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King's Landing had not truly suited Daenerys when she was half-welcome there, and it suited her even less in the time that had followed Ned Stark's execution. He had been her only protector (and perhaps a grudging one at that) and his guardianship of her the only thing keeping her from being turned fully into the pawn she so dreaded being. It wasn't, she supposed, quite so horrible as the situation poor Sansa found herself in: she had gone through as many horrible things as balanced out the lovely ones she'd been promised when her family was still in the Baratheons' and Lannisters' good graces. She had never been in anyone's good graces, she had been in part a prisoner from the start, now the keys had just been given to a different, admittedly crueler, jailer.

It had always been hers to be polite and demure and apologetic, prove that her blood did not define her loyalty. It had always been hers to pretend where that loyalty did lie (and she had never truly been bothered by the Starks, they had always been, if not warm, then decent to her, but the withering glances she got at court -- to say nothing of the wild-eyed lustful ones -- were not a surprise either, and were not so hard to deflect). She had always been treated with suspicion, she had always been moved around. The talk nowadays was of marrying her off to a lord of the Lannisters' choosing, someone true to them who would temper any mild rebellious instincts that may appear (Lord Eddard had always been wary of allowing this, but now he could not stop it).

Until she was played, though, she stayed at court with the others. She wasn't often allowed to be properly alone, and she wasn't often allowed to keep private company with Sansa (who knew what they, daughters of a traitor and a madman, would dream up if unsupervised). She wasn't pampered (she was never pampered) but she wasn't kept uncomfortably. She also wasn't ignorant, though she was good at playing that up. As such, she knew it was only a matter of time before she received an invitation to be entertained by the new queen-to-be, the lithe and beautiful Rose of Highgarden.

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"Sweet" was not a word most people used to describe Margaery, but when Daenerys said it she absolutely believed her.

Somehow the touch on her legs made her try to still for Daenerys, which was difficult considering that she was touching and tasting all the perfect spots on her body. Margaery moaned her name again and then bit her lip to quiet herself.

She wasn't afraid of being loud, just afraid of how terribly good it was and how it could possibly be far more intense than she had originally planned...

Oh, Daenerys meant it -- the other woman was sweet, in her read, sweet to taste and sweet in behavior and sweet to look on and -- and all of it, and she'd be quick to swear this over and over again.

But she could sense Margaery's momentary hesitance, and so she lifted her head just slightly and whispered, "Is everything all right?"

After all, that was the concern.

"Gods, yes, everything is wonderful, don't stop, please, Danaerys, please..."

And Margaery just didn't beg for anything, not typically, but seven hells, she'd beg for Daenerys and her mouth and hands and yes, she thinks, yes anything, yes please, yes in my bed, yes will you stay?

Could she somehow get our of marrying Joffrey and stay with Daenerys instead? Bring her home to Highgarden, where their relationship would not seem as strange as it would here? Would Daenerys even wish it?

Daenerys took a deep breath, then, nosed against Margaery's thigh for just a moment before moving back in, murmuring pleased nonsense as she kissed and licked at Margaery's center.

And gods, how the entire rest of the world seemed to disappear when she was tangled up with Margaery like this. How peaceful she felt, how pleased and pleasing she felt in turn. She'd never jump to thinking this was any more than a brief reprieve (she was too far down the path to think that way) but if it was suggested, she would jump to letting it be fulfilled as best she could manage.

Whatever noises she made only made Maergaery feel better, too. She finally shut her eyes and thoughts to the rest of the world and just allowed herself to feel, to bask in the glow of Daenerys, and soon enough Margery felt the warmth spread throughout her until she wasn't quiet any longer.

Once she had a more clear head, she might ask Daenerys anyway...

Right at this moment, though, she couldn't think. She only felt, moved, moaned, grabbed the silvery hair within reach and gasped out her name...

Daenerys' sole focus was bringing Margaery pleasure, making her feel as nice as possible -- this intriguing woman, half a stranger to her before this day, now her very first priority. (Maybe she was throwing her loyalty about too casually, but she'd had nowhere to throw it at all for some time.)

She whimpered when Margaery's hands found her hair, tugged against her for the extra bit of force as she kept at it, tracing shapes against Margaery's center with her tongue.

"Please," she whispered.

"Oh gods."

And the whispered "please" was all that was needed t send Margaery over the edge, her fingers tightening into the silvery strands of hair as Daenerys worked magic with her tongue somehow. Margaery tried not to hurt Daenerys but her hips lifted up, trying to get closer to the sweet wetness, the softness/hardness against her center, and she cried out Daenerys' name as her legs shook. Her mind went blank as she tried to come back to her body and her being but she doubted it worked.

She was lost to this beautiful woman, and glad of it.

[hi sorry I have been on a family vacation and on top of not having much time to tag I just... cannot bring myself to write smut tags when I'm sharing a hotel room with my parents]

Daenerys was so caught up in the moment that she had to remind herself to take a breath, to loosen her grip on Margaery's legs, to pull back just enough.

Everything about this felt perfect to her, and she was suddenly too deathly afraid to lose that that all she could manage to say was, "All right?"

"Mmmmmmm......."

It took her a moment to recover, and then she gave a half-smirk, very lazy and pleased smile to Daenerys.

"Oh yes. It's perfect. You are perfect." Margaery moved to get closer to Daenerys and sit upright, pulling her tighter until their lips touched and she could taste herself on her mouth.

Daenerys flinched ever-so-slightly at that word, murmuring, "I'm not, really." Perfection was for stories, not for lost daughters of deposed royals with too-blonde hair and too-wide eyes and eerie countenances.

But it was meant as a compliment, and she understood that, so after a moment she nuzzled at Margaery's throat and added, "Thank you, though."

Frowning, Margaery stroked Daenerys' hair. Why would that word give her such a strange reaction. She was determined to get to the bottom of it, so she yanked on her hair and raised an eyebrow at her, her lips a half-smirk.

It was one of her infamous "looks", but she meant it this time.

"Now, you'll tell me exactly why I cannot compliment you so if I choose to." It wasn't a question.

Daenerys shrugged slightly, tensing and trying anything to get back to relaxing. Maybe that was just something that people told their lovers, the sort of compliment that got bandied about, but she'd spent too long reminding herself of her flaws to believe it.

"I appreciate your saying it," she finally managed. "I just find it difficult to see myself so, I suppose."

She frowned, but actually liked this feeling of being able to speak so openly with Daenerys. She let her head rest on her hand and watched her, chewing on her lip as she struggled to find the right words to comfort. (Comforting was not something she excelled at....)

"Could... could you explain to me why you believe that to be so?"

Openness was not, in general, something that had been too much a hallmark of Daenerys' life -- she'd been able to talk to Jon, and occasionally shallower secrets had been heard by Sansa (nothing this intimate, nothing this personal, of course) over time, but this was a whole different matter.

So finally, very quietly, leaning into Margaery how she could, she attempted, "All my life, I've known what -- what it was I came from, and the ways that it made me somehow wrong or different. Even if nobody said it I'd have known."

"I don't understand... how can you be "wrong"? How can you think this?"

Margaery was truly puzzled. There were several people she knew that she would call "wrong" (Joffrey being one of them) but Daenerys had never been one of those...

"Do you mean, this? Us? Being together, being intimate?"

Immediately, vehemently, she shook her head. "It's nothing to do with you!" she exclaimed, frowning. "I -- I don't know what others would say if they knew we'd been intimate, we're intimate, and I don't care."

That was true, in the abstract sense. That she'd been intimate with the future queen of the realm was perhaps not something she wanted known, but while she knew many considered lying with someone of one's own sex a sin, theirs were irrelevant opinions to her.

But that reassurance given, she had to turn to the other matter. "It's -- my family, they'd fallen out of fashion, as it were," she murmured. "Out of their minds, to hear tell. There's always someone looking at me wondering if I'm one of the mad ones. Always growing up there was someone looking at me thinking I didn't really belong there."

"No."

She smiled at Daenerys and pulled her closer. "You are not mad. I do not care what others think; I could not want you if you were...." Then she thought about what was actually said. Her family, she'd mentioned.

"I want you. I... like you...." She blushed at that. "You belong here, or perhaps Highgarden if you wish to leave. But you belong with me."

If only they could belong together on the throne....

Despite herself, Daenerys turned and nuzzled into Margaery's neck as those words were spoken. She'd essentially been asking to hear such things, but it didn't mean they were any less welcome.

The idea that Margaery felt so strongly about her already was immensely flattering, too; she herself felt an inexplicable bond with the other girl, but those were a dangerous game to play, she knew all too well. So it took her some time to find the words to respond.

"I've spent my entire time in King's Landing wishing to leave," she murmured. "Now, I don't know that it matters where I am, long as I have..." A sheepish smile, a nod Margaery's way.

"... me?"

She finished the sentence, on a shy and hopeful note which was unlike her. Margaery tended to form strong bonds with people in a short amount of time (Sansa for example), and though people assumed it was because of her desire for the throne it was also for other reasons.

Ones she usually kept private.

"I would be honored if you were with me, Daenerys. However you chose to be." She didn't wish to force the issue; it should be her choice, after all.

Daenerys nodded shyly. It seemed an impulsive decision to make, but at this stage in her life, it seemed to be either impulsive decisions or none at all. So -- she was trusting her instinct, or some such.

"I'm not sure how would be the wisest, exactly," she admitted, "but I would try if you would." Try what, it wasn't entirely clear, but try.

Margaery mulled over options. She would need to speak with her grandmother for certain, but she knew what she would say.

Marry Joffrey and keep Daenerys with her, much in the way that everything had happened with Loras and Renley. She did not wish that for Daenerys -- it felt too degrading.

She interlocked her fingers with hers and squeezed them tightly. "I don't either," she admitted, "at least not an idea that would be... a happy one for you." She could break off the engagement and go home to Highgarden with Daenerys. She could find a suitable person for Daenerys to marry (her brother was actually a good choice to keep both their families together). Or she could stay here, keeping Daenerys here as well.

"I don't like hiding you."

Degrading, perhaps, but no worse than anything else she had endured (which in turn was not -- not so horrible as what had happened to Sansa, but hardly a pleasant experience). Margaery was doubtless a comfort, the sort she had never known without knowing it would end. That alone was worth everything else.

She smiled as Margaery joined their hands, then again at that comment.

"In one way or another, I've been hidden all of my life," she pointed out. "At least with you, I would be happy about it."

Margaery kissed her lightly for that comment and thought over the options again.

"You belong on the throne."

It wasn't an option, not really - not yet, at least -- and she stroked the silvery-strands of hair as she gave one of the options to Daenerys, wanting her opinion.

"You could stay here, with me. I could keep you near me... I don't need to be in Joffrey's chambers." And besides, he might not live that long, not with the way her grandmother spoke of him.

Daenerys sighed lightly. Her family had sat the throne for so long, and she couldn't even imagine doing. She could barely, as Margaery was seeing, imagine being in a proud and true relationship with someone. But as with things regarding the latter, she understood what Margaery meant by the former. The intention was new, but she appreciated it.

"I could," she mused. "I assure you I'm good at being discreet." Nobody at Winterfell had so much as suspected her and Jon, to her knowledge, or at least nobody of consequence (there were workmen and the like who had speculated about her and Jon, but they'd speculated about her and Robb or her and Theon just as readily, merely by virtue of her being available and female). She'd kept that secret because she had to, and she could keep this one as well.

There was incentive to, doubtlessly. It ensured her a happier life than she might otherwise have led, and a longer one, perhaps. She was a bit taken aback that Margaery wanted to do this for her so quickly, but she had no interest in arguing.

The way in which Daenerys answered Margaery made her rethink the offer. Perhaps she was insulted by it...?

"If you do not wish to, please tell me now. I would rather the truth of the situation than a pretty lie, dressed up with smiles to make me feel at ease."

It wasn't every day that she made an offer like this, but then again it wasn't every day that Margaery led with her heart instead of her head.

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