She eats if for no other reason than to keep her baby alive, her stomach growing with each passing day. It's easy to hide under flowing dresses and shifts, but she still does not leave her rooms often for fear of Joffrey's wrath. Sometimes she sits alone, running her hand over her belly and singing softly, making up words to the melodies of songs she heard when she was younger. She sings to her unborn child of Robb and all she knows about Winterfell, of hope and how much their mother and father will love them when they arrive.

Sansa is allowed to visit her every so often, a mercy she is incredibly grateful for. They share stories of their time before the war, of their families and friends.

On this particular evening, however, they are interrupted by a swell of noise and unrest. It starts with a single yell outside her window which turns to several. There's the sound of thundering footsteps and screams, and then the warning bells from the sept begin to ring.

She realizes the day she has been waiting and praying and hoping for has finally come.

Her eyes turn to her friend, and she swallows the lump in her throat. If Robb is here, Joffrey's men will take Sansa captive. They'll hold her hostage and use her for ransom.

"Sansa, hide!" she hisses, standing and practically shoving the other girl under her bed.

"Margaery-"

"Stay here. Wait here until I come back for you," she commands her, raising her eyebrows. "Promise me, Sansa."

The younger girl looks hesitant but nods her head anyway, crawling beneath the bed and into the shadows.

Two men from the Kingsguard burst into her room only seconds later, their breathing ragged, sweat glistening on their foreheads.

"The king gave us orders to get you to a safe place," Ser Mandon tells her, grabbing hold of her arm and swiveling round to exit the way he came.

Ser Meryn joins them, and her hand moves protectively to her stomach as she shoots him a glare. "Who is attacking?" she asks, silently praying that it's Robb. Robb with Stannis.

"We don't know," he replies, "there are-" She gives a shriek as he crumples to the ground beside her, never finishing his sentence.

Her head whips around, and she meets the gaze of a man with a teal sigil emblazoned on his armor who is lowering his bow. He tosses it to the side and reaches for the pommel of his sword to advance on them. Ser Mandon drops her arm and spins on his heel, moving towards the mustached man.

She doesn't hesitate in rushing forward then, lifting her skirts to run down the corridor and away from the Kingsguard and the fighting. She wracks her brain, trying to remember which house had a sigil of a merman holding a trident. Manderly. House Manderly of White Harbor, sworn to House Stark.Her face lights up, and she finally allows herself to smile. Robb. Robb is here.

When she turns the corner, she's met with the sight of several fallen bodies. Her stomach lurches as she sidesteps a pool of blood leaking from head of a Lannister man, his crimson encrusted helmet lying beside him. She bends to loot through his belt, extracting a dagger and carefully slipping it into her pocket.

She hears the soldiers shouting of Renly's Ghost and she knows it must be her brother wearing her late husband's armor, but she doesn't follow the voices, knowing she should find a place to hide.

Before she can make it very far, however, she feels arms encircle her waist and the bulge of something against her backside. "Fuck me, your majesty," she hears, a raspy whisper in her ear. The man's breath is hot on her neck and he reeks of gin, the smell making her dizzy as he laughs. "Come, it's my last night on earth. Let a poor man have his fun before he dies."

"Get off of me," she breathes, elbowing him in the ribs, but he only clutches her tighter as she tries to break free from his hold.

"Things will be easier for you if you don't struggle, your grace," he remarks, his nails digging into her arm.

She stays still for a moment and then attempts to run away from him again as he pulls at her dress. The fabric rips across her stomach and she screams, hoping someone will hear her and come to her aid. All around her are dead bodies, no one to rise up and kill the other man, the man who is holding her wrist and fighting to pin her to the ground and push her skirts up. She kicks and yells and makes to grab the dagger from her pocket, but he's too strong, holding her arms down and hovering over her with a vacant smile on his face. "Please," she begins to beg, tears falling from her eyes, "please don't do this-"

He shoves his other hand into his breeches, and she closes her eyes, still trying with all her might to knock him off of her.

She hears the wiz of an arrow and feels the sudden weight of the man collapsing on her. For a few seconds she contemplates just staying there, pretending she's dead until the battle is over, but then she thinks she could be trampled or hurt if she doesn't run. She rolls out from under the corpse and stands, her breathing shallow as she searches for the person who saved her.

Her eyes fall on him a ways down the corridor, his distinctive red curls, his blue eyes, his mouth ajar when he sees her. Her bottom lip trembles, and she isn't sure if she should let herself believe it's him. His arm goes limp, his bow dropping at his side as he stands there, frozen.

There are cries of more men rushing down the side hallway towards him, but he still doesn't look away from her. His gaze falls on her ripped dress, the tear revealing the small swell of her belly.

"Yours,"she mouths distinctively to him, and she watches a sort of fire overtake him as a man advances on him and he draws his sword, cutting through him to get to her.

Three men fall under his blade as he rushes forward, the castle going silent once more when he reaches her.

He pulls her into a bone-crushing hug, his hands bunching at the fabric on her back. She lets out a small gasp, seizing up and then relaxing as her mind finally processes that he's real. She wraps her arms around him tightly before pulling back slightly to kiss him, her mouth opening under his.

He responds with enthusiasm, drawing her so close that her back arches under his touch as he nearly lifts her off her feet. She laughs into his mouth and he does the same as he pulls back, his nose nuzzling into her cheek.

"The men, they're dropping, kneeling-" he whispers.

"My father's men. I told them to yield should you come. And you did. You did, Robb."

"I did." It seems to be the only thing he can say, his eyes filling with tears as they roam over her stomach.

"I did not let him touch me, I promise," she says. "I could think only of you. I love you. I-"

He does not let her finish as he presses his lips to hers again, and she stands on tiptoe to deepen their kiss. "I love you," he breathes as he pulls away.

She does not know why his eyes widen then, why in one moment he is the happiest she's ever seen him and the next his expression grows fierce as his hands go to his belt… not until she feels steel at her stomach and an arm wrench her back.

"Surrender or I'll gut the bitch and kill your child as well," Joffrey hisses, his fingers pressing into her arm. Robb's eyes are filled with fury, his knuckles growing white as he clutches the hilt of his sword, but he does not advance.

"Thought you could fool me?" the king asks her, his voice cracking, "I know everything now… how you tricked me into thinking I bedded you by getting me drunk, how you're carrying that traitor's bastard." Robb leans forward, and she feels the sharp blade of Joffrey's sword and warm blood trickle down her belly where it cuts at her skin. She lets out a small whimper, terrified that he will harm her unborn baby.

"Make one move, a single move, and I'll do it. And then I'll kill you too," Joffrey spits, tightening his grip on her as Robb holds his hands up in cautious surrender. She slowly slips a shaking hand into her pocket, her fingers running over the wooden handle of the dagger while her captor is distracted.

"Bow to me," Joffrey demands, letting out a small laugh and watching on in delight as his enemy takes to the knee. "Look at your king now," he taunts her. "Pathetic. I bet his father is turning in his grave right now. I never thought I'd have the pleasure of taking the lives of two Sta-" He is cut off as she swiftly pulls the dagger from its hiding place and jams it into him, twisting the blade into his chest. He keels over in pain, losing his hold on her, and she uses the opportunity to break from him, blood seeping over her fingers as she withdraws her hand. He lets out a gasping breath, wheezing once or twice before falling to the ground, red froth spilling forth from his mouth.

Her jaw trembles as she steps back, dropping the dagger and letting out a choked sob. Joffrey goes still, his wide eyes open and staring and lifeless. She dissolves into tears then, sinking to her knees and covering her face with her hands, not caring about the blood on her fingers.

Soon she feels strong arms wrap around her, and she slips her own arms around Robb, letting herself cry.

"It's over, my love," he murmurs, kissing her cheek.

It is over.

The Lannister survivors are taken captive, and Stannis assumes his right to the throne. She watches Sansa and Robb reunite, tears streaming from the former's eyes as she thanks her brother for saving her. She finds Garlan alive and well, and she peppers his weary face with kisses, making him smile again.

There is little festivity that night, most everyone wishing to rest as a ways of celebration. She takes her supper with Robb and Sansa in her solar. Her friend eventually retires to bed, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in a long while, and she is left alone with Robb.

"Stay here?" she asks quietly, speaking again so that he cannot protest, even if he wants to. "Grey Wind can guard our door. And besides that, I don't care if people talk, if people know I spent the night with you."

"You cannot wait until we are married?" Robb teases, bringing a hand up to cup her face.

"Days and months are confused easily in times of war," she says, "I do not think it will matter much if this baby is born six or seven moons after we are wed."

He nods his head, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

They undress and crawl into bed, and being with him a second time is even better than the first, nothing impetuous or melancholy between them this time. He's gentle and slow and touches her, making her cry out his name, making her body tremble under his. She loves the noises that spill from his mouth, loves how he fills her, loves how he lingers inside of her for a few moments when they are finished.

After, he rests his head on her breast and splays his fingers across her swollen stomach.

"Margaery…" His voice is a soft whisper against her skin, and she can feel his lips turn up into a smile.

"Yes, sweetheart?" she answers, playing with his curls before gently massaging his scalp.

"We made a baby together. I'm to be a father… and husband. And you're to be a mother and my wife," he murmurs as if he can scarcely believe it, and her heart beats faster at his words.

She gives a small laugh, kissing the top of his head. "You should get some sleep, my love," she suggests, but all he does is nestle closer to her.

"I could go the rest of my years without sleep if it meant being this close to you always." He pulls back to look her in the eyes, and his gaze is so intense that her own eyes fill with tears.

She leans in to capture his lips again, overwhelmed by his love. It all still feels like a dream to her; nothing has quite set in. The war is over, she's in the arms of the man she loves, they are to go reclaim Winterfell together and start a family.She continues to remind herself of these things.

He falls asleep with his face buried in her neck and his arms around her, one of his hands still resting on her stomach. She stays awake long enough to hear the soft, calming sound of his breathing, and she presses a kiss to his temple before she drifts off.