Margaery Tyrell (queen_consort) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-11-20 18:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: chicago 1928, character: margaery tyrell, character: thor odinson |
Who: Queen Margaery and Thor
What: Demonstrations of power.
Where: Her room, the kitchen, and around Chicago
When: First thing, Day one morning
Rating: Medium/Low
Thor had resolved to just not ask questions. He woke up that morning and everything seemed to be in sepia tones and suits he'd never seen before. He was back to normal for the most part, dressed to the nines with a little extra. His hair had been slicked back, his eye patch in place and a hat perched atop his head.
His jacket was a tailored to fit, a little too well. It pinched in uncomfortable places as the material stretched over his muscle. The source of the problem was underneath, a holster and a pistol.
Protector of some sort? He wondered, adjusting the material to make some sense of it. He much preferred armor.
He sent a quick message to what friends he made, in all caps. Just how one would expect Thor to text a person. He talked like he sent text messages. Scanning over the PDA, he came across Margaery again. Someone was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, it appeared Steve had a handle on it. Just to be sure, the god of thunder made his way down to the appropriate floor to check on the Queen.
He stopped in front of her door, realizing he had nothing to offer as was etiquette in his realm. He wasn't calling on her, but a gift for the Queen was always customary.
Looking down at his suit, he noticed the flower in his lapel. That would do. He gave a knock, not his usual pounding but inquiring if she was actually in her room. She didn't seem to leave without an escort.
Under normal circumstances, Margaery would have been vividly annoyed at the disappearance of all her clothing the morning after the Clock Chimed, had she not already been told it was apparently a frequent occurrence to those trapped inside the hotel. As it was, she was mildly annoyed, and only because her crown was also missing, and all that replaced it required quite a bit of creative thinking. Things such as panties, garters, and stockings were completely unfamiliar to her until that moment, but considering the alternative was the possibility of embarrassment was not an option, she took her time to figure out the entire puzzle.
In the end, she was studying herself in the mirror in the sleek, silk affair, contemplating what possible manner the local women wore their hair when her visitor arrived. Good timing, as well- her stomach was complaining of the late hour without a meal.
The vision on the other side of door, however, was… certainly not what she was expecting- not that Margaery knew what to expect to begin with, given the last several days. At the last second, she tempered her reaction of surprise, reigning it in to only brightly raised eyebrows; the face, she recognized- vaguely- not one she had seen without the tiny device currently on her bed table. The style of dress- the dark cut of the coat and the hat especially- had a way of being both strange and intriguing.
She certainly didn’t see anything she didn’t like. That’s when the memory struck, and her mouth pulled deep into one apple cheek.
“Thor- god of thunder, who endured the plight of women with such dignity,” she greeted, all this after only barely a second, though on the next, her tilted smile deflated into true- however shallow- concern. Her eyes focused on the piece of material that covered one of his. “...have you been injured?”
"Ah, the eye. You need not concern yourself, m'lady. Tis only a scratch," a scratch indeed. Thor preferred to forget about it until he was walking into a corner he didn't see. He took the time to appreciate the beauty in front of him, a subtle scan before he offered the flower. "Forgive my interruption at this hour, I wanted to make sure you had an escort for the day. As a King to a Queen, I felt I had a duty of sorts. It is no trouble at all."
He winked that one eye at her, and when paired with that charming smile, it wasn't so bad. There was a quick bow to the woman in grey silk, "I offer my services, my arm, and good drink if we can find any. The place appears dry."
That was no good. He would have to do without his morning cup of wine. "Unless you would dine first, I would see you to the kitchen." His arm went out to her and he stooped just so she didn’t have to reach for him the entire way.
Less observant women may have missed such practiced gentility as it converged with the male gaze, but Margaery had been raised to seek it out since she was barely knee-high. The fact that he addressed himself as both god and King added extra keen filters to the lenses with which she judged him. The concern in her eyes all but melted away, the last of it becoming curiosity as to how said scratch came to be, as she accepted his sweet-smelling favor with purposely delicate fingers.
“Terribly kind of you,” she replied, her smile returning as she stepped back from him, just long enough to see herself in the mirror. “I’m afraid my knees would weaken had I waited any longer.” Twisting her curls back loosely, and anchoring it with the flower. she added with just the right amount of mischief to shadow a double meaning.
She joined him in the hall only a few heartbeats, her hand slipped under his elbow, wearing the same smile despite her eyes being sharp, trying to determine what strange things might befall them.
“The aesthetic has certainly changed,” she observed. “-I think I prefer it…”
“It was no trouble,” If Thor caught a double meaning, he didn’t let on. He waited for her to join him, turning his back so she could put the finishing touches on her costume.
“Your personal device?” he asked, making sure she had a way back into her safe haven once back from their trip to the kitchen.
Thor was just thankful he was no longer in that satin lavender dress with his hair caught under a door. What a welcome, he thought, looking down at the young woman at his side. At least he remember it was his good side this time, “lacking color, don’t you think? At least the decor isn’t out to grab you.”
“There’s definitely that.” To not be harmlessly accosted by shrieking, laughing phantoms or hellish monsters on flying machines was a considerable improvement. The hallway and stairwell of the hotel were calm, quiet, and the dim, yellow haze from the little embers caught in wire and glass bulbs reminded of gendle candle flame. Margaery much preferred the first two hours of this change more than the entire six days she’d been here previous.
Of course, that didn’t mean she was letting her guard down. Thor’s presence helped.
“It is a bit muted, though-” she agreed. “Not that much could compare to the flowered walls of my home, but it’s…tolerable.” Craning a look up at him, the strange hat briefly distracted her from his face.
“I’m curious about your home? Tell me of it…”
“Apologies, the flying hellish monsters were courtesy of my brother,” broke open a dimension, all that. It wasn’t totally his fault here but Thor mentioned it anyway. He admittedly missed his pranks after dealing with the horrors of last week.
He thought about his home when she asked, trying to put into words what was now gone and out of reach. His people were home now, “banquet halls stretching fields, community meals, we honored our bravest and best. A city of gold, marble and tradition. There were many statues of heroes. Our army kept the peace, though we had been there to conquer those lands. My father sat atop the throne, he was-” a liar, “fair and just.”
“We are the Aesir, the people of Midgard called us gods. We were their protectors as we were the other realms.”
He paused, looking down at her, “My sister recently destroyed all of this. My father is gone. Our people are nomads now and if Midgard allows it, we would make a new Asgard. We would protect the people. I was only recently crowned king,” something he didn’t want, but the alternative was frightening.
“I am the God of Thunder, a conduit of that nature.”
He was still learning to control this without the help of Mjolnir. Thor smiled down at the woman on his arm as they walked, “and of your home, your highness?”
Margaery watched him as they descended the stairs, particularly as he described the ill that had befallen his people- however strange the circumstances, things that did not entirely make sense to her, but the context was still within reach. She wasn’t ready to understand how his brother had been involved with the creatures that attacked her and the iron captain; that was for later. When they knew each other better.
The only way she’d been able to truly compartmentalize this place and the happenings within was to think of it all as she had originally thought- a dream that sometimes turned nightmare, except shared by other dreamers. Thor’s reality was different from her own, as was Steve, and his friend Bucky, as King Eliot- but all this around them was just as real as everything they had been taken from.
It had saved her sanity, that’s for certain.
“If I share with you in vivid detail,” she began with a smile specifically tailored for him, hopeful and a little bit enamoured. “-will you promise to show me that nature?
“Guests would not thank me for a full demonstration, perhaps if we were to venture out of the hotel,” he offered, he wanted to hear more of her home. Everyone had a story here worth telling. He held up a hand for her to see, summoning a bit of lightning between his fingers.
It crackled in the air, extending from his fingertips. His eye glowed. It was only a taste, nowhere near his full potential.
He suspected she had a smile for every man she came across, but he could bend his knee to the queen. She was as lovely as she was was smart. When they arrived at the kitchen, he brought her to a table of her own, letting go of her arm to pull out her chair, “what can I get for you?”
Thor was no chef, he left meat out in the sun for weeks- letting it cure slowly. His idea of cooking was calling for a servant or taking a pop tart out of its foil. “Have you had the pleasure of a pop tart? A small pastry you add to the toaster, done in moments. I believe they come in strawberry flavor.”
Margaery hadn’t bothered keeping the surprise -and the flash of intrigue- from her face; it washed with the white light that sparked from his fingers and beamed from his eye like dawn itself. She was suitably impressed, and felt no need to withhold the reaction from him. If that was a small taste of his power, she was now extremely curious for the ‘full demonstration’.
In the meantime, she was delighted to hold up her end of the bargain over a shared meal, even more so when it became clear that he was tending to her himself.
“Can’t say I’ve ever known the pleasure,” she told him from the seat where he’d left her, one delicate brow twitched higher than the other, as if pulling the corner of her lips in the same direction. There was an element of childish excitement, she could sense in him- certainly buried beneath the weight of life and the responsibilities of a protector, a ruler, and a man. She wanted to encourage it. As he set to the task of breakfast, she began by fulfilling her recent promise.
“Like you, I wasn’t home at the time when this place abducted me,” she began with a soft sigh in her tone, but she’d promised him detail- detail he would have.
“-a queen lives where her throne sits, but King’s Landing was never my home. I was born in Highgarden- the white city that protected my House since the First Men. It is surrounded by three rings of white stone whose walls increase in height to the center. Between the outer and middle walls is a thick briar labyrinth which serves to entertain as well as slow any invaders- I could run its length backwards and blindfolded…” The fondness in her voice was the type reserved for the telling of good dreams; pleasant to think about, but always out of reach.
“The oldest towers, squat and square, date from the Age of Heroes. Newer towers are tall and slender as trees; fortifications dating from after the Andal invasion. Within its walls are peach and fireplum groves, fountains, and courtyards. The castle's godswood contains three weirwoods known as the Three Singers, who comfort soldiers and lull children in their gentle watch. The palatial keep is decorated with statues and colonnades- art and color is everywhere, and everything is covered in ivy, grapes, or climbing roses. Highgarden is always filled with flowers, singers, pipers, fiddlers and harpers. The stables have a fine selection of horseflesh, and there are pleasure boats to sail along the Mander. There are fields of golden roses that stretch as far as the eye can see… When I close my eyes, that is what I see as home, even before I married the king.” Which king, she did not specify. They were all the same to her, different only in how dangerous they could potentially be. Joffrey was undoubtedly the worst, with his young brother on the opposite side of that spectrum- she actually liked Tommen. Those details were for another time.
“Sounds like the ideal place,” he commented, “we had our own orchards. They belonged to the lady Idunn.” How did one describe paradise? “The rainbow bridge connected us to each of the realms, where Heimdall kept watch. It was means of Transport at the speed of light. The Valkyries kept watch for many years, though their numbers dwindled. An army of women, a force to be reckoned with. I know of one.”
He was busy preparing breakfast as he recalled his Asgard, he also listened in kind to her majesty. “What of magic?” he asked, magic and science were one in the same where he came from. Though sorceresses and magic users were frowned upon. They relied on it, yet valued strength.
He returned with breakfast, pop tarts laid out on a gilded plate in some appealing manner. There various fruits and two glasses of what looked like wine, but he couldn’t seem to find anything of the sort. It was grape juice. He worried there may not have been any in the hotel if he couldn’t find it here.
Ripe strawberries, sliced golden apples and some kind of cheese and bread. It was nearly similar to what he would have back on Asgard. “The apples are of my realm. They will keep you young for as long as you eat them. They’re safe for human consumption.”
For a king’s personal effort, the spread looked rather inviting, even the pastries she assumed were the ‘pop tarts’ he’d mentioned earlier, which smelled strange, but not unpleasant. Margaery thanked him with another smile, one that hinted of teeth, before sinking them first into a slice of apple plucked from the golden plate. Whether she truly believed they ‘kept you young’ as Thor claimed didn’t matter, so long as she showed herself appreciative- which she was. They certainly tasted splendid, in either case.
“Magic in my realm is little more than legend and superstition,” she admitted in reply to his question. “Real to those who need their gods to be more than just the egos of powerful men passed through the generations.” This was the closest glimpse of her true thoughts and ideals she’d yet allowed him to see- these were dangerous things for a woman to have, especially a woman in power.
Thor gave a nod, though he only partially understood what she was saying. “Aye, we rely on it mostly for healing, there are those like my brother who would use it to trick others. It’s virtually undetectable unless you’ve been trained to see through the charms.”
He gave no illusion as to who he was. He wore everything on the outside. No secrets. What you saw was what you got. Probably not the best quality in a King, but he never claimed he was a good one.
He inhaled one of the toaster pastries, washing it down with the non-alcoholic wine. It was terrible, if the look on his face was any indication. He stripped off his jacket, draping it over the chair before he leaned forward onto the table. He clasped his hands in front of him, “I was taken from my people when they needed me most.”
The air of conversation had shifted from rose colored memories to something more somber, and though her smile fell, to Margaery, that was just fine. While she encouraged the side of him that smiled crooked and easy, seeing the weary ruler was equally important. Men sometimes tended to hide these truths more readily with women, thinking them too delicate- that he revealed them to her showed a level of respect she was glad to see.
“I do not believe a man like you would have himself distracted from such a dire truth, so I’ll not bother with sweet, ignorant words,” she told him gently, though she did lay her palm over his branch-thick wrist- comfort through contact. “You can throw flowers in a privy, but then all you have is rose-smelling shit.” -and a little bit of dry humor.
“I can offer solidarity in suffering, however… It is my belief that many hundreds of my subjects were set to be slaughtered- myself and my brother included- only minutes after I arrived here,” she told him plainly, nothing but sharp determination laced with fear in her eyes. “I can only endure the thought by believing this place is a waking dream for us all- that our lives remain fixed and waiting for us to return.”
Thor felt an overwhelming sense of protection toward the woman on the other side of the table. She could no doubt care for herself, but to be in fear of your own death when you returned? His people had a fighting chance.
His hand found its way over hers, offering comfort where he could. “You’ll be safe here, my lady. You have my word. It seems we are to be tested here, but you may call upon me at any hour should you need my assistance.”
“Are you trained in weaponry?” Everyone is Asgard could pick up a sword. Unfortunately, they’d been attacked before they could take up arms.
Though she didn’t say it, or even allow the thought to glimmer through her eyes, Margaery would not hold him to the promise of her safety, not when she’d already seen what the hotel could do. This place was limitless; god or not, he could not protect her from everything. However, Margaery rewarded him with a fragile smile; she accepted the offer for what it was beneath- a show of effort. It was certainly better than not having him to call on.
“I’m afraid I’ve barely even touched any weaponry,” she confessed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before affectionately withdrawing to sip from her overly-sweet juice. “It has always fascinated me, though…” the queen added, letting her glass linger on her bottom lip just a heartbeat or two longer than necessary.
Thor went back to his own cup, downing the contents in a matter of moments. He made to toss the cup on the floor, thinking better of it when he remembered what Jane has once told him. This was not his home and he was not in a tavern.
“I’m unsure of how to use this particular piece, but a sword I can handle,” his hammer. Thor was still pining after Mjolnir. He lifted his jacket to show her the pistol in its holster, “I suppose you could always throw it at someone and inflict damage.” If he was the one throwing it.
“We’ll have to find you a sword! Get you working on that arm so you may defend yourself when your time to go home comes around.”
He smiled then, reaching for another pop tart. When he had the option, it would always be pop tarts.
Mild surprise popped up her eyebrows over an even milder smile, and the slightest curious tilt to her head. The idea was most…irregular, having only heard of women warriors through rumor and legend, with only one example to brag of; he had mentioned a female army from his realm, so the concept was obviously familiar to him. She had to admit it was intriguing.
“And you would be my mentor?” she asked warmly, setting the glass down in order to pinch a bite-sized bit of her ‘pop tart’ off with her fingers. “My ‘guiding hand’?”
Honestly, Thor couldn’t remember when last he trained someone. He could be a little rough, but had learned to hold back some of that strength around his human companions. “If you’ll have me, your majesty.”
“Is there no one to look up to in your realm?” Perhaps it just wasn’t done. The thought saddened him greatly. He would trust his life to Diana or Lady Sif were she here. He’d had his ass handed to him on numerous occasions and all by women.
“In terms of a woman warrior?” she asked for clarification, though he needn’t answer with words; she read it on his face easily enough, and responded with a high-browed look and lips pressed together. “There is one- a woman taller than all three of my brothers; Brienne, of Tarth. A phenomenal warrior even by standards of men… but she is the only I’ve ever met, or heard of. Rumor says the wildlings north of the way fight fight side by side- men and women- but the world I know largely belongs to men…”
After taking another drink and rolling the sweetness across her lips, she continued. “The wars and battles in which I have been trained to fight are Politics, and Planning. And Patience.” The tone she used was not touched by bitterness or resentment, or even envy; Margaery was not naive, or harmless; she had her own way of defending herself- and her people.
Cersei knew that- all too well.
“And the women at the front of those wars are far more dangerous.”
Thor had little patience and it would always be his downfall. As King now, he would try to keep a level head. Perhaps with a few lessons from Margaery, he could be someone they could feel confident in looking up to.
“A sharp tongue cuts deeper than a sword,” Loki’s words had always left wounds in his heart.
The pop tart wasn’t quite as filling, he’d dine again later. He raised a hand to press over that eye patch, rubbing to relieve the ache behind the material. “I’ll give you that demonstration when you are finished, your grace,” he promised, tugging on his suit jacket once more.
The comment about sharp tongues earned Thor a soft, sympathetic smile of agreement, but she didn’t comment or pry further; perhaps that was a conversation for another time- ruler to ruler. They still had much to explore, and she was almost done with her breakfast. Not so much with the beverage- the taste was difficult to get past. For someone like her, that was saying something.
“Here we are talking about the importance of patience, and I can hardly wait,” she encouraged him with her tone, but it certainly was genuine on her end. The little light show from his fingertips had been nothing short of amazing, and that had been just a taste.
“Shall we?” Margaery finished off the strawberries, cheese, and bread, and half of the pop-tart. It wasn’t bad, just a little too sweet for her tastes.
Thor offered his arm the moment she was finished with her breakfast, “your majesty.”
He would lead her outside, carefully, checking for any monsters or traps. He promised her a full demonstration of his power. He left her near the door, wandering a safe distance. None of this would harm her.
He no longer needed Mjolnir, but the weight of a phantom hammer pressed against his palm as he drew his power seemingly from the sky. His entire being lit up, the one eye glowed something fierce. Lightning coursed through him, it came with a resounding crack of thunder. Then the rain began to fall, it started out light, then the inevitable downpour. It left himself and Margaery untouched.
Just as Margaery expected, the display was so far beyond anything she could imagine, she was left genuinely speechless. There on the tip of a pier over an ocean that did not smell like salt, the wind whipped at her dress and her hair, but the pounding rain only touched her skin in a fine air-driven mist. Gooseflesh had rushed down her spine and over each of her limbs, both from the sheer power (and sound) that had centered so near her, but also the static left in the lightning’s wake. She had flinched when the strike exploded into his outstretched hand, but there was no fear in her eyes (or body language) now.
She kept herself rather close to him as they meandered through the crowded streets back to the hotel, untouched by the downpour that soaked everyone else, enjoying more light conversation about his family, his home, and his adventures in realms Margaery had only thought to touch in her wildest dreams.