I'm speechless.
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Post by Olenna Tyrell on Jun 29, 2016 18:15:47 GMT
If only the High Sparrow had looked elsewhere for his education. The Seven had been worshipped for thousands of years and most paid at least lip service to them but they were not the be and end all for most that they were for the High Sparrow. If he had looked elsewhere, if he had seen what he would likely have believed the Crone had wanted to reveal to him, he might have realised just who he should’ve been listening to. Some, no doubt, would have found the fact that she was comparing herself to the Crone rather amusing given her age and reputation but Olenna had always seen more of the Father and the Stranger in herself. She would reveal the High Sparrow’s path to him in the end but there was likely to be less faith and joy in it than he had envisioned. Others had paid the price for toying with her family before and if he were wise, if the Seven truly looked down on the most faithful of them all with benevolence then the High Sparrow would have been far more cautious in the battles he had chosen to fight. He was not the only one who should have cast the scales from his eyes by now. Olenna loved both of her grandchildren, her son too, but had never been blind to their mistakes. Mace was too much like his father, Gods rest Luthor’s soul. He didn’t have the backbone, acumen or wits to be trusted to lead alone and unfortunately Loras, like Mace, had taken after his father. Swinging a sword, bedding whoever had caught his eye, being foolishly indiscreet, it had all been fine and dandy while their biggest problem was the Lannisters but as soon as the Faith Militant had arrived indiscretion and the tomfoolery of a foppish young knight had become a thousand times more dangerous. Loras hadn’t only gotten himself arrested but his sister too. Margaery’s knowledge of her brother’s crimes, her refusal to turn on him, had resulted in her occupying a cell too. There were two to truly blame for that, the tiresomely pious High Sparrow and the poisonous Queen Mother whose influence had allowed the Faith Militant to slowly take a hold of King’s Landing. For the moment there was little to do with either of them but that had not rendered the Queen of Thorns entirely powerless. Or at least that was what she had believed until she’d had to pause a dozen times on her way into the heart of the Great Sept. With each door to pass through the pause had grown longer. Those of the faith militant who had been tasked with protecting the Sept and those it held had taken their duties seriously enough not to trust a single soul who entered. Each had taken a ridiculous amount of time to finally step aside and allow her to pass, the dispassionate eyes remaining locked on hers as she had forced to stand under the weight of their gaze. By the time she had finally reached the room that seemed barely above a cell to Olenna, she had grown exasperated with the game. Letting out a long breath, she rolled her eyes skywards, avoiding the urge to snatch the weapon from the man’s hands and knock the ridiculous brand of his faith from his ludicrously thick skull. Instead she folded her hands across the thick brocade of her dress and stared up at the young numbskull’s flat gaze. ”Do you truly believe I would have gotten this far into the Sept without the permission of the High Sparrow?” she asked, her tone clipped, patience almost gone. Beneath the crisp line of her head dress pale brows rose. If the High Sparrow’s intention had been to tire her enough to have her returning back to her lodgings without having laid eyes upon her granddaughter then he would be sorely disappointed. Her aging joints might not have appreciated the weight in cold corridors but the warmth of her vehemeance within more than made up for it at the moment. ”I would suggest now that you use the brain the gods gave you and open the door young man. You surely have enough of the Mother’s compassion and the Father’s sense to be able to do that for an aged woman. I have permission to see my granddaughter and would like to do so before another ten years passes and I’m ready to find myself in my grave and not in her company.” There were times when she was quite ready to play up to her appearance, and times when she found it difficult to believe that there were still those out there naïve enough to attempt to cross her and her family. Finally the young man yielded, stretching out one arm from beneath the grubby robes they insisted upon and opened the door for her. Perhaps, Olenna thought as she swept through, there still remained some manners beneath that blank exterior. Tags: Margaery Baratheon
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I Want To Be The Queen
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Post by Margaery Baratheon on Aug 2, 2016 9:30:58 GMT
| Margaery sat in a square room. Sunlight streaming through a small crack in the stone illuminating her face. For the first few days the sunlight was harsh upon her eyes. Having spent weeks in a dank dark cell. Though now all it did was cast light on her withered appearance. Her dirty matted hair, the disgusting rangs she was forced to wear. Oh the day that she would get out of here... she could hardly wait.
She stood simply gazing into the sunlight. Those that asked her what she was doing she merely told them she was reflecting on her past sins. Allowing the Mother's light to cleanse them from her. Though that was hardly the case she was simply waiting for the day that she could be free of this place and these insane fanatics.
Noise reverbrated so easily through the sept so that she heard her grandmothers voice from the other side of the door. Inside she was smiling at the familiarity. Her grandmother had no patience for others getting in her way. She didn't gain the title Queen of Thorns for being sweet.
As much as Margaery wanted to smile she couldn't. She never knew who was watching her in a place like this. She was so close to her complete release without a trial that she couldn't afford to back out now. When she was free, she would then focus on gaining the same freedom for her brother. Then they would all simply leave King's Landing. What Cersei had done to their family, was inexcuseable, and they would win. Lannister forces were dwindling while Tyrell forces flourished in High Garden.
Eventually after Olenna got the door opened for her she stepped in and she allowed then her head to turn toward the doorway. She allowed herself a smile when she seen her grandmother, "Good morning grandmother.." Margaery spoke formally, "Join me.." She spoke turning her back to the sunlight and had a seat on the small bench big enough for two.
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I'm speechless.
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Post by Olenna Tyrell on Aug 10, 2016 17:56:28 GMT
A family torn apart, it was a situation the Lannisters should have been quite used to now. It appeared, however, that Cersei’s own suffering at the hands of the High Sparrow had not taught her to take a stand against the snake in their midst. The former queen had instead thrown another beneath the wheels of the cart, choosing for the weight to come down upon those who had once professed to support her. It was practically galling of the woman. Without the Tyrells the Lannisters would not have made it this far through the war for their throne. The entire backstabbing lot of them would have starved within the walls of their keep, or been torn apart at the hands of those living in the city below whose stomachs would have been empty long before those in the court. Empty bellies and a lack of faith in the monarchy didn’t bode well for the Lannisters, then again the Lannisters themselves had not bode well for the Tyrells. It had been Loras and Margaery’s involvement with two Kings and an usurper to the throne that had put them well in the Faith Militant’s path. Now it would take every ounce of not inconsiderable brain to get her grandchildren, including young Horas, out of the Sept and safely back home in Highgarden. Olenna had long ago decided that once she had them all out the Lannisters could simply rot. Without the help of the larger houses Cersei and her inbred children wouldn’t last long. Getting the High Sparrow to release them had simply been more trouble than she had anticipated. The elderly fool didn’t respond to threats as many others had over the last few decades. His expressionless sycophants merely eyed the old woman before them with an aloofness that had her bristling. They had barred her way at every door each time she made her way to the Sept to gain access to her grandchildren. Loras was still beyond her reach, the High Sparrow had not given her permission to visit him or Horas yet, but gradually she had worn him down on the matter of Margaery. She wasn’t yet sure if it was because her granddaughter’s crimes were of a less repulsive nature than Loras’ or simply because Margaery had begun to acquiesce to the Sparrow. Really, it didn’t matter over much, what did was that she once again had her granddaughter’s ear in at least some form. She might not have shown it often but in her own way she doted on her grandchildren and Margaery more so than the boys. It was Margaery she had sent in to the court to tie the Tyrells to the Lannisters, and it was Margaery who now had her stomach plummeting into the depths of her gown as the door was opened to her and she caught sight of her granddaughter in the shaft of light let in through the Sept’s narrow windows. If she had not spent a life time schooling her emotions Olenna may perhaps have revealed just how the sight of her granddaughter got to her. The finery she had borne as a Tyrell, as the Queen, was gone, replaced with the tattered rags the Faith wore, the shining hair now lank and matted. Olenna’s mouth tightened as she closed the door behind them, pointedly making sure the guard was on the outside. ”They grow more tiresome every time I come,” she said with some exasperation, attempting to take the edge off of her sadness with her usual acerbic words. ”And I see they’ve still not chosen to allow at least the necessities.” Crossing to the bench, Olenna sank down heavily next to her granddaughter. One lined hand slipped from the folds of her gown, covering her granddaughter’s to give a gentle squeeze. At least she was in a better state than Loras was purported to be. Captivity had done her lively grandson no good. Like most Tyrell men he had always been the more delicate of Mace’s children. He could swing a sword all day long but strip away the finery and the world was coming down around his ears. ”Have they not offered water, or at least something that doesn’t look like it was stripped from a beggar?” Olenna asked. Frowning heavily, glancing momentarily at the door she reached up and removed a comb from her own hair, one that had been neatly tucked beneath the head dress she perennially wore. As she had done when Margaery was very small, she began to work the comb through her granddaughter’s hair. Tags: Margaery Baratheon
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I Want To Be The Queen
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Post by Margaery Baratheon on Aug 15, 2016 11:04:44 GMT
| Margaery watched the door close behind her grandmother and knew that they guards wouldn't move. They still couldn't talk openly. As much as she wanted to she still had to pretend to be the relgious sycophant they thought they were turning her into. Though Margaery knew where her heart lay. Though she had married into the throne and her name was technically Baratheon now. She knew that was a Tyrell at heart. She smiled kindly at her Grandmother and moved to sit on a small stone bench and patted the seat next to her.
As she sat she tucked her bare feet under the bench. She knew that she shouldn't be ashamed to look like this before her grandmother as it wasn't her doing. Though part of her hated it. She smiled a little though it was all fake. She hated having to be this way in front of the person she loved the most. She looked around for a way to communicate with her in secret.
"Don't hold it against them grandmother. They are merely staying true to their faith and their superiors." Margaery spoke clearly finding it hard not to choke on the kind words toward her captors. She squeezed her grandmothers hand back still glad to see her. At first she had found being here really hard. Though over the weeks she had found her strength. Realised what she needed to do in order to get her and her brother out of here, "You misunderstand Grandmother." Margaery smiled though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "We already have everything we need." Margaery told her, "We are born with what we need and don't recquire anything more." Margaery told her.
The jewels and silk clothes were nice, though the High Sparrow preached that people recquired none of that. She at least pretended to believe that in order to one day be free from that blasted cell, "Of course they have..." Margaery defended yet again trying not to bite out the words. She remained on the bench for a moment allowing her grandmother to comb her hair. Breifly reminded of her childhood. She felt at peace here right now.
As much as she just wanted to ask for her grandmothers help, she had come to far to back out now, "Please Grandmother..." Margaery said turning her head away from her and covered her hands with her own, "Its truly not needed." Margaery told her and then looked and seen the written word of the seven. She stood then and strode over to the small alter and bought the small book back with her and sat next to her grandmother once again, "Here allow me to show you." Margaery told her flipping the whethered pages in her hands, "I love this passage.." Margaery lied slipping her finger tips over the words and pointing to a few specific words to spell out a new sentence hoping that her grandmother would see the new secretive method of communication that Margaery had chosen. I have a plan. The word's spelled as she flicked a quick look at her grandmother.
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I'm speechless.
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Post by Olenna Tyrell on Aug 22, 2016 19:14:38 GMT
Seeing her granddaughter bought so low set an old woman’s heart to aching. Olenna knew that it was only a temporary situation, that one way or another she’d have Margaery, Loras and Horas free, but for the moment, seeing them trapped, it both saddened and angered her. If she’d spent a little more time considering Cersei’s possible backlash and a little less time inwardly gloating about the young beast’s death and Margaery’s union with Tommen she might not have been so blind. The failure was almost as infuriating as the situation in which her grandchildren had now found themselves. Margaery, it seemed, was shouldering the burden better than her brother. She may have bowed to the High Sparrow’s doctrine but at least the girl was on her feet, still carrying some dignity with her. Arranging visits to Horas and Loras had been more difficult, word filtering out that neither could claim the same. Loras, like his father and grandfather before him, hadn’t really bore the strength of the Tyrells. That lay in the women, the supposedly demure figures standing behind those who flounced around on horses with their gazes up in the air. Look where that had gotten Luthor, straight off a cliff, the silly old fool. If the High Sparrow had his way Loras’ end wouldn’t be so quick, or so merciful. If the High Sparrow had any mercy left in his old bones he’d soon relent, soon allow her granddaughter out of the chamber she’d been kept in. With her bare feet and rags her granddaughter was certainly playing the part of one of their religious sycophants. Olenna eyed her granddaughter doubtfully, a sound of absolute disagreement coming from the back of her throat. ”They’re hanging onto every word that doddering old idiot fills their ears with,” Olenna grumbled, lifting her chin in disdain. ”I’d say they all possessed brains of their own enough to be able to see their own way around the seven but the way they follow makes it clear they don’t.” All of them were clinging on to the High Sparrow’s ideals, seeing some way out of their lot through his doctrine. The truth was they were all born to remain where they were. Paupers from old town were never going to sit on the throne but those who should have been could be laid low. That was where Cersei and her rotten brood belonged. Olenna was glad to feel her granddaughter’s fingers strong on her own but the words coming from Margaery’s mouth still sounded like they been spouted straight from the High Sparrow. Raising her brows, Olenna reached over with her other hand to pluck at the rags Margaery wore. ”If he wants us all interpreting their word so literally then he wouldn’t be parading in these. Born with what we need, as bare arsed as a babe.” Thankfully he hadn’t pushed that point yet. No doubt even the seven would have an issue with the High Sparrow casting off his rags. At least she could be certain her granddaughter didn’t believe what she was spouting, there was enough of the old Margaery in the girl’s eyes to have her believing that. Her granddaughter might have been defending those taking care of her but the words weren’t coming from her heart. No, the girl Olenna remembered was the one that allowed her to work the comb through the tangled locks that had once gleamed like silk. ”Enough sustenance to keep you working away for them but still just the rags,” Olenna murmured, censure in her voice. Even the High Sparrow wore no more than that. Bare footed and clad in what should’ve gone upon the dung heap. Olenna stilled as Margaery turned away, covering her hands, stilling them in their work. ”Just one small measure of comfort,” she countered, only sighing as Margaery stood and strode to the altar. The only measure of comfort in this place was the word of the seven of course, the word shoved down all of their throats by the Sparrow. Olenna felt that prickle of pride at the back of her mind as her granddaughter returned with the book. There was no way Margaery would believe that she’d accept a word of the thing. Playing the part Olenna pursed her mouth, folding her hands in her lap. ”I’m perfectly capable of reading that thing myself if I want to rot my brain.” Mock sighing, Olenna shook her head, her gimlet gaze picking out every word her granddaughter pointed to on the page. ”That’s just about the only decent thing I’ve seen since I’ve come to this place,” she murmured. Olenna’s hand rose, one age gnarled finger picking out woods of her own. Proud of the maiden. It was about as close as she could get to saying it to her granddaughter without uttering the words. Tags: Margaery Baratheon
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