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CHAPTER SIX. ━━━━━━━━━ If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE ━━━━━━━━━
MARGAERY NEVER EXPECTED TO BE jealous of her sister. But the moment that they are presented to the royal family in the throne room, Margaery finds herself envious of Clarysse.
Margaery has always been told how pretty she is, but there's something in her sister's distant beauty that trumps any sort of prettiness. There's an austerity and a certain sternness, and that indefinable loneliness, but the very fact that Clarysse looks so unreachable seems to be what makes her so appealing in the eyes of men — at leastthose of the crownprince. Up until they arrived in King's Landing, lords had wanted her, not her sister. Where Clarysse had been timid, Margaery had been lively. Where Clarysse had been somber, Margaery had been high-spirited. Where Clarysse had been prude, Margaery had been radiant. Clarysse had rather been holed up in her chambers than entertain the lords that would seek the company of the two daughters of Highgarden.
Margaery has been told that she's pretty for so long that she's vain of it, and seeing that her sister is beautiful makes her want to spit with furious jealousy. She loves Clarysse more than anything else in the world, more than Willas and Garlan, more even than Loras. Her brothers will never understand what it means to master life as a woman. Clarysse and her have always been close, have never bickered as most sisters are prone to. Margaery loves her. But this does nothing to diminish her envy. And Margaery hates herself for it.
Clarysse charms everyone with an ease Margaery would never have suspected her capable of. Her sister is approaching seventeen, is dangerously witty and frighteningly alluring – her charm comes in no small part from the utter confidence of not wanting a husband. The worst part is that she doesn't seem to realise how she has Prince Aegom wrapped around her finger.
As a result of that bitterness, Margaery now finds herself walking with said prince through the gardens of the Red Keep, gazing out at a sky turned the shade of a ripened peach by the setting sun. She had been watching him spar with his half-brother and some members of the Kingsguard when he had asked her to accompany him on a walk.
"What did you think of the spar?" asks Aegon, turning to behold Lady Margaery. She looks fit to accompany a crownprince, clad in a teal gown embroidered with golden roses, her chestnut hair done up in elaborate braids, with more curly tresses cascading down her back.
"I was impressed. It was clever of you to distract Ser Arthur with your shield," says Margaery. "Are you always unafraid of cutting corners, if it means getting what you want?"
The playful question gives Aegon pause. He has learned to tread carefully with the daughters of Highgarden, whose beauty hide thorns like the rose of their sigil. "A crown prince tends to get he wants, my lady," he replies, projecting confidence. "Cutting corners is rarely necessary."
Margaery laughs. "I've heard this prince has many wants, and many appetites."
Aegon is not surprised that she has heard tales of his tastes for drinking, women, and making the odd bit of trouble. "Think of it this way, Lady Margaery," he replies, extending his arm for her to take as they stroll. "I could choose to behave as the model prince, as my father did. Dedicating my youth to studying among the maesters, practicing the harp, and kneeling at the sept as my father did." Margaery could not help but chuckle at the unlikely image. "Still, he stole away a lady already betrothed to another, starting a war in the process, while my mother sat waiting."
"You shall only take one bride, then?"
Aegon smiles at that, sensing the true question behind it. "I've only spoken to your sister a couple of times, you know," he says thoughtfully. "And everyone seems to think we'll be wed within the fortnight."
"Because everyone knows of the Tyrell's ambition," Margaery shrugs. "My mother prepared us for this since birth, raised us to be perfect Southron ladies. My sister has our mother's strength, and her good sense as well. Maybe some will rub off on you." It's a bold statement to utter in front on a man of his position, but she cannot restrain herself. It is meant as a test. To see if his princely ego can handle it.
"The gods know I could use some," says Aegon, grin playful.
Test passed, she thinks.
They fall silent for a moment. "You must be good to her, Your Grace," Margaery says quietly and buries the jealousy, that threatens to burn her heart. It's no secret that the gods work in mysterious ways. A blessing can easily be a curse. They give us not what we want, but what we might need.
STANDING IN A SILKY BLUE DRESS, delicately embroidered with gold, Clarysse has difficulty catching her breath, not least due to the corset tied around her already decently slender waist. She is convinced that the sole use of corsets is to cut women's brains from oxygen, least they invest their remaining energy in speaking.
She had not meant to interrupt their walk and says so as they step closer.
"Quite the opposite, my lady, it is our pleasure."
Clarysse smiles again, and it is blinding and beautiful. "You are too kind, Your Grace."
Aegon beams at her, open and confident, while her sister has a small smirk gracing her lips. Clarysse notices that Margaery seems to stiffen at her arrival, her brown eyes examining her for a moment. It is something Clarysse has rarely seen her sister do. She is also realising that Margaery shows more skin at King's Landing than at Highgarden, the beautiful dress baring her shoulders and the top of her breasts.
"You've had an enjoyable promenade, I suppose?" she asks as silence engulfs them, only a little uncomfortable.
"Very," Aegon replies easily. "Your sister is a most pleasant company."
"I am very much aware," Clarysse quips and sends her sister a queer look. She still cannot pinpoint the mood Margaery seems to be in. Margaery only smiles in return. To her, as long as she ignores her gnawing envy, this situation is hilarious.
Clarysse looks ready to run from Aegon, while Aegon himself has flushed a faint red in the face of her sister joining them. Yet there is something sweet in their tension, and Margaery suddenly understands. Aegon and Clarysse actually like each other and it is disconcerting to them.
"How about you remain in my sister's care for the rest of the day, Your Grace?"
"Of course," Aegon replies, turning to Clarysse. "Rumor has it that you are a skilled rider, my lady."
"I am, if I do say so myself. Let me prove the song of your little birds correct."
Aegon smiles then, and as someone who has been throwing around false smiles all of her life, Margaery notices it is genuine.
"Go ahead, I'll let grandmother know," Margaery tells her sister.
The two dismiss themselves, with Ser Jaime following them at a respectable distance, and Margaery has to admit that they look the part of king and queen.
