these days. Trying to watch my figure and all.” The woman said, smiling and dragging a hand down her dress. Again, it was painful for the Tyrell woman to guess whether or not she was being made sport of. The woman had a decent figure for her age, but it bore obvious signs of childbirth and aging. Some deep, dark, haunted area of Margaery’s mind knew that she would trade for that body. She longed to rid herself of her obesity. Despite her perfect skin and hair, she hated what had happened to her body. She seemed to be fatter every week, if not every day. Originally, she had wanted to put the blame on Cersei and their little dinners. The Queen was so pushy with them that she seemed to be instigating the weight gain. Now, however, she knew that the fault lay within herself. It was she, Margaery, who couldn’t stop eating. Even if Cersei put the food in front of her, it was Margery that ultimately kept shoveling it into her fat face. “I’ve ordered my dress for your wedding. Looking forward to it, my dear.” The older woman stretched out a hand and squeezed her fat speaking companion’s hand. The obese woman sighed, realizing that the woman had been genuine. She thanked her and moved on. It was a slow waddle back to her spot on the dais.

Once back in her seat, Margery returned to her eating. Cakes, cakes, and more cakes littered the large plates she had been given. Apple cake, cream cake, honey cake and more all littered the golden plates. Margery picked up a piece, hungry and despondent enough to forget her fork and knife. Her body jiggled as she ate, all of her provoked into motion by her eager chewing. Food was both her greatest pleasure and her greatest demon. She indulged in a cycle of joy and shameful regret. The plates she ate from weren’t even a prank by Cersei. Rather, they had been a request by Margery herself. She had asked the kitchen to provide them in the hopes that if she took a large portion at the start she would feel less inclined to get second helpings. That had worked out poorly. Margery had eaten her fill quickly and signaled for another round before she knew what was happening. The same thing was now happening for dessert. She chomped and suckled at the cakes, bathing her mouth in their rich, moist texture.

Crumbs from her messy meal fell upon her bosom. Margery was slow to take care of them, knowing that more would only take their place. Instead she left them to roll around on top of her hill of cleavage. They would quickly be sucked into the great canyon which divided her breasts, left to roll down her naked body and lodge themselves into her stomach folds. Margery’s stomach had ballooned over the days and weeks of endless feasting and indulgence. A single roll of flab forced its way down her body, flopping over her groin and onto her thighs even when standing. It was matched only by her butt. Between her middle and rear, Margery’s dresses could no longer adequately fit her. Each one, no matter how recently sewn, was raised inches off the floor by her protruding rolls and accumulations of fat. She was the first noble to display her cankles and swollen feet to the court. It was an embarrassment that would earn a place in history books to come. There were far more to come, however.

--- A Hard Waddle Up Stairs ---

Margery whimpered as she took to the stairs. She was returning to her bedroom after a long night of eating and talking with Cersei. Cersei’s clinginess and desire for companionship had grown even after the wedding. Part of Margery had hoped that she would be forgotten after the ceremony had been completed, a game piece that could be put back in the box until she was needed again. While absurdly fat, Margery was in no way stupid. Though her breasts and paunch now obstructed her feet and much of the world around her, she could still see Cersei’s schemes for what they were. From the beginning, Cersei and the Lannisters had only seen her as a way of keeping Highgarden and the other southern houses under control. Margery was popular with the common folk and Cersei had sought to exploit that for her own ends. The meals and chats were just a means of the two always being together, almost inseparable. Slowly, Margery had connected the pieces in her mind. Cersei was no longer going to be queen and thus lose relevance. What better to maintain that fading relevance than by looking like she was the new queen’s best friend. Margery took some satisfaction in knowing that her gigantic weight gain had prevented that from working. The common folk bore no love for a fat queen than they did for an old, used up, blonde one. Yet, Margery could not figure out why the former queen had not abandoned her.

“Oh, good. You haven’t made it too far!” Margery had thought of Cersei too much and had summoned the she-devil out of the darkness of the castle. Margery’s mother-in-law rushed forward with a basket in her hand. “I forgot to give you these, the cooks have come up with a new recipe. I believe you will find it much to your liking.” Without waiting for the proper courtesy or invitation to touch the new queen of Westeros, Cersei pressed the handle of the basket into Margery’s plump hand. The Lannister woman loomed over Margery, her eyes twinkling in the dark. The fat woman was taken aback by the energy she saw displayed within Cersei’s emerald eyes. Margery accepted the basket with a nod, her chins squashing into one large roll. Margery’s face had continued to thicken, puffed up beyond its measure by the treats and meals she stuffed into it. Much of the markings of her noble birth had been hidden and obscured. Her cheeks melded seamlessly with extra chins. Jewelers had been paid a pretty penny to resize her necklaces, the collars of certain dresses, and rings for that matter. Margery’s neckline was triple and possibly quadruple what Cersei’s was. When the older woman leaned in to hug Margery, half of her face was swamped with blubber; just as her body was absorbed into the royal folds. She had reached 36 stones, fatter than most anyone within King’s Landing.

It was pathetic what Margery’s body had descended into. There was no point of thinness left on her. She was a dollop of purest butter and lard, a nearly perfect circle, and a warning of what the true dangers of nobility were. Her gut worked to rebuff Cersei even as the former queen pushed her way in. Margery’s middle was a singular mass, a whelming wave that could easily fill most of a large table and crush a smaller one. Margery’s gut had become so fat that she had to lean back in order to compensate for the weight. The various mummers and jesters of King’s Landing spent many hours perfecting their impersonation of her unique waddle. Women who were pregnant with 8 children moved with more grace than Margery. Her stomach swang back and forth, like the tongue of one of the great bells within The Sept of Bealor. Rather than clanging against the skirt of an artistically wrought bell, Margery’s gut instead slapped against thighs thicker than boat masts. Margery frowned as she felt Cersei embracing her, feeling every bit of her weight and bulk. “Have a good night. Please tell me if anything is wrong with the cakes.” Cersei whispered, her arms swallowed by her daughter-in-law’s back rolls.

“Yes, My Lady.” Margery said, hugging back. Margery might have considered what the queen’s gambit was, had she not felt so repulsed by the feeling of Cersei’s near perfect body touching her own flabbiness. Cersei pressed her tightly, seeming to fold her thin body into Margery’s oozing mass of rolls and fat. For one horrid, awful moment Margery got the impression that Cersei was going to reach further down, maybe jiggling her love handles or grabbing her doughy ass. Yet, the moment passed and Cersei slowly retracted her arms. The older woman smiled and then retreated in the darkness, leaving Margery to her climb back to her bed chambers.

---

Margery wheezed as she climbed the seemingly infinite stairs of the Red Keep. Her plump fingers grasped at the stonework which ran alongside the stairs. The basket of cakes bounced against her side. While it had started light, each step had seen its weight increase. Margery’s atrophied, bulbous arms had grown as tired as her legs. They had to swing back and forth just to keep her body in motion. Sweat slicked down her body, drenching her dress in numerous areas. Margery was so glad for the darkness of the castle. None could see the trail of sweat on her dress, leading from between her bouncing bosom and down her voluminous gut. Likewise, they could not see how her dimpled rear was pressing and catching her dress; aided by the perspiration forming there as well. Her dress clung to her obese body, worming its way into every possible crevice and infiltrating her moist folds. Already catching on her butt, another series of pained steps saw her dress beginning to ride up. Margery’s pale, white cankles shone in the darkness. She whimpered to herself, but did not stop. The highborn butterball continued on her death march up the stairs, working to heave her body to the next step.

Her knees and thighs clashed with her paunch with each strained footstep. The brunette had to force not only her fat legs up the stairs, but at least half of her gut. The bag of gelatin would slosh ponderously back and forth, obstructing her progress. Her walk was uneven and timid, as if her weight could cause her to roll backwards at any moment. Worse, she might simply collapse under the strain of her own weight. Margery had heard of such travesties. The lords of the realm all laughed at Wendel Manderly, the northern lord so fat that his servants spent as much time helping him stand and walk as they did attending to other chores. As much as she hated to admit it, the ‘Little” Rose of Highgarden bore more in common with him than she did her own family. Her future seemed to lead in that direction, all signs pointing to her weight continuing to rise drastically.

Margery was saved from those thoughts by finally reaching the landing which led to her bedroom. She bent over double at the top of the stair, hands buried between her gut and thighs. She took deep, gasping breaths. She wheezed and shuddered, too tired to cry as she wanted. In the darkness she was a small boulder of wobbling lard, a boar that had taken human shape and was waddling amongst the darkness of the castle. Needing some relief, her fat and trembling hands drifted towards the basket. She needed comfort and energy, food was the only thing that provided both to her anymore. Her hands dipped under the soft cloth that Cersei had wrapped the food in. Excitement ran through her as she grabbed at the treats. She would blot out any and all negative thoughts with food. Margery did not rise when she brought the first cake to her mouth. Rather, she just began to eat it. Hunched over, her feast was almost animalistic. The first cake vanished, gone like it was part of a magician’s show. The second one lasted a little longer, with her having to scarf it down and pack it into her already full mouth.

Margery’s immense ass swung back and forth as she ate in the darkness, too tired and despondent to care if anyone heard or saw her. She only wanted to consume, to bury her feelings under sugar, cake, and more fat. She fisted the treats into her gullet, hardly bothering to taste them. The sugar quickly went to her head, working almost as effectively as the milk of the poppy. Margery sucked just as much air in as she did cake with her voracious eating. Her stomach grew tighter, though a long way from being full. She took time only to straighten up, finally finding her strength returning. The basket grew lighter, the precious cargo finding a home in her rounded gut. Margery’s stomach, already so big that a fully grown man might struggle to lift it, grew a stuffed hump. Practiced in the art of eating past the point of her stomach aching, Margery had no trouble devouring every single one of the cakes. The act, combined with her arduous climb, left her numb and distant from the world around her. She simply tossed the basked away, no longer wishing to carry the reminder of her gluttonous feast with her. As the wicker basket rolled away towards the stairs, Margery again resumed her slow waddle towards her bedroom. She grasped her gut with both hands, massaging the stuffed tautness.

“BLLLLURRRRUUUUUUPPP.” The blech burst out of her. She winced, but continued walking. It was hardly the most embarrassing, degrading thing that had happened to her that evening. Besides, there was no one else around to see her struggles. She was simply an obese woman struggling to reach her room. Margery had better things to worry about than her appearance when simply moving was becoming taxing.

--- Hardly Mobile ---

“Only a little further, My Queen.” The servant said, almost sweating as much as the woman she carried.

“The baths should be nice and warm when we arrive.” The other servant said, though it was hard to talk whilst bearing such a heavy weight.

“Thank. . .you.” Margery’s wheeze in return was almost curt. She could perhaps be forgiven considering the strain she was under. What once had been a simple walk down the hall to her bathroom was now seemingly a life and death struggle. Sweat ran in buckets and rivers down her body, causing the nightdress she wore to be practically bolted to her body. Her vision went fuzzy every other step, her lungs burning under the weight and strain of her fat and folds. She had fully given up and allowed her gluttonous tendencies to take hold. She was the Hog of Highgarden now. Once the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, Margery was now a nearly immobile sack pudding with stumpy legs and a paunch that licked at the ground. Her position as queen afforded her the luxury of being able to eat and not hear any direct criticism about her weight, though she knew plenty was whispered about behind her chair smothering backside. The various lords and ladies of the court had much to giggle about in private rooms and chats with each other. Yet, that was easy enough to ignore. Margery had found that practically anything could be ignored if you ate enough food. She lived a food coma paradise, where negativity was drowned out by the most delicious food in the kingdom. “Snackscch?”

“Of course! We asked the kitchens to prepare berries and cream for you.” One of the girls said, hefting Margery’s arm over her back like it was the yoke of a plow. She dragged the immense woman forward through sheer determination alone. The obese, doughy lordling bobbled along, her body working to bounce and bully the servant. Margery had fought any official attempt to weigh her, but all estimates were at or above 50 stones. She filled the carriages that she rode in, crushing people to either side with her hips and invading all forward space with her gut. Margery had become so lard laden that the servants whispered about using a blanket to help hoist her gut. Simple walks were to become processions thanks to the royal immensity.

“That’s. . .” Margery swallowed, desperate for wine or water. The walk had parched her throat. “. . .good.” She said after a pained swallow. Her hands, so fat that they had lost dexterity, clung to the dresses of her maidens. If any of the trio lost their grip, then the journey would end. Margery would be sent toppling to her butt, a landing which would shake the entirety of the Red Keep. Margery continued to plod along, feeling her thighs rubbing against one another and her breasts hugging her gut. She was bent slightly forward, her weight dragging her towards the ground. She now lacked the strength to combat gravity, trusting her servants to keep her from toppling over. Margery looked up, seeing the distant doorway to the baths. Though only several hundred feet away, Margery wondered if she was truly able to make it.

---

Margery splashed in the bath as another bowl of cream was handed to her. She wallowed in the inground, stone tub like an aurochs; her heavy bulk lessened by the water. Here, in this small and dimly lit place she could find relief. Her bulbous arms reached for the bowl, biceps fat enough that they never stopped touching the water. They rolled and bounded atop it like barrels that had been cast from a trading ship. They were larger and softer than most tavern wenches’ breasts. Margery’s arms seemed like the haunch of a pampered big, boasting only softness and tenderness. Even when Margery retracted her arms with the bowl of cream, her biceps were not put fully underwater. There was little time for consideration of her arms though, for the queen made a greater spectacle of eating. Alone and away from the prying eyes of her court, she could eat without care. She slurped loudly, lapping at the chilled bowl with puffy lips and chubby cheeks. While she ultimately hated what she had become, she had discovered some benefits to it. To a woman as fat as Margery, food was the greatest distraction.

While she ate, the servants began to clean their lady. They took soft sponges to her back, softly massaging soap onto her back. Whilst she made it a trying task with her sheer size, the servants worked tirelessly to maintain Margery’s image. They cleaned folds which had accumulated both sweat and food stains, both occurring in great quantities. Meanwhile, Margery slurped at the bowl of cream and berries. Her chins flopped in and out of the ornate dish, whilst her cheeks were covered with a white sheen from the food. She searched out any missing morsels of food with her tongue, not caring if she accidentally knocked them out and onto her body. It was beyond her concern anyway. She would eat and her maidens would clean. She would fatten, they would worry about the necessary adjustments to her lifestyle. All Margery had to do was continue to stuff her face and bury her emotions, everything else would be taken care of. She hardly noticed when the servants started to pull her back and wash the rest of her.

One of Margery’s breasts was scrubbed, the servant making long sweeps from under the puffy nipple all the way back to where it draped under her arm. Margery murmured something unintelligible and leaned back full against the edge of the tub. Her gut rose upwards, surfacing like a kraken or leviathan. Waves spilled outwards as water rushed from the island of fat. Yet, for as much that surfaced above the waterline, there was even more below. Margery’s gut bullied the rest of her body, forcing her thick legs apart so that it could rest comfortably. One servant began to lather it with soap, but quickly realized the task was beyond her. Silently, she motioned for the other woman to come help her. The two began to heave and push at the wall of belly-blubber, ripples translating from Margery’s gut and into the water. Meanwhile, the queen finished her food. She tossed the bowl out of the tub, not caring if it was caught or not. Her face was a mess of stains. A servant started to wash it, intending to massage the thick chin folds until perfectly clean. However, she was cut off by a word from Margery. “Food. . .please.” The servant bowed and fetched another bowl. If nothing else, Margery was going to “enjoy” the bath in a manner of her own choosing.