GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond The Ice

Highgarden had long set its sights on the crown.

As the most powerful noble house in the Seven Kingdoms, second only to House Lannister—the Tyrells had been biding their time ever since the end of Robert's Rebellion, waiting for the king's son to come of age. The Queen of Thorns had spent years molding Margaery into the perfect candidate: not only beautiful, but politically astute, raised with one clear purpose to become the mother of a kingdom.

With Highgarden's wealth and influence, securing such a match was entirely possible. All it required was a well-timed display of loyalty, a generous dowry, and enough patience to outmaneuver any rivals. If they played their cards right, the Tyrells would secure the throne not through war, but through marriage.

Margaery had every reason to be confident. She had spent years cultivating relationships, forging alliances within the court, and slowly building the support needed for when Robert would inevitably declare he was seeking a queen for Joffrey. When that moment arrived, she would step forward and claim victory without contest.

But then, Jon Arryn died.

The Hand of the King, who had quietly signaled his support for Margaery's match was gone.

Before the Tyrells could even react, Robert had traveled north, and within days of reaching Winterfell, he had arranged Joffrey's betrothal to Sansa Stark. No warning. No formal courtship. No opportunity for Margaery to even compete.

The most impulsive man in Westeros had, in a matter of days, undone over a decade of careful planning.

She hadn't lost to a rival house, nor to a scheming noblewoman. She had lost to a girl who had done nothing.

She wanted to protest.

Imagine preparing for years—laying the groundwork, training relentlessly—only to be told that the event had been canceled before you even had the chance to sign up. The world had shifted too fast, and her careful strategies had failed to keep pace.

There were only two choices: adapt, or be left behind.

Margaery was not one to accept defeat. If she couldn't be a queen, she would find another way to power.

She had pivoted quickly, using the rebellion in the Vale as an opportunity to attach herself to Robert instead. If she could not sit the throne as a queen, she would stand beside it as a mistress.

It wasn't ideal, but it was a way forward.

And yet, for the first time in his life, Robert Baratheon, the man known for his legendary appetites had refused to take the bait.

Margaery had tried everything.

She wasn't Lyanna Stark, but she was beautiful enough by anyone's standards. She was skilled, charming, and trained in all the arts of seduction. So why had Robert rejected her?

Was my little rose not sweet enough? Or is it that the king has suddenly developed high standards?

She had exhausted every trick her grandmother had taught her, but Robert had remained unmoved.

It was only after her relentless persistence that he had finally offered a suggestion, one she had never expected.

"Go to Robb Stark."

At first, she had dismissed the idea.

But as time passed, she had come to see the truth.

House Tyrell was rich, powerful, and had vast armies. But none of that meant anything if the Hand of the King was against them.

Breaking Joffrey's betrothal was impossible. Undermining the Stark influence in King's Landing was even harder.

The only path forward was the one Robert had given her.

She could no longer chase the crown, but the Hand's power? That was still within reach.

And so, she had made her decision.

By the time the night's celebrations ended, she would make her move, approaching Robb Stark under the pretense of congratulations, admiration, and goodwill.

This time, she would not wait for an invitation.

This time, she would strike first.

Becoming the Hand of the King's daughter-in-law and the future Lady Stark would have been a roundabout path to power, but all roads ultimately led to King's Landing.

Yet, just moments ago, before the gathered nobles of the Seven Kingdoms and right in front of Margaery, Robb Stark had asked Robert for permission to marry Roslin Frey.

What went wrong?

Was it that everything my grandmother taught me was outdated? Or is this world itself broken?

I did nothing wrong, so why is everything going wrong?!

And yet, in the face of such a crushing setback, she had still managed to keep a polite smile, making small talk with the Night's Watch officer beside her as if nothing had happened.

How much self-control and composure had that taken?

And yet, that damnable Night's Watchman had barely spoken to her, treating her with wary distance—like she was some kind of threat.

If she had been holding a sword at that moment, Margaery truly felt she could have run him through.

But a wise person does not act out of anger. Roses have thorns, but what use was a thorn against a man who could supposedly hold his own against the Red Viper for dozens of rounds without losing?

Margaery had looked toward Robb, who had been grinning ear to ear, arms wrapped around his new bride. She needed to clear her head. So, she, too, had left the tent.

That was when she had stumbled upon two men—one clad in black, the other in white drinking under the moonlight, discussing politics and the state of the realm.

And then, to her astonishment, they had started talking about her.

"Would she be willing to marry Robb Stark?"

He's marrying a Frey. He'll be in the bridal chamber tonight. What's the point of asking me that now?

---

Under the moonlit sky, the air seemed to freeze.

Once again, silence fell upon the three of them, much like the uneasy quiet that had filled the tent earlier.

Asking about someone's ideal partner was as impolite as asking a woman her age. It wasn't the sort of question that should be asked so directly.

But to Aegor's surprise, Margaery answered without hesitation.

"My ideal man would be a hero," she said lightly. "One day, he would come to me wearing a crown and riding a white horse, calling me his queen of love and beauty."

She let out a soft sigh. "Unfortunately… it seems that will only ever be a foolish dream. Just the wishful thinking of a poor girl no one wants."

"I see," Barristan said, his smile fading. He nodded but made no further comment.

---

It was flawless.

Aegor couldn't help but admire her skill.

To answer so quickly, to turn the question to her advantage, to reveal just enough to seem open but not enough to give anyone any leverage over her… it was masterful.

If she had remained silent, it would have seemed defensive. But if she had spoken too much, she might have made a misstep. Instead, she had offered an answer tinged with just the right amount of youthful longing and self-pity—one that was technically true, yet impossible to criticize.

What's wrong with a fifteen-year-old girl dreaming of being a queen?

Who would dare accuse her of being overly ambitious for that?

Compared to his own awkward retreat from the feast, Margaery's response had been far more refined.

Aegor quietly acknowledged her skill.

But he had no idea just how bitter Margaery felt in that moment.

***

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