Margaery's face went through a strange succession of expressions, from neutral to haughty to sad. "How?" she asked at last. "It hurt, Grandmama. And all he did was grunt and rut, and it was over in moments. I suppose that was a mercy, at least."
Olenna squeezed her granddaughter's hand. "There is great pleasure to be found in the marriage bed," she told her. "But sometimes the husband has to be trained up. Teach him to enjoy it without hurting his fragile manhood, and he will make you enjoy it too. If you cannot enjoy one another, he will eventually learn to find his pleasure elsewhere, and you will have bastards to deal with. Do not expect him to turn them away, not this one." She paused for a moment, holding Margaery's hand tight when the girl tried to deny her. "The one good thing about so young a husband is that he is still malleable," she said at last. "He came to you as much a maid as you were. Teach him what true pleasure means, and he will not be likely to cast you aside for another."
Margaery was silent for long moments. Then, "I do not even know what true pleasure means," she said. "All I know is that it has to be more than groaning and rutting and spending all within a few breaths."
"True enough," Olenna conceded. "But you must figure it out. You need a child in your belly, girl. Not just because the king commands it. Not just because of the pleasure I know a child will give you. This is more important than I can possibly explain."
"Try," Margaery said.
Olenna shook her head. "One day, your Lord husband will find cause to feel betrayed by everyone he ever trusted. I will not have you be among our ranks. He will need you more than ever, and it is imperative you know no more than he does." Of course, there was the possibility that the boy knew of the schemes already, but if he did, he needed to be the one to tell Margaery. Olenna knew in the back of her mind that it was possible the partnership she wished for between these two would never happen outside her imagination, that even if Jon were to take the Throne, Margaery would be no more than his ornament, the woman in the shadows of the Iron Chair. Olenna could not help but believe her granddaughter was meant for more, even if she needed some guidance. Guidance was understandable; Margaery was young yet.
Margaery's eyes narrowed for a moment before they lowered, resigned. Thankfully, the girl knew what she could and could not get from her grandmother. "I would not even know how to get him to my chambers," she said.
Olenna bit back a smile. "Look down," she instructed. Along with her granddaughter, she watched as Jon and Loras duelled yet again, their swords dancing with more skill than she might have honestly expected from boys their age. Finally, she almost thought Loras might win, but then Jon switched back into the Northman style that still seemed to come most naturally to him, and with a quick duck and kick sent Loras crashing to the ground once again. Olenna waited as the boy picked up her grandson's sword, offered his hand and hauled Loras back onto his feet. Waited another moment, and another. "Move closer to the railing,"
she instructed. At long last, Jon glanced up over his shoulder. His eyes seemed to widen when he caught sight of his Lady Wife. "Smile," Olenna said.
Margaery smiled.
Even from where she was seated, Olenna could see the flush spreading across Jon Stark's face.
"Wear the dragonglass rose he gave you for dinner tonight. Touch his arm," Olenna instructed when her granddaughter sat back down. "Make him talk. Laugh when he says something funny."
Margaery picked her stitching back up. "I know all those things," she said.
"Leave early," Olenna said. "Tell him you await him. If he does not come tonight, do the same thing tomorrow, and the night after. If he has not come to you by then, it will be your turn to come to him. And when you are with him, guide his hands. Make him know that there is no part of you he cannot touch. Reassure him. Do not ever let him leave your chambers embarrassed."
Jon Stark crumbled on the second night, and judging by the slight smile on Margaery's face the morning after, the boy had at least managed something slightly more than a rut and a grunt this time around. The sense of doom that had been bearing down on Olenna slowly began to dissipate.