Margaery stood at her chamber window, watching the sun set over King's Landing. The golden light caught the tears in her eyes, turning them to liquid amber. Three years of marriage, and still her bed remained as cold as the crypts of Winterfell. She knew what happened in Renly's chambers - the whole Red Keep whispered about the king's nightly visits from Ser Loras, her own brother.
Her fingers traced the intricate embroidery of her gown. House Tyrell's words echoed mockingly in her mind: "Growing Strong." Yet here she was, withering. No heir. No child. Just an ornamental queen whose beauty and wit meant nothing without a royal baby in her womb.
A knock at her door startled her from her reverie. "Enter," she called out, quickly composing herself. Ser Jon Snow entered, his white cloak pristine against the black of his curls. Even after all these years south of the Wall, he retained that Northern solemnity that had first drawn her to him.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing. "The King has requested your presence at tonight's feast."
Margaery turned to face him fully, letting her vulnerability show. Only with Jon did she dare remove her careful mask. "Another feast where I'll watch my husband eye every handsome lord while I sit there, smiling like the perfect queen?" Her voice cracked slightly. Jon closed the door behind him, crossing the room in three swift strides. They shouldn't be alone together - they both knew it - but these stolen moments had become as essential as breathing.
"Margaery," he whispered, propriety forgotten as he took her hands in his. His touch sent familiar shivers down her spine. "You are more than just a vessel for heirs."
She leaned into him, inhaling the leather and steel scent that was uniquely Jon. "Am I? The whole realm whispers. They say I'm barren, that I'm failing in my duties. How can I be barren when I've never truly been..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
Jon's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "If things were different..."
"If things were different," she echoed, meeting his dark eyes. "If you weren't bound by that white cloak, if I weren't bound by these golden chains..." She pressed herself closer, propriety be damned. "Sometimes I dream of running away. Taking a ship to the Free Cities, where no one would know us."
His lips found hers then, hungry and desperate. Margaery melted into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his dark curls as she pressed herself against the hard planes of his chest. The cold stone wall at her back contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from his body.
"Jon," she whispered against his mouth, "I need you. I've needed you for so long." His hands roamed down her sides, bunching the silk of her dress as he lifted her slightly. She wrapped one leg around his waist, pulling him closer. The metal of his armour was cold against her thigh, but she didn't care. His tongue traced her lower lip before delving deeper, tasting of the mint leaves he always chewed during his watch.
"My queen," he groaned, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck. "You don't know what you do to me. Every time I stand guard, watching you... knowing I can't..."
Margaery's fingers found the clasps of his armour. "Then don't watch. Take. Have." She worked the fastenings with practiced ease - she'd imagined this so many times. "I'm tired of pretending, Jon. Tired of playing the perfect queen while my heart belongs to you."
The breastplate fell away with a dull thud on the carpeted floor. Jon's hands shook as they cupped her face, his dark eyes swimming with conflict. "This is treason," he whispered, even as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. "If we're discovered..."
"Then we'll die together," she replied fiercely, pulling him back for another kiss. Her fingers worked at the laces of his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin. "At least we'll have known love before the end." Jon groaned into her mouth as her nails scraped lightly down his chest. His hips pressed forward involuntarily, pinning her more firmly against the wall. Through the layers of their clothes, she could feel his hardness against her centre.
"Margaery," he gasped, "you're the queen. You're married to the king. I swore vows..."
"Vows to protect the realm," she countered, nipping at his lower lip. "Give me an heir, Jon. Give the realm what it needs. No one need ever know." Those words seemed to break through his haze of desire. Jon stiffened, his hands moving to her shoulders. Gently but firmly, he pushed himself away from her, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I can't," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Gods help me, I want to. But I'm not..." He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I'm not that man. I can't betray my vows like that. Not even for you."
Margaery felt tears spring to her eyes. "Your vows? What of my vows, Jon? To be a good queen, to secure the succession? How am I to fulfil those when my husband prefers the company of my brother?"
Jon picked up his discarded armour, his movements jerky with suppressed emotion. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." He began refastening the plates with trembling fingers.
"Don't," Margaery pleaded, reaching for him. "Don't leave like this. We can figure something out. We can..."
"We can't." His voice was firm now, though his eyes betrayed his pain. "I am a Kingsguard. You are my queen. That's all we can ever be."
"Jon Snow," she said, anger and hurt making her voice sharp, "you know nothing. Nothing of what it's like to be trapped in this gilded cage, to have your whole worth measured by your ability to breed. Nothing of what it's like to love someone you can never have." He paused at the door, his hand on the handle. For a moment, she thought he might turn back. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, assuming the rigid posture of the Kingsguard.
"I know more than you think, Your Grace," he said softly, still facing the door. "I know what it's like to love someone so much it feels like your heart might burst. And I know what it's like to choose duty over that love." He opened the door. "Good night, my queen."
The Great Hall buzzed with hundreds of conversations as Margaery took her seat at the high table, her face a perfect mask of queenly serenity despite the chaos in her heart. The kiss with Jon still burned on her lips, making it hard to focus on the elaborate feast before her.
"More wine, Your Grace?" A servant approached with a crystal decanter.
"Please." She held out her goblet, noticing how the ladies at the nearest table quickly averted their eyes, poorly concealing their gossip. Their whispers carried just loud enough for her to hear.
"Three years and still no heir..."
"Well, how could there be? Everyone knows the king prefers-"
"Shhhh! Though they say she's barren anyway..." Margaery took a long drink, letting the Arbor Gold burn away the lump in her throat. To her left, Renly was deep in conversation with Ser Justin Massey, their heads bent close together, the king's hand lingering too long on the knight's arm. She noticed several courtiers watching this display with poorly concealed smirks.
Lady Merryweather approached the high table, executing a perfect curtsy. "Your Grace, you look radiant tonight. Though perhaps a bit pale? I know an excellent remedy for... feminine difficulties." Her eyes flickered meaningfully to Margaery's flat stomach.
"How thoughtful," Margaery replied smoothly, though her fingers tightened around her goblet. "Though I assure you, I'm in perfect health."
"Of course, of course," Lady Merryweather simpered. "Though they say stress can prevent... well, you know. Such pressure you must be under, with the succession so... uncertain." From his position along the wall, Jon caught her eye briefly. The look they shared spoke volumes, and she had to quickly look away before her composure cracked.
"Did you see that?" she heard a young lady whisper to her companion. "The queen can barely look at the king. No wonder there's no heir - they probably haven't shared a bed since the wedding night!"
Renly's booming laugh drew attention as he reacted to something Ser Justin had said. "Oh, you must show me these Essosi sword techniques you mentioned! Perhaps in my private training yard tomorrow?"
Margaery noticed several knowing looks exchanged among the courtiers. Lord Rosby, deep in his cups, muttered loudly to his neighbour, "Sword techniques, is it now? Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"My lord husband certainly takes his martial training seriously," Margaery said loudly enough to be heard, her voice dripping honey-sweet venom. The nearby conversations stuttered to an awkward halt.
A serving girl approached with a platter of lamprey pie, but stumbled slightly, spilling sauce on the tablecloth. "Oh! Your Grace, I'm so sorry!"
"Clumsy girl!" snapped Lady Stokeworth. "Though I suppose we should be grateful it wasn't on the queen's gown. They say stains on a lady's dress can be quite... prophetic. Especially monthly stains, if you take my meaning."
Margaery's cheeks burned, but she maintained her composure. "Indeed, Lady Stokeworth? How fascinating. Though I find blood stains of any kind rather distasteful dinner conversation. Perhaps we could discuss your daughter's recent marriage instead? I hear there are... interesting rumours about her husband's preferences as well." The older woman blanched and quickly found somewhere else to be.
"Your Grace," came a soft voice, and Margaery turned to find Maester Nymos at her elbow. "I've been researching some ancient texts about fertility treatments-"
"Not now, Maester," she cut him off sharply, then forced her voice back to its usual genteel tone. "Perhaps we could discuss such matters in private?"
"Of course, of course," he bowed apologetically. "Though I must stress the importance of addressing this issue soon. The realm needs-"
"An heir. Yes. I'm well aware of what the realm needs." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough steel to send the maester scurrying back to his seat. As the evening wore on, the whispers grew bolder with each round of wine. Margaery caught fragments everywhere she turned:
"Poor thing, married to a man who prefers her brother..."
"The Tyrells must be beside themselves..."
"Perhaps they should have married her to Loras instead - at least keep it in the family..."
"I heard she takes moon tea in secret..."
"No, no, she's simply barren. The gods curse those who marry without love..."
Finally, she could take no more. Rising gracefully, she touched Renly's shoulder. "My love, I fear I have a headache coming on. Would you excuse me?"
Renly barely glanced away from Ser Justin. "Of course, my dear. Feel better." As she made her way from the hall, she heard one last whisper that nearly broke her:
"Look how he doesn't even kiss her goodnight. When was the last time anyone saw them touch?"
In the corridor, she nearly collided with Jon, who had followed her out as was his duty as Kingsguard.
"Your Grace," he said formally, though his eyes held all the emotion their earlier encounter had stirred up. "Shall I escort you to your chambers?"
"Please," she whispered, no longer trusting her voice. They walked in tense silence, the air between them crackling with unspoken words. At her door, she paused.
"They all think they know everything about me," she said softly. "About my marriage, my body, my failures. But none of them know my heart."
Jon's hand twitched as if to reach for her, but he kept it firmly at his side. "Your Grace..."
"Goodnight, Ser Jon," she cut him off, slipping into her chambers before the tears could fall. Inside, she collapsed onto her bed, still fully dressed, and finally let herself cry. Outside, she could have sworn she heard Jon's armoured fist hit the stone wall in frustration before his footsteps retreated down the corridor.
The journey to Highgarden offered a sweet escape from the suffocating atmosphere of King's Landing. Margaery sat in her wheelhouse, watching the countryside roll by, while Jon rode alongside as part of her escort. The physical distance between them during the journey was almost worse than the forced proximity at court - at least there they could steal glances, share brief touches while helping her mount her horse during her daily rides. The first night of their journey, they made camp in a luxurious pavilion set up for the queen. After the servants had retired, Margaery heard the familiar sound of Jon's footsteps during his guard duty.
"Your Grace?" his voice came softly through the fabric. "Are you awake?"
"Come in, Jon," she whispered. "Please."
He entered, still in his white armour, looking torn. "I shouldn't be here."
"And yet you are." She sat up in her bed, her nightgown sliding off one shoulder. "Tell me true - did you volunteer for this journey to be near me, or to see your sister?"
"Both," he admitted, remaining by the entrance. "Sansa's letters... she seems happy with Willas. But I need to see for myself."
"He's good to her," Margaery assured him. "My brother may be crippled, but he has a gentle heart. Unlike some marriages I know of..." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.
Jon took a step closer, then stopped himself. "Margaery..."
"I know, I know. We can't. But gods, Jon, being so close to you every day, unable to touch..." She stood up, the silk of her nightgown flowing around her. "The journey to Highgarden takes two weeks. Two weeks where we don't have to hear the whispers, where Renly isn't flaunting his lovers in my face..."
"There are still servants, guards," he reminded her, though his eyes followed the movement of her gown. "Your reputation..."
"My reputation?" She laughed bitterly. "You heard them at court. They already think I'm either barren or taking moon tea. What's left to protect?" She moved closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Jon's breathing grew ragged.
"We should reach Highgarden by the harvest festival," she whispered. "Sansa wrote that the gardens are beautiful this time of year. The maze of roses will be in full bloom..."
"Margaery..." His voice was strained.
"No one can find their way through that maze except those who grew up there," she continued, her fingers trailing along his armoured chest. "I know every hidden corner..." A noise outside the tent made them jump apart. Jon quickly resumed his professional stance as a servant entered with fresh water.
The next morning, they continued their journey. Margaery chose to ride instead of staying in the wheelhouse, if only to be closer to Jon. As they passed through a particularly beautiful stretch of countryside, she pulled her horse alongside his.
"I've been thinking about Sansa," she said carefully, aware of others nearby. "She was so afraid when she first came to Highgarden. After everything she'd been through in King's Landing..."
Jon's face darkened at the memory. "I wanted to kill Joffrey myself when I heard how he treated her."
"But now look at her - Lady of Highgarden, married to a man who cherishes her mind as much as her beauty." Margaery smiled sadly. "Sometimes I envy her that."
"Your Grace-" Jon started, but she cut him off.
"Don't. Don't call me that when we're alone like this." She urged her horse forward, calling back, "Race you to that oak tree!" They thundered across the countryside, her laughter floating back to the rest of the party. For a moment, she could pretend they were just a man and woman, free to love each other.
That evening, as they made camp near a small stream, Margaery overheard two of her ladies talking:
"Did you see how she rode today? So unqueenly..."
"Well, what do you expect? The poor thing's probably desperate for any kind of... excitement." Margaery slammed her brush down harder than necessary on her dressing table, making the ladies jump.
"Your Grace!" one stammered. "We didn't realize..."
"Clearly," Margaery cut her off. "You may go. I'll prepare for bed myself tonight." Once alone, she went to the entrance of her tent, finding Jon on guard as expected.
"Two more weeks," she whispered. "Two weeks until Highgarden. Until the maze of roses." His only response was a sharp intake of breath, but she saw his hands tighten on his sword hilt. As she lay in bed that night, Margaery thought of Sansa and Willas, of their quiet happiness, their gentle love. She thought of the whispers that would follow her even to Highgarden - the barren queen, the failed rose. But mostly she thought of Jon, standing guard outside her tent, as unreachable as the stars above.
The gates of Highgarden opened to welcome them, the air sweet with the scent of roses. Margaery's heart clenched as she saw her childhood home, unchanged yet somehow different. The welcome party waited in the courtyard - her brother Willas leaning on his cane, and beside him...
"Oh," Margaery whispered, her hands tightening on her reins. Sansa Stark-Tyrell stood radiant in a gown of green silk, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight. But it was her swollen belly, proudly displayed rather than hidden, that made Margaery's throat tight with emotion.
"Your Grace," Willas called out, his smile broader than she remembered. He looked years younger, happiness evident in every line of his face. "Welcome home, sister." As Margaery dismounted - pointedly not accepting Jon's offered hand - she heard the whispers already starting among her ladies.
"Look how well Lady Sansa carries her child..."
"The Tyrell line is secure in Highgarden at least..."
Sansa rushed forward - as much as her condition allowed - to embrace her goodsister. "Margaery! We've missed you so much!" Her joy was genuine, making it impossible for Margaery to resent her.
"Sweet Sansa," Margaery managed, hugging her back carefully. "You look... magnificent."
"Doesn't she?" Willas said proudly, coming to stand beside his wife. His free hand rested naturally on her belly. "The maesters say it will be a boy."
From the corner of her eye, Margaery saw Jon step forward, emotion clear on his face. "Sister," he said softly.
"Jon!" Sansa broke away from Margaery to throw herself into her brother's arms. "Oh, look at you in your white cloak! And..." she pulled back, studying his face with sisterly concern, "you look tired, brother."
"The journey was long," he deflected, but his eyes were fixed on her pregnant form. "You look... you're truly happy here?"
"Happier than I ever dreamed possible," Sansa beamed, reaching for Willas's hand. The way they touched each other - so natural, so loving - made Margaery's chest ache. That evening, after the welcome feast, Margaery stood in her old chambers, looking out over the gardens. The sounds of celebration still drifted up from below, where Willas had arranged for musicians and dancers to entertain the court.
A knock at her door made her turn. "Enter."
It was Sansa, still glowing. "I hoped you'd still be awake. I've missed our talks."
Margaery managed a smile, gesturing for her to sit. "Tell me everything, dear one. Though I can see the main news quite clearly."
Sansa's hands cradled her belly. "Can you believe it? Sometimes I still can't. Willas is so excited - he's already planning which pony our son will learn to ride on."
"He looks happy," Margaery said softly. "You both do."
"We are." Sansa's face softened. "He's so gentle, Margaery. So kind. When we first married, I was so afraid, after everything with Joffrey... but Willas never pushed. He let me come to him in my own time. And now..." she gestured to her stomach with a slight blush.
Margaery turned back to the window, fighting tears. "I'm glad. Truly."
A moment of silence passed before Sansa spoke again, her voice careful. "Margaery... the rumours from King's Landing..."
"Are all true," Margaery cut her off bitterly. "My husband prefers the company of men, I remain childless, and the whole realm whispers about my failure."
"Oh, Margaery." Sansa stood, coming to embrace her from behind. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. You deserve your happiness." Margaery squeezed her hands. "Though I admit, seeing you and Willas together..."
"It's not fair," Sansa agreed. "You deserve that kind of love too." She paused, then added very softly, "The way Jon looks at you..."
Margaery stiffened. "Sansa..."
"I'm not blind, goodsister. I see how you both suffer." Sansa's voice was gentle. "Does anyone suspect?"
"Nothing has happened," Margaery whispered. "He's too honourable. Like your father."
"Like our father," Sansa corrected. "And look where honour got him." She stepped back, one hand on her belly. "Sometimes I think the gods are cruel, giving us hearts that want what duty forbids."
Margaery turned to face her. "Are you... do you disapprove?"
"Of you loving my brother? No." Sansa's blue eyes were kind. "Of the situation that traps you both? Yes." She moved toward the door, then paused. "The maze of roses is lovely at night. The guards don't patrol the southern entrance after the midnight bell." With that, she left, leaving Margaery to stare after her, heart pounding.
From her window, she could see Jon standing guard in the courtyard below, his white cloak ghostly in the moonlight. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met across the distance, and Margaery felt the familiar ache in her chest. The maze of roses waited in the darkness, its paths known only to those who had grown up exploring them. Margaery touched the window glass, watching her breath fog it.
"After the midnight bell," she whispered to herself, and began to count the hours.
The knock came exactly at midnight - three soft taps that made Margaery's heart leap into her throat. She had changed from her formal gown into a simple blue dress, easier to move quietly in. When she opened the door, Jon stood there in plain clothes rather than his Kingsguard armour, looking younger without the weight of his white cloak.
"We shouldn't," he whispered, even as he stepped inside.
"Probably not," she agreed, taking his hand. "But for once, I don't want to do what we should." She pressed a finger to his lips before he could protest. "Follow me. And stay quiet." Leading him through the castle corridors felt like stepping back in time. Every secret passage, every servant's door, every hidden turn came back to her as naturally as breathing. She found herself grinning like the mischievous girl she'd once been, before crowns and duties had weighted her down.
"Here," she whispered, pulling aside a tapestry to reveal a narrow passage. "Watch your head - there's a beam about halfway down."
"How did you find all these passages?" Jon asked softly as they descended a tight spiral staircase.
"Oh, Loras and I spent years exploring as children. We'd steal lemon cakes from the kitchen, spy on our parents' meetings..." She smiled at the memory. "Once we even caught Grandmother napping and drew flowers on her face with berry juice. She was furious, but I think she was also a bit proud we'd managed to sneak up on her." They emerged behind a hedge near the garden's edge. The night air was heavy with the scent of roses, and moonlight silvered the paths before them. Margaery felt almost drunk on the familiar smells and the warmth of Jon's hand in hers.
"This way," she tugged him toward the maze entrance. "I could navigate these paths blindfolded."
"I believe you could navigate anything," Jon said, his voice warm with admiration. "You're remarkable, you know that?"
She turned to face him, walking backward with practiced ease. "Am I? Sometimes I feel like I'm just playing at being remarkable. Playing at being queen, playing at being happy..." She spun around, arms out like a child. "But right now? Right now I feel real again."
Jon caught her hand, pulling her to a stop. "You've always been real to me. The most real thing in that false city." They had reached the heart of the maze now, where a small fountain played among beds of midnight-blooming flowers. Margaery sat on its edge, pulling Jon down beside her.
"I used to come here when I needed to think," she said, trailing her fingers in the water. "I planned my whole future here - how I'd be queen, how I'd rule wisely and well, how my children would play in these gardens..." She laughed bitterly. "Such grand dreams for a little girl."
"Your dreams weren't wrong," Jon said softly. "The world was wrong to twist them." She looked at him then, really looked at him in the moonlight. Without his armour, without the weight of their positions between them, he looked like the young man he truly was. His dark curls fell loose around his face, making her fingers itch to touch them.
"Do you remember being young, Jon? Before the Wall, before the wars? What did you dream of?"
He was quiet for a moment. "I dreamed of belonging somewhere. Of having a place that was truly mine, not just borrowed from my father's charity." His laugh was self-deprecating. "Instead I got a white cloak and more vows to chain me."
"And now?" she whispered, leaning closer. "What do you dream of now?"
His eyes met hers, dark and intense. "Things I shouldn't."
"Show me," she breathed. His kiss was different here than it had been in King's Landing - less desperate, more thorough. His hands cupped her face like she was something precious, something to be savoured rather than stolen. Margaery melted into him, letting herself forget everything but this moment, this garden, this man.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Just for tonight, stay with me here in the roses where no one can find us."
"If we're caught..." he started.
"We won't be. I know every hiding place, every secret corner." She stood, pulling him deeper into the maze where a small pavilion stood, hidden by climbing roses. "I used to read here for hours and no one could ever find me." She pushed open the door, revealing cushions and blankets she'd placed there earlier. "Please, Jon. Just one night of being ourselves, not the queen and the Kingsguard. Just Margaery and Jon." He hesitated at the threshold, duty warring with desire on his face. Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Just Margaery and Jon," he agreed, pulling her close. "Until the sun rises."
Her fingers tangled in his dark curls, pulling him down to meet her hungry mouth. Jon's surprised gasp was swallowed by her kiss, desperate and demanding after so many months of restraint. His hands found her waist, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.
"Jon," she breathed against his lips, "touch me. Please, I need to feel you."
His hands trembled as they slid up her sides, catching on the fabric of her dress. When he hesitated, she grabbed his wrists and guided them to her breasts. "Like this," she whispered. "I want your hands on me." He groaned, deep in his throat, as she rocked against him. His kisses grew more urgent, trailing down her neck as she arched into his touch. When he stumbled over a scattered pillow, falling backward onto the cushions with her sprawled across his chest, Margaery laughed breathlessly.
"Got you," she teased, sitting up to straddle his hips. The moonlight filtering through the rose-covered lattice painted patterns across his face as he stared up at her in wonder.
"Gods, you're beautiful," he whispered, his hands sliding up her thighs where her dress had ridden up.
She leaned down to kiss him again, her hair falling around them like a curtain. "Show me how much you want me," she murmured against his mouth. "Show me I'm not alone in this madness."
His hips bucked up involuntarily, making her gasp at the hardness she felt through their clothes. "You feel what you do to me," he groaned. "Every day, watching you, not being able to touch..."
"Then touch me now," she demanded, guiding his hands to the laces of her dress. "Make me forget everything but this."
As the silk slipped away, Margaery's skin glowed like moonlit pearls in the soft garden light. She had indeed forgone all undergarments, her body a masterpiece of soft curves and delicate lines. Her breasts were full and perfect, tipped with rosy peaks that hardened in the night air. Her waist curved in elegantly before flaring to generous hips, and a light dusting of freckles across her shoulders spoke of afternoons in the Highgarden sun. A small birthmark shaped like a crescent moon graced her left hip, and Jon traced it reverently with his fingertips.
"Beautiful," he breathed, drinking in every detail of her. "Like a goddess stepped out of a dream." Margaery smiled, a mix of confidence and vulnerability in her eyes as she straddled his lap. Her thighs were smooth and strong from years of riding, and the way she moved spoke of natural grace and barely contained desire. A faint scar on her ribcage caught the moonlight - a reminder of a childhood fall from a horse that she'd told him about during their journey.
"Touch me," she whispered, guiding his hands to her body. "I've imagined this so many times..." Jon's mouth found her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone while his hands explored every inch of her exposed skin. She arched into his touch, soft sighs escaping her lips. When his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot, she gasped his name like a prayer.
"Jon, please," she breathed, pressing closer. Her skin was flushed with desire, a rosy glow spreading from her cheeks down her chest. The scent of roses mixed with her natural perfume - something light and floral that he'd caught hints of during their long days of forced proximity at court. His hands traced the elegant line of her spine as she moved against him, her body responding to every touch like an instrument being played by expert hands. The moonlight created shifting patterns across her skin as rose petals drifted down around them, nature itself seeming to bless their union.
"You're everything," he whispered against her skin. "Everything I've ever wanted." She smiled down at him, her hair falling around them like a curtain of silk, and pulled him up for another passionate kiss. Jon lavished attention on her perfect breasts, his mouth hot and eager against her sensitive skin. His tongue circled each rosy peak before taking them between his lips, alternating between gentle suction and playful nips that made Margaery gasp and arch into his touch. His hands cupped and kneaded the soft flesh while his mouth worked, thumbs brushing across her hardened nipples when his lips moved to explore new territory.
"Gods, Jon," she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer. "Just like that..." He took his time, determined to worship every inch of her. His teeth grazed the sensitive undersides of her breasts, making her shiver, while his tongue traced patterns across her flushed skin. When he found a particularly responsive spot, he focused his attention there until she was writhing in his lap, breathless with need.
"You're so perfect," he murmured against her skin between kisses. "So beautiful, so responsive..." Her breasts fit perfectly in his palms as if made for his touch. He could feel her heart racing beneath his lips as he kissed his way across her chest, marking her pale skin with love bites that made her gasp his name.
"Please," she begged, pressing closer. "Don't stop..." He had no intention of stopping, lost in the taste and feel of her, in the way she moved against him and the soft sounds of pleasure she couldn't contain. Every response from her body drove him wild with desire, making him determined to draw out even more of those delicious reactions. Their passion built slowly, thoroughly, as Jon continued his devoted attention to her gorgeous breasts, both of them getting lost in the sensations and each other.
Jon groaned as he grabbed her ass firmly, pulling her toward his hungry mouth. Margaery was already wet and ready as his tongue found her pearl, making her cry out and grab his hair. He devoured her like a starving man, licking and sucking while she ground against his face.
"Fuck, Jon," she gasped, her thighs trembling around his head. "Your tongue feels amazing..." But Margaery had plans of her own. She twisted around, fumbling with his belt while he continued pleasuring her. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, and she wasted no time taking him into her mouth. They pleasured each other frantically, all pretence of restraint forgotten. Jon's fingers dug into her ass as he thrust his tongue deep inside her, while Margaery took him deeper into her throat, both of them moaning and gasping.
"Gods, your mouth," Jon groaned against her wet flesh. "You're so fucking good at this..." Margaery hummed around his cock in response, making him buck up into her mouth. She worked him skilfully with her tongue while he devoured her cunt, both of them racing toward release. The pavilion filled with the sounds of their mutual pleasure - wet sounds, moans, gasps, and whispered curses as they drove each other wild. All thoughts of propriety were forgotten in the heat of their passion.
"Don't stop," Margaery begged between licks. "I'm so close..." Jon's tongue worked faster against her pearl as Margaery's thighs trembled around his head. He slipped two fingers inside her dripping cunt while he sucked and licked, making her moan around his cock. Her hips rocked against his face as she took him deeper into her throat, both of them lost in the building pleasure.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned against her wet flesh. "Come for me, let me feel it..."
Margaery pulled off his cock just long enough to gasp, "Don't stop, I'm right there..." before taking him back into her mouth, sucking harder as her own pleasure built. Jon's fingers curled inside her as his tongue flicked rapidly across her pearl. He could feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to pulse around his fingers. Her moans grew more desperate as she worked his cock, her whole body tensing.
"That's it," he urged between licks. "Let go for me..." Margaery's peak hit hard, making her cry out around his cock as she came on his tongue. Her thighs clamped around his head as waves of pleasure coursed through her, but she didn't stop sucking him, determined to make him come too. Jon groaned as he felt his own release approaching, his hips bucking up into her eager mouth as she swallowed around him. The taste of her peak on his tongue and the feel of her mouth working him pushed him over the edge. He came with a shout, spilling down her throat as she swallowed every drop. They collapsed together afterward, both panting and satisfied. Margaery turned to face him, her lips swollen and her eyes dark with lingering desire.
"That was..." she started.
"Incredible," he finished, pulling her in for a deep kiss that let them taste themselves on each other's tongues. They lay there catching their breath, hands still wandering over sweaty skin, neither wanting the moment to end.
Jon pinned her beneath him, his muscular body pressing her into the cushions as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue swept inside, tasting himself on her lips as she moaned and arched up against him.
"Need you," he growled, grinding his rapidly hardening cock against her thigh. "Gods, I can't get enough."
Margaery wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Then take me," she purred, nipping at his bottom lip. "Show me how much you want me." His kisses grew more demanding, trailing down her neck as she writhed beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, making him groan and thrust against her.
"Like this?" he asked roughly, sucking a mark onto her collarbone while his hand slid between her thighs. "Tell me what you want..."
"Everything," she gasped, arching into his touch. "Want to feel you inside me, filling me up..." Jon's cock throbbed at her words. He captured her mouth again, kissing her deeply as she ground against him. Their bodies moved together with growing urgency, skin sliding against skin.
"Please," Margaery begged between kisses, "need you now..." He reached down to position himself, both of them groaning as the head of his cock brushed against her wet entrance. The anticipation had them both trembling with need.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, waiting until her eyes met his. The desire he saw there matched his own, making his heart race even faster. They held that heated gaze as he slowly pushed inside her, both of them lost in the intensity of the moment and each other's eyes.
Jon sank into her with exquisite slowness, savouring every inch as her tight heat enveloped him. Margaery's mouth fell open in a silent gasp, her eyes locked on his as he filled her completely. "Gods, you feel incredible," he groaned, holding still to let her adjust. "So perfect, so tight around me..."
"Move," she pleaded, rolling her hips. "Please Jon, I need you..." He started with slow, deep thrusts, angling his hips to hit the spot that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. Unlike other men who'd simply taken their pleasure, Jon was determined to make this unforgettable for her.
"Like this?" he asked, grinding against her pearl with each thrust. "Tell me what feels good..."
"Everything," she moaned. "Right there, don't stop..." He maintained that perfect rhythm, watching her reactions and adjusting his movements to draw out her pleasure. When she wrapped her legs higher around his waist, he shifted to thrust deeper, making her cry out.
"Yes! Fuck, Jon, just like that..." His control was iron-clad despite his burning need to pound into her. Instead, he kept his strokes measured and precise, hitting her sweet spot over and over while his thumb circled her pearl.
"Gods, Jon," Margaery gasped as he maintained that perfect rhythm, each thrust hitting deep inside her. His thumb worked her pearl in tight circles while he kissed down her neck, making her writhe beneath him.
"You feel so fucking good," he growled against her skin. "Love watching you take my cock like this..." Her nails raked down his back as he kept that steady pace, his thick length stretching and filling her perfectly. Every stroke made her gasp and arch up to meet him, their bodies moving together in perfect sync.
"More," she begged. "Please, need it harder..." Jon gradually increased his pace, still keeping those precise angles that drove her wild. He captured her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her moans as he fucked her with growing intensity. His free hand tangled in her hair while the other continued working her pearl, determined to make her come again.
"Like this?" he asked roughly, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. "Tell me what you need..."
"Yes!" she cried out. "Don't stop, right there..." He kept up the new rhythm, kissing and nipping at her neck while she wrapped her legs tighter around him. The sound of skin on skin filled the air along with their shared moans and gasps.
"So close," Margaery whimpered. "Please Jon, make me come..."
"Come for me," he commanded, increasing the pressure on her pearl. "Want to feel you squeeze my cock..." Her whole body tensed as pleasure built inside her, every thrust bringing her closer to the edge. Jon's mouth found her breast, sucking hard on her nipple as he drove into her, and that extra sensation pushed her over.
Margaery's peak hit her like a tidal wave, making her entire body arch off the bed as pleasure exploded through her core. Her inner walls clamped down hard around his cock as she screamed his name, her nails leaving deep scratches down his back. "Jon! Fuck, I'm coming... don't stop, please don't stop!"
He kept thrusting through her release, prolonging her pleasure as she convulsed around him. Her thighs trembled against his hips, her body wracked with the most intense climax she'd ever experienced.
"That's it," he growled, feeling her pussy grip him like a vice. "Come for me, let me feel all of it..." The sight and feel of her coming undone beneath him pushed Jon over the edge. His rhythm faltered as his own peak crashed through him, making him groan deeply as he buried himself to the hilt.
"Margaery!" he shouted, his cock pulsing as he filled her with hot spurts. "Gods, fuck, you feel incredible..." They clung to each other as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them both. Margaery's inner walls continued to flutter and squeeze around him, milking every drop as they rode out their shared climax together.
"Never..." she gasped between aftershocks, "never felt anything like that before..." Jon captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss as the last tremors subsided. They were both covered in sweat, hearts racing as they slowly came down from their high.
"You're amazing," he murmured against her lips. "So perfect, so beautiful when you come..." Margaery could only whimper in response, still too overwhelmed by the intensity of her peak to form coherent words. She pulled him closer, kissing him deeply as their bodies remained joined, neither wanting to break their intimate connection just yet.
When they finally separated, both of them gasped at the loss. Jon gathered her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her temple as she curled against his chest, both of them basking in the afterglow of the most intense pleasure either had ever known.
"Stay with me," she whispered, already feeling desire stirring again despite her body's satisfied exhaustion.
His answering smile was both tender and wicked. "As long as you'll have me, my queen..." Margaery nestled deeper into Jon's embrace, his strong arms making her feel safe and cherished in a way she'd never experienced before. The steady beat of his heart against her cheek soothed her even as it stirred something primal within her.
"This is different," she murmured, trailing her fingers across his chest. "The way you hold me... the way you touch me..."
Jon's hand stroked slowly up and down her spine, sending shivers through her body. "How so?" he asked softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"It's not just about taking," she explained, her breath catching as his touch awakened her desire again. "You make me feel... wanted. Cherished. Like I'm more than just a body to be used."
His arms tightened around her. "You are so much more," he whispered against her hair. "Every part of you deserves to be worshipped..." His words made her ache with renewed need, her core throbbing as heat pooled between her thighs. She pressed closer, feeling his cock beginning to stir against her hip.
"Show me again," she breathed, tilting her face up to his. "Show me how much you want all of me..." Jon's eyes darkened with desire as he captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands roamed her body with reverent touches that made her gasp and arch against him.
"Every inch of you is perfect," he growled between kisses. "Want to taste you, feel you, make you come until you can't remember your own name..." Margaery moaned as his words and touches stoked her arousal higher. She could feel herself getting wetter, her body eager for more of his thorough attention.
"Please," she whimpered, grinding against him. "Need you inside me again..."
Margaery straddled Jon's hips, her body still glistening with sweat from their previous coupling. His hands came to rest on her thighs as she leaned down to kiss him deeply, her breasts pressing against his chest.
"Want to ride you," she whispered against his lips. "Want to watch your face while I take your cock..."
Jon groaned, his hands sliding up to grip her hips. "Gods yes," he breathed. "Love watching you move on top of me..." She rocked against him, feeling his hardness pressing against her wet core. Her hands splayed across his chest as she sat up, giving him a perfect view of her body.
"Like what you see?" she teased, rolling her hips.
"You're fucking perfect," he growled, his thumbs tracing circles on her hipbones. "The most beautiful sight I've ever seen..." Margaery reached between them to grasp his cock, positioning him at her entrance. They both moaned as she slowly sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed inside her.
"So deep like this," she gasped, adjusting to the feel of him. "Fill me up so good..." Jon's hands roamed up her body to cup her breasts as she began to move, setting a languid pace that had them both panting. Her head fell back as she rode him, losing herself in the pleasure of having him so deep inside her.
"That's it," he encouraged, pinching her nipples. "Take what you need..." She braced her hands on his chest, increasing her pace as desire built between them. Jon thrust up to meet her movements, making her cry out each time he hit that perfect spot inside her.
"Touch yourself," he commanded roughly. "Want to watch you come on my cock..." Margaery slipped a hand between her legs, circling her pearl as she continued to ride him. The added stimulation had her gasping and moaning his name.
"Want to feel every inch of you," Margaery breathed, her fingers working slow circles around her sensitive bud as she rocked on his cock. Her other hand rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath her palm.
Jon's hands caressed up her sides with reverent touches. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, drinking in the sight of her lost in pleasure above him. "Take your time... want to watch you enjoy yourself..." She rolled her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, savouring the deep penetration this position allowed. Each movement had his thick length dragging perfectly against her inner walls, making her gasp and shudder.
"Kiss me," she pleaded, leaning down to capture his mouth while maintaining that languid pace. Their tongues met in a deep, passionate kiss as they moved together.
Jon's hands roamed her body, touching and caressing every inch of skin he could reach. "Love how wet you are for me," he groaned against her lips. "How perfect you feel around my cock..." Margaery whimpered as his words sent fresh waves of arousal through her core. Her fingers continued their slow circles as pleasure built steadily between them.
"Right there," she gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Gods, Jon... don't stop..." He thrust up to meet her movements, maintaining that unhurried rhythm that had them both trembling with need. One hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped her hip, helping guide her motions.
"That's it," he encouraged softly. "Take what you need... want to feel you come again..." The intimate connection between them felt almost overwhelming - this wasn't just fucking anymore, but something deeper and more meaningful. Their eyes locked as they moved together, both lost in the intensity of the moment...
"Never felt like this before," Margaery admitted breathlessly. "You make me feel so good, so complete..."
Jon pulled her down for another deep kiss, swallowing her moans as pleasure continued building between them. "You deserve to feel this good always," he murmured against her lips. "Want to worship you like this forever..."
"Gods, you feel incredible," Margaery moaned, grinding down on him in slow, deliberate circles. Her inner walls clenched around his thickness as she felt him pulse deep inside her. "Can feel you throbbing... filling me so perfectly..."
Jon's hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her movements as she worked herself on his cock. "Love watching you take your pleasure," he growled, transfixed by the sight of her riding him. "The way you move... fucking perfect..." She leaned forward, changing the angle slightly as she continued those tight circular motions. The new position had his length dragging against her g-spot with each rotation, making her gasp and shudder.
"Right there," she whimpered, her nails digging into his chest. "Your cock feels so good inside me... stretching me just right..."
Jon thrust up to meet her movements, making her cry out as he pushed even deeper. "Like that?" he asked roughly, watching her face contort with pleasure. "Love how wet you get for me..."
"Yes!" Margaery's head fell back as she ground down harder, chasing the building pleasure. "Love how you throb when I squeeze you... when I work my pussy around your cock..." His hands roamed up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples as she continued those maddening circular motions. The dual stimulation had her moaning louder, her movements becoming more desperate.
"That's it," he encouraged, pinching and rolling her nipples. "Show me how much you love my cock inside you..."
She braced herself on his chest, her hips moving faster now as she felt her pleasure building. "So deep," she gasped. "Can feel you pulsing... getting harder inside me..."
Jon's breathing grew ragged as he watched her lose herself in the sensations. "No one else makes me throb like this," he growled. "Only you... only your perfect pussy gripping me so tight..."
"Like that, do you?" Margaery purred, lifting herself up and dropping back down on his length with deliberate slowness. The strangled moan that escaped Jon's throat made her smile wickedly.
"Fuck... Margaery..." he gasped, his hands tightening on her hips as she repeated the motion. His eyes were dark with desire as he watched her bounce teasingly on his cock.
"Such sweet sounds you make," she teased, circling her hips before rising up again. "Who knew the mighty Jon Snow could be reduced to whimpers by a woman's cunt?"
Another bounce had him throwing his head back, groaning deeply. "Only yours," he managed between ragged breaths. "Only you can make me lose control like this..." Pleased with his response, she increased her pace slightly, lifting herself until just his tip remained inside before sinking back down. Each time she took him to the hilt, she clenched her inner walls around him, drawing out more of those delicious moans.
"Look at you," she whispered, leaning down to nip at his ear. "So hard for me... so desperate... want to hear you beg for it..."
Jon's hips bucked up involuntarily as she continued her torturous rhythm. "Please," he groaned, his composure completely shattered. "Need you... need to feel you..."
"Need what exactly?" She gave another deliberate bounce, savouring his reaction. "Tell me what you want..."
His hands slid up to grasp her breasts as she moved above him. "Need to feel you come on my cock," he growled. "Need to fill you up... make you mine..."
Margaery's smug smile grew wider as she felt him throbbing inside her. "Such pretty words," she purred, deliberately squeezing around him again. "But can you back them up?"
"Oh!" Margaery gasped delightedly as Jon thrust up sharply, her laugh turning into a throaty moan. "Someone's feeling playful..."
"You're not the only one who can tease," he growled, gripping her hips as he pushed up into her again. Each deliberate thrust made her bounce slightly, drawing out more of those musical giggles that drove him wild.
"Is that so?" she challenged breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She ground down to meet his movements, making them both gasp. "Show me what else you've got..."
Jon's answering thrust had her crying out in pleasure, her laughter mixing with moans. "Like that?" he asked with a wicked grin, repeating the motion. "Love hearing you laugh while I'm inside you..."
"Yes!" she giggled, her hands braced on his chest as they found a playful rhythm together. "Love how you – oh! – how you make me feel..." The combination of deep pleasure and lighthearted joy had them both grinning as they moved together. Margaery's breasts bounced enticingly with each thrust, her head thrown back in uninhibited delight.
"You're incredible," Jon breathed, captivated by her expressions of pleasure and joy. "So fucking perfect..."
She leaned down to kiss him, still giggling against his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased, grinding down deliberately. "Making me feel so good I can't help but laugh..." His hands roamed her body as they continued their passionate dance, both of them alternating between laughter and moans of pleasure. The playful energy between them only heightened their mutual desire...
"More," she demanded breathlessly, her smile turning sultry. "Want to feel everything you can give me..." Jon was more than happy to oblige, determined to draw out more of those delicious sounds that were driving him wild with need. Their playful teasing gradually transformed into something deeper, more intense. Margaery's giggles faded into passionate moans as they found that perfect rhythm together, her hips rolling in perfect sync with his thrusts.
"Jon," she gasped, feeling the pleasure building inexorably. "Oh gods... so close..."
His hands caressed her body with reverent touches as they moved together. "Let go for me," he encouraged, his voice rough with emotion. "Want to feel you come apart..." The intimacy of the moment overwhelmed her - it wasn't just the physical pleasure, but the deep connection she felt with him that pushed her toward the edge. Her heart raced as she felt her climax approaching, emotions and sensations tangling together.
"I'm coming," she cried out, her body beginning to tremble. "Jon... fuck... love you..." The words escaped without thought as her peak crashed through her. Her inner walls clamped down hard around him as waves of pleasure radiated from her core, making her entire body shake. Each pulse of pleasure was accompanied by a throb of her heart, the emotional and physical sensations amplifying each other.
Jon groaned deeply as he felt her come undone, her confession pushing him over the edge as well. "Margaery!" he shouted, his cock pulsing as he filled her with hot spurts. "Love you too... gods, love you so much..." They clung to each other as they rode out their shared climax, both of them overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection. Margaery's inner walls continued to flutter and squeeze around him as aftershocks rolled through her, each one accompanied by another skip of her heartbeat.
When the tremors finally subsided, she collapsed against his chest, both of them breathing heavily. Jon wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing soft kisses to her temple.
"Did you mean it?" she whispered, her heart still racing. "What you said?"
His answer was immediate and sincere. "Every word," he murmured, holding her closer. "You've captured more than just my body..." Margaery smiled against his chest, feeling more complete than she ever had before. This was more than just pleasure - it was the beginning of something deeper, something that made both her body and heart sing with joy.
In the maze of roses that night, they made love twice more. The third time was against the wall of the pavilion, Jon lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist, both of them laughing and moaning as they found their rhythm.
"Careful," she giggled as he nearly lost his balance. "If you drop your queen..."
"Never," he growled, pinning her more firmly against the wall. "I'll always catch you..."
Their fourth coupling was slower, more tender, as dawn approached. They lay on their sides, Jon taking her from behind as they traded soft kisses over her shoulder. His hand splayed protectively across her belly as he moved inside her, neither of them knowing they were creating new life at that moment.
Nine months later, in her chambers in King's Landing, Margaery gave birth to a strong, healthy boy with dark curls and eyes that would later turn the same shade as his true father's. When the midwife placed him in her arms, she saw Jon standing guard at her door, his face a careful mask that only she could read.
"Your Grace," the maester announced to Renly, who had waited in the corridor. "You have a son. An heir."
Renly's relief was palpable as he entered the chamber. He looked at the child with genuine affection, though no real paternal interest. "He's beautiful," he said, touching the baby's dark hair. "Like my grandmother... the Targaryen blood shows strongly."
Margaery caught Jon's eye over Renly's shoulder, sharing a secret smile. "What shall we name him?" she asked her husband.
"Whatever you wish, my dear," Renly replied absently, already turning to leave. "I trust your judgment completely." Later that night, when the castle slept, Jon slipped into her chamber. He stood over the cradle, looking down at his son with wonder.
"He's perfect," he whispered, touching the baby's tiny hand. "Like his mother."
Margaery watched them from her bed, her heart full. "I thought of a name," she said softly. "Aemon... after the Dragonknight. A hero who served with honour while loving from afar."
Jon's smile was bittersweet as he joined her on the bed. "A fitting name," he agreed, pulling her close. "Though perhaps our story will have a happier ending."
"It already has," she murmured, thinking of their beautiful son and the nights they still shared in secret. "We found a way to have everything - duty and love both." Renly never questioned the child's parentage, too relieved to have an heir without having to perform duties he found distasteful. He doted on the boy from a distance, while Jon watched over them both as a faithful Kingsguard should. And if anyone noticed how the young prince grew to have the same solemn expression and skill with a sword as his "protector," they kept such observations to themselves. After all, the realm had its heir, the king had his freedom, and the queen... the queen had found her true happiness in the most unexpected of places.
As the years passed, Jon and Margaery's love deepened beyond their passionate encounters. Prince Aemon was joined by a sister, Alysanne, three years later - a fierce little girl with Margaery's keen intelligence and Jon's dark curls. She had her mother's golden-brown eyes, which made it easier to maintain the fiction of her Baratheon heritage. Two years after that came little Steffon, who also bore his mother's eyes but his father's solemn demeanour. The realm rejoiced at such a fertile queen, while Renly seemed genuinely pleased to have his legacy secured without any effort on his part.
"They're beautiful," Jon would whisper during their private moments, watching their children play in the castle gardens from his post. "All of them."
Margaery would stand close enough that their hands could brush secretly. "They have your heart," she'd murmur. "Your strength." Young Aemon grew into a skilled swordsman under Jon's careful "tutelage," though the boy seemed to instinctively mirror his true father's fighting style. The court whispered about how the prince had clearly inherited his grandmother's Targaryen warrior spirit.
"Again," Jon would command during training sessions, hiding his pride behind a stern exterior as Aemon executed perfect forms. Only Margaery could see the joy in his eyes as he taught their son. Alysanne proved to be as clever as her mother, but with Jon's sense of justice. She'd often be found in the training yard too, demanding to learn alongside her brother while maintaining perfect court manners.
"She's just like you," Margaery told Jon one night in their secret meetings. "That same quiet strength." Little Steffon was the most obvious mix of them both - Margaery's political instincts combined with Jon's honour. He'd mediate disputes between his siblings with wisdom beyond his years.
Their family moments had to be carefully orchestrated - casual encounters in the garden, training sessions that looked proper to outside eyes. But they found their ways. Jon would tell the children stories of the North during his guard duties, while Margaery watched from nearby, her heart full of love for all of them. Renly, for his part, played the role of distant but fond father perfectly. He'd shower the children with gifts and attention during public occasions, then return to his own pursuits, leaving their actual raising to Margaery and their "devoted protector."
"You've given me everything," Jon would whisper during their stolen moments together. "A family I never thought I'd have."
Margaery would kiss him deeply then, their passion undimmed by the years. "We've built something beautiful," she'd reply. "Something real, even if we have to hide it."
The children grew knowing they were deeply loved, even if they didn't understand the full truth of their parentage. But sometimes, Margaery would catch Aemon watching Jon with knowing eyes, or see Alysanne practicing sword forms in secret that mirrored her true father's style perfectly. They were a family bound by love rather than law, and somehow that made it all the more precious. Every secret smile, every carefully hidden touch, every proud moment watching their children grow - it was all worth the pretence they had to maintain.