money power glory m. tyrell

four

 The wedding took place only eight days later, in the garden where Maeve had once walked with her mistress who was now her sister by law. Maeve was happy; her husband was kind and adored her, and since he was the eldest son, she would never have need to leave the safety and beauty of High Garden. If it was any other man, Maeve would be worried about her assets her family had left to her, but she knew he wasn't just any other man; he was Garlan Tyrell, and he would do right by her.

Margaery spent the morning of crying in her room, as her new handmaiden, a clumsy girl from house Tarly, brushed her hair and attempted to braid it back in her usual style. She failed miserably. No one knew Margaery's hair better than Maeve. No one could protect Margaery from the dark like Maeve. No one could ever compare to Maeve.

At the wedding though, she put on a fake smile and hugged her brother in congratulations at the wedding feast, trying to be happy for him. For her

She wanted so desperately to be happy for Garlan, but she just couldn't. He owned Maeve now, and could take her wherever he wanted, sleep beside her every night, kiss her whenever he desired, and do what he will with all her lands.

Margaery danced with every lord who asked her, and drank every cup of wine a servant offered her that night, knowing once she went to bed, she would be alone for the first time in all her 15 years.. and It terrified her.

2 Years Later, High Garden 

"By the Gods, how I wish this baby would stop kicking me." whined Lady Maeve Tyrell, as she sat with Olenna doing the cursed needlepoint.

"I'm thankful for another child, of course," she said thoughtfully her eyes wondering over to where Loras played with 1 year old Glenna in the garden, "I just wish this one would be a bit easier, like Glenna was."

Olenna laughed as she gestured over to her servant to pour her another glass of wine, "No baby could ever compare to Glenna, she's as angelic as her namesake."

Maeve joined in, chuckling softly as she continued stitching the Lannister and Baratheon symbol into her cushion, planning to send it to the Capitol as a gesture of good faith after King Joffrey's coronation two months prior. It was her brother-in-law's war, not hers. She could care less who sat on that ugly iron chair.

"When I was pregnant with Mace, I was as fat as a cow. I craved rhubarb and ale, the disgusting kind the northerners drink." the older lady shivered, "Luckily for you, you're only fat in your stomach region; your breasts are still perky, and you don't crave disgusting vegetables, count your blessings, dear."