Margaery had thought that her marriage would lead to power, maybe not the power marrying Aegon would have brought, but still power. She had thought that Joffrey would take her to court, where his mother lived with the Queen, supposedly her closest friend. Yet her marriage had come to nothing. Instead she lived in Storms End, with no one to entertain her, well no one but Mel. The Red Woman had become a companion to Margaery and in the end she had learned that the priestess was willing to use her power, and that she had plenty.

It no longer bothered her, sharing her bed with another woman, instead Margaery had begun to enjoy it. She preferred the graceful hands of the priestess to her husband's rough groping. There was heat in Mel's eyes when she gazed into the flames or when she prayed to the Red God, a heat that Margaery occasionally caught glimpses of when they were in bed together, just the two of them. It made her stomach flip with joy, that look that she couldn't quite place but that she was sure was a look of pleasure.

The day the raven came, Margaery kept Melisandre in her rooms all afternoon. By the time she was done with her, Melisandre was sprawled on the great bed, panting heavily, her chest flushed as red as her hair. There was a smile on her lips that made Margaery grin-she had pleased the Red Woman.

Margaery rose gracefully from the bed and went in search of her gown. She found it on the floor, luckily unripped. Another good thing about Melisandre, she always took her dress off with the utmost care, never ripping it. Joffrey had rough hands, Margaery made sure to wear old dresses when she went to him, she knew he would rip them every time.

Margaery turned to look at the woman, "Are you coming down to dinner?" she asked.

Melisandre shook her head. "I am not hungry," she murmured, "I will stay here and gaze into the flames. I have many questions for the Lord of Light and I have a feeling that tonight he will answer me."

Margaery smiled, "I hope he sends you a message, my Lord Husband grows impatient in his waiting." Then she turned and left the room.

Joffrey was late to dinner, but Margaery didn't particularly care. She could tell that he had been at the brothel but that relieved her, it meant he would not be coming to her tonight.

The raven arrived during dinner. The Maester shuffled in holding the letter in his shriveled hands. Joffrey extended his hand to take it, but the Maester handed it to Margaery.

"Who is it from?" asked Joff, clearly annoyed that it had not been meant for him.

Margaery examined the handwriting. It was a curly feminine script that looked familiar to Margaery, upon closer examination she realized the handwriting was that of her sister.

"It's from my little sister, Loras." she said with a smile.

"Ah yes, the less attractive one," sneered Joff.

Margaery resisted to throw him an angry look across the table as she slit the seal open with her dinner knife and unfolded it, beginning to read.

Dear Margaery,

I hope you are well and are enjoying Storms End. I have some very exciting news, Willas says that I am not meant to tell anyone, but I couldn't resist telling you.

It turns out that Prince Aegon Targaryen was engaged to Sansa Stark, but she broke the engagement with Sandor Clegane. Anyway, luckily Willas and I were in the capital and Rhaegar was looking for a new bride for his son, and they asked me!

Willas accepted right away, he hasn't even consulted father yet.

Margaery, I'm going to marry the Prince! I'm going to be Queen!

Please do not tell anyone, I'm not even supposed to tell you!

I hope you and Joffrey are happy!

Love, Loras

Margaery felt the breath go out of her. She slumped back in her chair, only for a second, before quickly rising and exiting the room. She ran to her rooms, slamming the door behind her as she entered, only stopping when she saw Melisandre standing in front of the fire.

"I have seen." Was all she said.

Margaery strained her shoulders, trying not to cry as she looked at the woman. "What have you seen?" she asked.

"Your sister," She replied, turning to face her with those cunning red eyes, "And her betrayal."

It felt like the worst betrayal, her sister had never wanted any sort of power, she just wanted to be kind to people. It was meant to be Margaery with all the power, not baby Loras.

"It cannot be betrayal if he was never mine," whispered Margaery.

Melisandre shook her head, "It is betrayal My Lady. She is claiming your crown. You should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not her."

Margaery sighed, "As true as that may be, I am wed to Joffrey, my one true love." As hard as she tried, she could not make the words sound any less bitter, or less sarcastic. Joffrey hadn't really wanted her, and her ambitions fell far above the lord of Storm's End, her heart trailing in their wake. Seven hells, who didn't love the prince?

Melisandre shook her head, "I do not mean that you should be wed to Aegon. All those born of the line of Rhaegar Targaryen and Cersei Lannister are cursed. Both they and all their descendants are traitors to the true king."

Margaery stared at her, wondering if this was a joke. Finally, shook her head and sighed, "How, how are they cursed?"

"They are guilty of kinslaying, the worst crime."

Margaery stared at this women, she couldn't quite understand what she was saying. "They have never been Kinslayers. Aerys was slain by Jamie Lannister."

"It is not the mad king of which I speak."

"Then who?" urged Margaery, she was getting tired of this woman's game. All she wanted was to crawl into her bed and pretend that she was still a little girl.

Melisandre sighed, "They conspired to murder Robert Baratheon. Cersei did it under the roof of Storms End. She took Lyanna and Joffrey's brothers and sisters away with the hopes of controlling him. She murdered her husband's cousin in cold blood, Robert is of the Baratheon line, who are the descendants not only of Aegon Targaryen's brother, but also of the sister of Jaehaerys, Rhaelle. They are of the same blood, and the act of Kinslaying is punishable by death."

"But how does any of this make my sister a traitor?" asked Margaery. This was confusing, and she was fairly sure that Westerosi law did not bend this way. Maybe in Essos it did, but not here.

"She is to wed the child of a Kingslayer, who is cursed. Her future husband is not the rightful King. Her husband lays claim to a title and crown that goes to your husband, thus she betrays you."

Margaery laughed and shook her head, "You're being ridiculous, nobody is going to believe that! My sister is an evil little backstabbing bitch, but she is not a traitor." She crossed to her bed and sat down.

Melisandre shook her head, "The Lord of Light has proclaimed her a traitor, I have seen it in my flames." The woman crossed to kneel before her, "Do you know what else I have seen in the flames?"

Margaery looked into the deep red eyes of the woman she had once believed a witch, who was now the closest thing she had to a friend. "What else have you seen?" she asked.

Melisandre smiled, "You and Lord Baratheon, raised above the rest, crowns on you head. The people cheer for you. You and he shall be the King and Queen of Westeros and all will bow before you."

Margaery shook her head, "I'm sorry, My Lady, but you are wrong." She rose and swiftly walked to the door, opening it, "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to be alone."

A week later Joffrey received a letter from his mother. She complained about him not coming to the marriage of Aerion Targaryen and Tyene Martell, which had happened just a few days before. She also told him of the betrothal of Loras Tyrell. Margaery tried to look surprised and retreated to her room as quickly as possible. She was not happy for her sister, and she doubted she ever would be.

A year passed in relative normalcy. Joffrey came to her rooms most nights and Melisandre came with him. He still insisted on trying, saying that he was a Baratheon and would have a son. Margaery by now knew that it would never happen and had even begun to consider taking Gendry into her bed so that she could have a Baratheon son. But Joffrey's younger brother was prickly with his northern honor so like his mother's. She doubted he would consent.

Margaery did only one thing daily for the year, she stewed. She began to blame her sister for everything, for her marriage, for her husband, for her boring life, and most importantly, for her unhappiness. She began to believe that it was all her little sister's fault. She was the one who had learned everything from her grandmother, she was the one who had learned to succeed, yet it was her sister who would be sitting on the throne. Her sister who, in all her damned piety and goodness, had rejected their grandmother's lessons.

Within a year Margaery hated her sister, and knew she would never love her again. She felt like her sister had stolen her one true chance at happiness, that she had planned this all along, to take what her sister had wanted all along.

When the last letter came Margaery had finally had enough. She opened it, intending to skim it before giving it to the flames, an offering to the God. The first line stopped her, Margaery paused to read it again.

"Today, dear sister, the Prince took me out on his dragon."

She didn't hesitate to give that letter to the flames, to watch it burn. It gave her great pleasure to watch her sister's writing curl in the flames, being eaten alive it seemed. Let fire, the symbol of the Targaryens, take her words.

A knock on the door broke Margaery from her thoughts, she turned and watched as the door opened as Melisandre entered the room. Her eyes traveled from Margaery kneeling before the fire, to the letter, still curling in the flames. Her gaze returned to Margaery and she sighed.

"What has your sister written?" she asked.

Margaery smiled ruefully, "Don't you already know?"

Melisandre laughed, "I can see some things, but not everything child. Tell me what has hurt you so."

Margaery sighed, looking at her hands. "My sister, she sent another letter."

Melisandre walked towards Margaery, "What did she say this time?"

"It's not what she said so much as what she did. The life that she gets to lead. I was always the pretty one, the smart one, so why is it that she gets to be the Queen?"

Melisandre smiled, "You forget, she will be the false Queen, she has no right to the throne that she will claim."

Margaery laughed, "Why do you always bring this up? There's no way people will believe us."

Melisandre smirked, "Who was always your grandmother's favorite?"

Margaery rolled her eyes, "Me."

"And who do the banner men of the Stormlands answer to?" She asked. The visions had not stopped, Melisandre never hesitated to remind her of them, of the promise that she would be queen one day, that the rest would burn in her wake.

"My husband." Whispered Margaery, the plan beginning to form in her mind. She rose to her feet and began to pace the room. "We couldn't go to the North for assistance, they're too close to the crown, same with the Martell's. The Iron born have no love for the Targaryen's and they would join us. The Arryn's have a stake in both sides and would stay neutral. That just leaves the Lannisters and Tully's, but they'd stay with the crown." Margaery shook her head, "it's no use, we wouldn't have the men."

Melisandre cocked her head, "Not even with the Iron born?"

Margaery stopped and thought. The Iron islands were a seafaring kingdom, their ships would give Joffrey a distinct advantage over the crown, especially if the meant to take Kings Landing. Still, the odds were steep against them, unless they could act quickly. At least she could hope to secure her father's aid. He was not the smartest of me, after all, and Olenna had always adored Margaery. With the Reach as well as the Stormlands, and if the Iron Islands could cut off the Westerlands...

Margaery looked over at Melisandre. The woman smiled, her red eyes glowing in the firelight. "What do you think of this plan now?"

Margaery smiled, "I think we should both go to my husband tonight when he calls."

Melisandre nodded and exited the room.

When Joffrey called Margaery that day she went with Melisandre at her side. Joffrey's eyes were full of greed when he saw both the women together. Her husband always wanted more, that was something she had learned fast in their marriage. Margaery made sure to please him, making it almost a performance for him. She could tell that he was enjoying it, that afterwards he would be in the palm of her hand.

When they finished he lay between them, watching them kiss. She had also learned quickly that this was a favorite of his, and if there was one thing that her grandmother had taught her, it was knowing how to play any man to your advantage. That mostly started with giving him what he wanted in bed.

Margaery pulled away and turned to her husband. "My lord," she murmured, leaning in and kissing him slowly, "Melisandre had a proposal for us."

Joffrey smirked, "What does she propose?"

Melisandre sat up and watched as Margaery leaned in, her lips brushing her husband's ear, "to make you the King," she whispered.

As she pulled away she could see from the smirk on Joffrey's face that he would need no more convincing, he already thought himself the King. Her husband did not lack in ambition, and she knew that he was just as dissatisfied with this life as she was, while Margaery dealt with it by moping in her room and watching the flames, he threw himself into hitting people with weapons and hitting whores.

She smirked at his answer, although she knew now the hard part would begin.

Melisandre advised they send envoys to Highgarden and Pyke in secret. Joffrey sent his most trusted men to the castles.

They kept it a secret, even from Gendry, for Melisandre knew he would not join them, not yet.

A week after the envoys left, Melisandre stood in her room gazing into the fire. She was looking in the flames for the future, the will of the Lord of Light that had brought her here.

She did not truly believe that Joffrey was the rightful King, but it hadn't taken much to persuade these Westerosi fools that Kinslaying made someone unworthy to ascend to the throne. The reason she had persuaded Margaery and Joffrey of this was simple, she knew Joffrey would never go North without reason, and it was his duty as Azor Ahai to do so.

She saw many others in the flames, people who intrigued her. There was a tall man with flowing hair, a dragon on his breastplate. He stood before a great castle, one she didn't recognize, and men flocked to him. There was another man who rode through a storm with a great wall of ice behind him, yet he road toward his death. There were two twins who were mirrors of each other, yet they were opposite sides of the same coin. She saw a girl dancing around them, a girl with wolf eyes. With her there was another girl, a girl whose fire rivaled that of the dragon breastplate man. She had dragon's wings, as did the twins. She watched as a rose thicket grew around a lion and a wolf, fencing them in.

At last Joffrey came through the flames. He walked with a tall dark man, but there was a shadow about him that Melisandre feared, at the same time it intrigued her. With the men walked two women. She recognized one as Margaery, and the other was a stranger whose head was aflame. Melisandre guessed that she was sacred to the Lord, a true queen for Azor Ahai perhaps. She probed the flames for hours, searching for what the war would bring them, but other than seeing the people, repeated over and over again, she learned nothing. The only thing that was added to the flames was the image of a Kraken and a Dragon locked in combat over a stormy sea.

She pulled away at last, having learned nothing of the war, only having learned of its players. She sighed and headed out of the room in search of Lord Baratheon.

Willas Tyrell glared at his father, "You cannot be seriously considering this, father," he growled.

"Think of what it will mean for our family," Mace reasoned.

Willas snorted, "You're being a fool father, in case you've forgotten, Loras is already betrothed to the heir to the bloody throne."

His father shook his head, "The Targaryen's are too strong, and Loras is to weak. Think about it, son. Loras is kind, and smart, and she has a certain cleverness. But she is not a Queen." he glanced out the window for a moment and shook his head, "You said it yourself that Queen Cersei cares little for her."

"You mean she will not promote your own interests enough father," snapped Willas. His father was being ridiculous, had been so for days. When the rider from Storm's End had come, proposing Joffrey as the true King rather than Rhaegar Targaryen, his father and grandmother had shut themselves away for hours discussing what to do.

Willas knew that the discussions were merely a formality. His father saw this as a better opportunity for their family, thinking that precious Margaery would promote his interests more, give him more favorable trade deals and the like. For Olenna Tyrell it was an opportunity to put the better Queen on the throne. She would always see Margaery as the better daughter and would always push for her. He wondered how they could miss the glaring facts, that the Reach was surrounded by the crown's allies. In particular, the Queen's, which was more worrying. From his time in the capital with Loras, he knew that the woman had far too much influence, that her father in the Westerlands wouldn't refrain from marching on Highgarten if they raised their banners for the Baratheon boy. More worrying was the possibility of her drawing on Dorne. For the first time in centuries, the desert kingdom was truly invested in the crown, between their prized princess living there and Cersei's winters in Sunspear…

They were poised in the Lioness' jaws.

Mace looked horrified by his son's comment, puffing his chest out as if that made him more imposing. "That is not what I mean in the least," he scoffed. "Think of your sisters, do you really think Loras is fit to be a Queen?"

He froze for a moment, crossing his hands on the pommel of the staff he used as a cane, his eyes flashing. "Father, I would never have accepted the King's suggestion if I did not think her more than capable."

As Mace blustered on, Willas sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face, the stubble of a fresh beard catching on his fingers. Better to focus on that than the nonsense coming out of his father's mouth.

However, just as he was about to leave, he wheeled on his father. "what is this about gaining Lannister lands?" His eyes wide, he raised his hands in exasperation, the staff falling to the floor. "Father, honestly, how can you think we will prevail in this? The Queen's family sits above us, with a far larger host. If this is about gold, then you are blind, father. Better to remain loyal, support Loras and the crown, and profit from providing their provisions. Raise the costs if you must, but by the Seven, you cannot…" he shook his head and brought his hand down on the table.

"There is no victory to be had here!"

But one look at his father's face told him all he needed to know. If only it wasn't Margaery, then he would be able to talk sense into his grandmother at least. But in this case… there was only one option to be had.

Picking up his staff with a bit of difficulty, Willas stormed from the chambers and retreated to his own.

If he warned his sister, would they be better off? What about Margaery? And who was to say the crown would listen to him?

Seated at his large oaken desk, he rested his face in his hands and sighed. Things in capital were still delicate, yes, Loras had been announced as the Prince's intended, but she would not be of age for a few years yet, and should the Tyrells pledge for Joffrey Baratheon Loras would be at risk in King's Landing- particularly since the King would be going off to war.

Willas didn't have any illusions about which royal was kinder.

Cersei would eat his little sister alive, and enjoy her screams. Over the months he had been staying in the Red Keep, it had been King tempering Queen, the dragon far calmer than the lion. She was a fierce woman, and he was almost glad she was not in fact Dornish, seven hells, the woman would be terrifying in a war.

Ah, but he had almost forgotten her twin. The Kingslayer. Between the two lions, his youngest sister would be crushed, and utterly powerless. He could not allow her to think herself abandoned.

Taking out his quill and inkpot, he took his time selecting the words, knowing he could not be as clear as he would have liked. At first, he wrote a brief letter to Loras, warning her to keep her head up, but with no mention of the threat to the crown, no mention of the Baratheon boy calling himself a king.

But that was not enough.

The servants brought him in his meal, but he barely moved, his hands steepled before him, his chin resting on his fingertips. Should the raven fall into the wrong hands, the whole of Westeros would be swept up into a panic, and Loras would be trampled underfoot like the little rose she was. Or, he would find himself dragged before his father and, seven hells, Joffrey Baratheon and the whore of a priestess he called consul. Words were feared, in the world they lived in, he had learned this quite well in his life, and he knew the King had as well. It was half the reason he admired Rhaegar Targaryen as much as he did, for the man actually had a head on his shoulders with which to direct the sword in his hand.

The first time he had met the King he was still the Crown Prince, unwed and devoted far more to his studies than his swordplay or the many women that fawned over him. Although Willas had been much younger, just a boy really, they had studied a time together in Oldtown, practiced their High Valyrian together, poured over ancient texts and histories… those were his fondest memories of the man.

So why write to his sister when he could give his words to the king himself?

They had exchanged letters all through that summer, more often than not poems and discussions in Valyrian. So why not one more? The words came easily, the quill flowing quickly over the parchment. Just a warning, an alert. Proof that House Tyrell was not unified behind the flaming Stag.

It had been over a week since the wedding and the announcement, the summer sun having extended the revelry in the city. And yet, her inside the walls of the Red Keep sat his wife, draped across her chaise in one of the Dornish gowns Doran Martell had brought her when he arrived for the wedding.

Rhaegar couldn't deny that he appreciated the gift, if only for the way the gown barely his anything of his wife's lovely figure. He had not been lied to when he was told that Lannister's aged well, Cersei could have passed for at least ten years younger than she was. Especially in that gown, the thin fabric clinging to each and every curve of the woman.

All of which had been denied to him as of late.

"For a woman who adores all things Dornish," he sighed, taking a seat on the chaise and pulling her legs to rest in his lap, his fingers brushing over her ankles, "You seem terribly out of sorts to have a Martell in the family."

He thought she would pull her legs away, or rise and wander off again, but the Queen just heaved a heavy sigh and moved a stray strand of gold off her brow. Her feet stayed in his lap though, bare and slender, her legs stretched across the chaise. "She's grown up," Cersei explained without looking at him.

"Of course she has, Cersei, so have you," he sighed, rubbing her arch gently, trying to comfort her. Although from what he hadn't the faintest idea. "You met her when she was just a child."

"I know," she huffed, sounding resigned. "I suppose I-" she sighed again and ran a hand through her hair as she sat up. "I can't say either Tyene or… Loras… are what I imagined for our sons, darling."

The King frowned, the crease between his brows that had become much more prominent as he aged growing deeper. "Cersei, we agreed on both of them… there was no one better suited-"

"How can you know that?"

He sighed and wrapped his arm around her, finding her back rigid with tension. Well, this would not be an easy conversation then. Offering her a gaze full of sympathy, Rhaegar waited for her to elaborate.

"I can't help but wonder if they will be happy with these girls," she finally sighed. "Not like we are, Rhaegar."

"Not every man is lucky enough to marry you, Cersei. And I hardly think we could have found two- or even one- women like you if we searched this world and the next," he smiled, thinking he could charm her.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Cersei drew away from him, and he knew he had hit some nerve. Which, he couldn't begin to guess. "I hardly want them to marry me," she spat, rising to her feet and moving to the window, that damned gown making it difficult for him to come up with a quick reply. "That isn't what I was suggesting."

"Nor was it what I meant," he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Cersei, darling, you know Tyene will make Aerion very happy, and you adore Dorne…"

She seemed unmoved, arms crossed over her ample chest, and so he went on. "And I know Loras doesn't seem like a Queen-"

"She isn't the Queen. I am." She snapped.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes and walked over to her, setting his hands on her hips and turning around. He had learned it was best to face Cersei's anger head on. At least this way if she slapped him he saw it coming. "You are the Queen. But you and I will not be King and Queen forever, and Loras will make a good Queen. She adores you, use that. By the Seven, Cersei, you're a brilliant woman. So teach her!"

Before she could voice the anger Rhaegar could see in her face, there was a cough at the door and she stepped back.

"Your Grace," he heard the maester say before he turned. "A raven has arrived from Highgarten."