I swear I'm almost done the next chapter of The Queen Gambit, but this bunny got in my head and wouldn't leave. Enjoy.

When Margaery met Lady Stark it felt as though her stomach had fallen to her feet. She had known, of course, it was impossible for it to be anyone else uniting the North, but she had prayed to all the gods she had ever known that it would not be so. For once, her quick summer smiles failed her and she had to force one onto her mouth as Renly, her husband, introduced her. "You are very welcome here, Lady Stark." She declared, and meant every word, even though they twisted the knife in further. "I am so sorry for your loss." She knows, better than anyone, the grief of losing one you love. She's gone through it more than once. When Renly promised Catelyn Joffrey's head, Margaery had to fight not to look away.

The red sands of Dorne, heat prickly in her throat, blood of battle sticky on her skin as she swings the sword with all her power to see justice done. She wants to have vengeance even more than justice.

She shook her chestnut curls slightly, fighting to clear her mind of the memory that is not hers, but is hers, just as the woman in the memory is not her, but Margaery remembers. Margaery always remembers. When she blinked back to the green-grey of Bitterbridge, everything seemed flatter, and she knew it wasn't because of the many colors of Dorne. She wanted to upbraid Loras for challenging Catelyn, who looks at her so sternly, but she couldn't. When Renly walked off with Lady Stark, she felt more lost and adrift than she would have liked. She wanted a great many things, but for once in this life, she had no idea how to get them.

She tried again to make her way into Renly's bed, only to be rebuffed by excuses again. Not that she was in any way surprised. Love had a hold on her husband and king, and it wasn't love for her. Sometimes she wished she could love him, or even that he could love her, but such thoughts feel like betrayal on many levels. She knew she needed to give him a child, and wished that she could explain to him that if she died in childbirth, he could be free, free to love whomever he wished in the guise of perpetual mourning. Dying in childbirth is a good way to die, but she couldn't explain that, even though she dreamed of it that night in her cold bed.

Smalfolk have no Maesters like the noble houses, so she expected none. The midwives are gentle, though, more gentle than they have to be. She's weak and she knows it, sent away from her House in disgrace, weaker than she should be from lack of food. Her fingernails press into her hands as the pains wrack her, and she screams for him in her sobs, even though she knows he won't find her.

"I want to hold him." She demands, voice weaker than the words themselves. The midwives are too focused on trying to stop the bleeding to bother to argue, and she feels purely happy for one long moment that might be a minute or an hour as her eyes close.

Renly is dead, and she felt worse for her brother than she did for herself. She didn't love Renly, and Loras loved him deeply. She knew that wound would not heal. Unable to help herself, she stole away to Lady Catelyn's tent, hoping against all hope.

"Lady Stark," she said with a curtsy. "May I come in?"

Catelyn was busy packing, now that there was no Renly to ally with, but raised an eyebrow in surprise at Renly's young, doe-eyed queen. She seemed good-hearted, as much a queen of summer as Renly was a king. "It is your tent, my lady, you merely allowed me to use it."

Margaery smiled and entered the tent, but she could not help the sadness in her eyes. "I would say you may use it as long as you wish, Lady Stark, but I know there is no reason for you to be here now."

"I must get back to my son." Catelyn replied, as much answer as reasoning. "I am sorry for your loss, Lady Margaery."

"Of course." Margaery answered, trying to smile. "Renly had no great love for me, Lady Catelyn, he wedded me solely for my father's men, and left me a maiden yet." She looked away. "Your son could use more fighters against the Lannisters, could he not?" She swallowed slightly. "You could take the Tyrell force with you."

Catelyn was more startled by this offer than she should have been. Mace Tyrell had always been ambitious, perhaps his daughter had inherited that. "My son is already promised to wed a daughter of Walder Frey, Lady Margaery. He must do his duty."

Margaery managed to keep her face from crumpling. "I would not need a marriage, Lady Stark. Our men are loyal to me."

Catelyn was startled by that offer and blinked. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the girl, obviously afraid of her next match, but shook her head. "Renly may have left you a maid, Lady Margaery, but a war camp is no place for one. I'm sorry." She pretended not to hear the soft catch of breath as Lady Tyrell turned and left the tent.

Margaery knew that Catelyn wasn't saying she wasn't good enough, she was speaking about family, honour and duty. Catelyn was a Tully after all. It still felt like a rejection, and she had heard those before.

Her cheeks were flushed red as her roses as the King in the North laughed at the serious envoy.

"A steward's daughter?" The king hooted in amusement, laughing. "For my son?"

"Your second son, Your Grace." Her father replied, flushed with embarrassment.

The King of Winter lost all his good humor. "My second son is still a prince. Come back when your master has a daughter who needs wed, steward."

King's Landing is bright and bustling compared to Bitterbridge, but she found some little joy in it. Walking in the city, buying wares at market, playing with the children who had lost so much, all of it helped pass the time between meetings with Joffrey, who is every bit the monster she had feared. Still, she had her duty. There is always duty.

"I took a vow." He tells her, garbed all in black.

"You're an idiot!" She shoots back, all rage.

"I was needed!" He defends himself.

"I needed you! Hang the Others! Hang the Watch!" She spits, turning away to hold on to the anger. "You swore other vows too." She blinks back. "They obviously mean less." It goes unsaid, but the 'I mean less,' makes her tongue taste acrid. Of course she means less than his kingdom, even if it isn't his responsibility.

Sansa is sweet, and in some ways that hurt more than the rest of it. It is as much for herself as it is for him, the day she washed Sansa's hair in herbs to dull the color to a brown, and wrapped Sansa in one of her Tyrell green gowns. Margaery draped her own maiden cloak over the girl's shoulders, kissed her cheek, and handed her the rose gold locket she had taken from Renly's camp before coming to King's Landing.

"Your name is Leona Fossoway of Cider Hall, your father is Onan Fossoway, your mother Tyche Ladybright of Dorne, your words are A Taste of Glory." She instructed her, firmly. "You go down to the marketplace, Ser Garth is waiting for you, he has a wagon heading north to supply Tyrell soldiers with food and arms. Once you get to camp, see Loras. He'll get you further. Show him the locket if he doesn't believe you."

Sansa wanted to thank her, but she hated to leave when Margaery was where she had been not that long ago...only worse. "Margaery, your shoulder is bleeding." She didn't mention the bruises. She knew well enough what the bruises were from. Joffrey didn't exactly hide his discipline, and Margaery had perfected submission without losing her strength, as their marriage had went on, her dresses had crept up in the neck and back, while crawling down her arms.

Margaery almost cursed after looking where Sansa eyes had been, which informed her that the dressing had either slipped or been bled through. "It's nothing to worry about, Sansa." She lied and almost wished she could stomach wrapping herself in Lannister crimson to hide the blood better.

"What happened?" Sansa asked, refusing to give it up.

Margaery resisted the urge to sigh, mostly because it would make the wound hurt more. "A rose blooms monthly, my dear Sansa. Joffrey...was hoping it was not so."

Sansa winced as if her shoulder was the one bleeding. "Come with me, Margaery. My brother...he'd protect you."

Margaery hugged the girl, despite the dull ache where the crossbow bolt had gone through her shoulder. "Your brother has one Rose Queen in his court, there is no room for two." She smiled. "Besides, I am not so easy to conceal. By morning all the City Watch and half the Kingsguard would be after us. You go. I'll be fine."

"He'll behead you for treason if he finds out you helped me escape!" Sansa half-pleaded, frantic for her one friend in King's Landing.

Margaery gave her a wan smile. "There are worse things than death, Sansa." She pulled on all her courage. "Now go."