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[versigny]

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[versigny]

[ there are some boyish aspects to Arthur that makes Margaery want to roll her eyes with exasperated amusement; his scandalized behavior, for example, over nothing more than a kiss that he's surely—most probably—already experienced, or the way he immediately steps closer as if a lack of distance determines courage. but there's nothing childlike about his physicality, or his title.

she doesn't step back to accommodate his movement, which means she has to crane her neck a little more to maintain eye contact. ]

Why is that? Because you plan to reject me, my prince? I have survived all your rejections thus far.

[ stories of his temper were amongst the first she heard about Prince Arthur of Camelot, but she's been in the company of princes who take their anger out on women, and the one standing in front of her doesn't seem to be the sort—no matter how much he'd like to intimidate her into believing it.

while her expression remains the same, her stance softens; her shoulders lowering as her hands clasp together in front of her. ]

Will you continue to avoid me until we're married? Or until some months have passed and the kingdom waits eagerly for the news of an heir? What is it you hope to achieve by shutting me out so thoroughly, my lord?

[sulk]

( she is everything he is supposed to want—fierce, politically astute, brave. the perfect future queen in his father's eyes. the memory of a drunken, heated argument surfaces, unbidden: his own audacious suggestion that the king marry her himself. the resounding slap by his father that followed had echoed long after he'd fled the castle for a week, only returning when a crisis with ogres demanded it.

he has known his fair share of warm beds and willing partners. he has known women, sneaking away to the modest quarters he keeps on the city's outskirts, a place where he can shed his title and its burdens. his refusal now has nothing to do with a lack of desire; he is painfully aware of her beauty. it is a purely stubborn, boyish rebellion—a last-ditch effort to shove her away so forcefully that she leaves, making her the one to break the union his father engineered. )

Yes, perhaps that's exactly what I'll do. ( he declares, the words a weapon. ) But before that, I'll give you every reason to leave Camelot behind. I have absolutely no desire to let my father dictate my future.

( the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's a catastrophic error. there it is. the admission. he has revealed that his cruelty is not personal, but born entirely from his own petty war with the king. he should have lied. he should have sneered that she wasn't attractive enough, not good enough for camelot's throne. instead, he has shown her his only vulnerable spot. he steps back, his hand lifting and then squeezing shut into a white-knuckled fist of pure frustration. )

[versigny]

[ whatever she's been expecting, it's not this. 

her eyes narrow fractionally, Margaery inverting her surprise and digesting this sudden mine of information as quickly as she can without betraying her own reaction and thoughts. if Arthur's expecting her to be smug, he'll be sorely disappointed; all hint of mischief has disappeared and only a thoughtful frown remains.

this has just become a bit more complicated. familial relations is perhaps the one aspect that proves to be the most obstinate obstacle because of how profoundly foundational it is. ]

You do realize that in allowing yourself to respond to him in such a way, you're still allowing him to dictate your future, don't you?

[ her eyes are as soft as her voice as she asks; responding vehemently against a decision simply for the sake of it means his choices are still chained to his father's. there is no real difference, except perhaps more strife and struggle. ]

[sulk]

( a bitter truth settles in his chest. she's right. in his rebellion, he is still dancing to his father's tune. if margaery leaves, uther would simply produce another noble daughter, and another, until one sticks. she isn't the first, just the first who hasn't flinched at his coldness, the first whose clever eyes holds a spark that, despite himself, he finds intriguing. and his pride, that ever-present chain, keeps him from admitting it.

the frustration turns his thoughts outward, toward the woman who refuses to be a pawn in uther's game, yet stands here playing her part with infuriating grace. )

You speak of my chains. ( he says, his voice losing some of its practiced ice, replaced by a raw curiosity. ) But what of yours? Do you truly wish to marry a stranger who treats you with disdain? Why agree to this? Do you believe so fervently in uniting two kingdoms for power and riches?

( it is the first time he has bothered to ask, the first time he has looked past his own predicament to consider the person standing in it with him. )

[versigny]

[ finally, some opportunity for conversation—perhaps a touch too personal for Margaery's liking, but after Arthur's unintended honesty, she's more inclined to be vulnerable as well. ]

Marriage is in my future, whether I desire it or not. I've known this for a very long time, which is why I've fully prepared myself for a union that will earn me no personal happiness. The most I can dream of is having children who'll love me as I love them, and for the betterment of any land or kingdom my future husband will rule.

[ here, her expression becomes a lot more raw than what she usually presents in court, finally revealing some of the dissatisfaction of a woman who may have it all on the surface, but is simply wearing her chains well. ]

I won't lie to you. I want to be queen. But not for solely self-serving purposes. There would be nothing of merit to me if I could not inspire love and loyalty and rightful action in our people. [ more quietly, ] Even if I cannot inspire it in you.

[ vulnerability is a hefty thing to carry, even to share, which is why Margaery is soon sealing it back up, replacing her own obvious frustration with another smooth smile. ]

But if you truly do not wish to marry me, and fully intend to battle with your father for as long as he'll allow, then I will request to leave. The last thing I desire is to earn your ire for a lifetime, Your Majesty. However, [ she steps in closer, gaze searching, ] if you think you could find it in your heart to see me not as your enemy, but a potential partner in hardships you will have to endure, then I'll stay. Is that agreeable?