Chapter Text
Kings Landing, 301 AC
Sansa
The straps of the bodice were pulled painfully taught, the once soft silk reduced to nothing more than a uncomfortable restraint served to remind Sansa Stark of the arrival of her new replacement, or as she seemed more appropriate, Joffrey's new torture companion.
Part of her felt relief, though it was a minuscule feeling. She now could take comfort in knowing that she would not be married to that monster, but the comfort was quickly smothered by the new realization of just how disposable she was. With no news of her sister Arya, and the rest of her family rotting in either the wooded ground or a musty crypt, she was the last standing heir to Winterfell. The last key to the North. She was certain this, and only this, was the reason she still had her head.
What were their plans for her now? No doubt Cersei Lannister and the rest of her family of snakes were currently plotting on just that. The scheming never stopped, never slowed with the Lannister House. Sansa knew this now, when the information was of no use to her. She should have known it then, things may be vastly different, had she only known it then.
Another hard tug jerked her from her thoughts, as her handmaiden, Shae, deftly tied the strings of her dress and gave her a satisfied smile in the mirror in front of her. Sansa adored her handmaiden; she had suffered the abuse from the Lannisters and their men, had been shunned by the women, but Shae never abandoned her when everyone else did. She looked at her with warmth, not contempt, and she was always there to listen and clean Sansa's wounds whenever Joffrey orders her a beating. Shae understood what Sansa had endured since her arrival to Kings Landing, what she had suffered at the hands of the mad little king. What her House suffered.
“You look wonderful, my lady,” She said genuinely, smoothing out the non existent creases on the sleeves of Sansa's dress.
Sansa smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. As much as she was relieved that she had a replacement to bed Joffrey instead of her, she couldn’t help but feel the utter embarrassment of facing such a person, and there was no doubt that if Joffrey happened to be present he would taunt her to no end. She also couldn’t help but feel incredible sadness for the girl, for there was a good chance that she too will know Joffrey's true nature, just as Sansa did.
Shae, ever attentive, must have sensed Sansa's hesitation for she gave her another warm smile, though this one sadder than the last. “Everything will be fine, my lady. I hear Lady Margaery is very kind, very genuine. I’m sure you two will get along well, perhaps even be friendly?” she suggested, trying to raise Sansa's spirits no doubt.
Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, granddaughter to the infamous Lady Olenna of House Tyrell. The woman was known for her silver tongue, scheming, and advanced knowledge of politics, and it was common knowledge that she had been grooming her granddaughter for this very occasion ever since she were young. Even if Lady Margaery was a kind and generous as the common folk and nobles said alike, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t all a show to serve her endgame. She was a player of the game, just as they all were in Kings Landing-all but foolish, naïve Sansa of course.
“Perhaps…”
She would not be foolish and naïve this time around. Lady Margaery will be marrying Joffrey Baratheon to be his queen, and thus Queen of the Realm. This means she would surely be involved in the plotting involving Sansa's life, and the control of the North. Her heart skipped a beat as the frightening thought crossed her mind that the Tyrell Queen might even have a hand in forcing her into a marriage, perhaps even into the Lannister family anyway, or the Tyrells. She already had assumed that’s what Joffrey and his father had planned for her. Lord Tywin, a man with an insatiable appetite for power, made it obvious that he planned to secure the North through Sansa, while continuing his conquer of the remainder of Westeros through his grandson the King. She knew how much he benefited from the death of her brother Robb, for he already had Sansa locked away in The Keep. She knew how much their whole family was happy to see the fall of her House, the death of those dearest to her, and the destruction of her old self that came along with it. She was sure the Lannisters had been behind it, but the position she was in now left her with no power, no allies. Winterfell was in the hands of the Boltons, her home and memories reduced to ash. She had nothing to her name.
No, she could not allow herself to fall down that hole right now. She had a meeting to attend to with the future queen, and despite her gaunt form she had to put on the prettiest of smiles, as was befitting for anyone who was to meet the future queen of Westeros. She did her best to quell her nerves and put a stoic look on her face, one that radiated grace but also compliance, respect. Her dress was simple, but elegant. Deep violets paired with an even deeper grey that flared slightly at the bottom and long sleeves that hugged her arms tight but not overly so. Two large, golden clips fastened her in the front followed by a high neckline. She dressed as modestly as she could around The Keep, especially with Joffrey and his hounds always sniffing about. And she wouldn’t dream of dressing like a Northerner, unless she wanted to subject herself to ridicule. She kept her long, red hair loose save for a braid on either side leading together in the back. Her makeup was minimal, discreet.
There was an abrupt knock at the door of her chambers, Sansa already knowing who was on the other side.
“Lady Sansa, Ser Loras has arrived to escort you to lunch with Lady Tyrell.” Came the gruff voice of Ser Meryn Trant, Sansa's least favorite of Joffrey's kingsguard.
She gave a final questioning look to Shae, who confidently smiled back. “They will love you my lady. Just go and be yourself.”
Herself, she nearly scoffed, biting back a reply. Being herself was the reason she found herself trapped within this lions den in the first place. She forced a smile nonetheless.
She opened the door to reveal Ser Loras, looking as dazzling as ever. Sansa did her best to resist batting her eyelashes like a school girl, but it couldn’t be denied the extent of the Tyrell beauty. Soft, chestnut waves fell to his shoulders and he looked at her expectantly with even softer brown eyes. His delicate features lifted into a smile as he held out his arm for her to take, which she gladly did.
“Lady Sansa, how lovely it is to see you again.” He said courteously.
Ah yes, she remembered the tournament well, when she had first come to Kings Landing. Back when Joffrey was kinder to her, though she still remembered saving Ser Dantos from losing his head when Joffrey had flown into a rage. Otherwise, it had been a pleasant day for the most part, and she recalled the red rose Ser Loras had given her after his victory. Her stomach was still left with butterflies at the fond memory.
“As you, Ser Loras. I hope your journey to Kings Landing was well?”
“Of course my lady.”
They walked in comfortable silence through the Red Keep, Sansa doing her best to avoid the leering stares of the Lannister guards as they made their way to the gardens.
“If I may be so bold, my lady, to point out how beautiful you grow with every passing day,” he said warmly as his hand squeezed her arm ever so slightly. She flushed at the sudden compliment, all too aware of how few she received anymore.
“You are too kind, Ser Loras.”
They fell silent once more, the sound of the birds chirping and various conversations floated through the air.
“I remember the first time we met,” Sansa said fondly, her smile faltering slightly when she noticed the look of confusion on Loras' face. “At the Hands tourney, you gave me your favor?” she hated how the end sounded more like a question. His face remained thoughtful, and Sansa began to feel a twisted knot of embarrassment bloom in her chest, reddening her face slightly. Of course he didn’t remember.
“A rose,” she said quietly, meekly. “a red rose.”
“Of course I did,” he said, smiling brilliantly as though nothing were amiss. Sansa remained silent, focusing ahead. She had been eyeing the sky a moment, noting how particularly beautiful the day was, despite how miserable her heart truly felt. She hoped this lunch wouldn’t be an awkward affair, she hoped even more that King Joffrey wouldn’t be gracing her with his presence.
“Ah, there’s my sister,” Loras said happily.
She followed his eyes to the center of the garden; there stood a woman with stunning chestnut hair, matching that of her brothers, cascading down her back in shining waves, looking as though there were real gold weaved in her hair when it glimmered in the sunlight. She turned from a conversation she having with a young handmaiden, and gifted them with the most dazzling smile Sansa was sure she’s ever seen, and she had seen her fair share of highborn women with their dazzling beauty rumored from afar. She could see the Tyrell genes ran strong, and she wondered if all their family was more beautiful than the last. She met them halfway, upon closer inspection Sansa noted her eyes were a little lighter than her brothers, almost golden like her tresses. She aimed her smile to Sansa, her eyes glancing her up and down, taking her in. The action left Sansa feeling a little unsettled, as though Margaery was studying her, maybe even judging her. She showed no weakness and met Margaery's eyes, noting that her smile did seem genuine enough, as though she were pleased to see her.
“You’re such a dear,” she said endearingly, turning her attention to her brother.
“I take my leave,” he said with an upturn of his lips, before turning to the red head. “Lady Sansa,” he said with a polite bow of his head, and turned on his heel to walk off.
“Thank you Ser Loras,” she said softly after him, before turning back to the Lady of Highgarden, who was watching her with an expectant smile. She looked quite radiant when she smiled, Sansa could see the rumored beauty of the Rose of Highgarden did not disappoint.
“Come,” she said simply, lightly, her hand brushing Sansa’s arm to guide her along. Sansa smiled and walked alongside her, doing her best to swallow her nerves. They rounded a corner and Margaery once again reached for her, putting a gentle hand to the small of her back encouragingly, giving her another beaming smile. Sansa found the contact a little strange, but dared say nothing. She assumed this was just how the Tyrells were, affectionate and charming. How much of that was real was the question Sansa would have to keep at the forefront of her mind. She was wary of trusting anyone in Kings Landing, especially a family willing to marry into the Lannisters, and rightfully so.
Margaery was quiet, instead of talking she smiled pleasantly to the ladies around who shuffled out of their path, bowing their heads and tittering words of praise to the highborn lady. Not to Sansa though of course, so she merely watched with keen interest at Margaery's ability to charm everyone around her. Even Sansa found herself basking in her aura, a feeling of admiration settling within her.
She will make a beautiful queen.
They approached the dining area of the outdoor gardens; a large patio of beautiful glass tables where ladies and lords can sit to take their meals, while their handmaids and servants giggle and blush among the flowers at the witty remarks made by the nobles. She led them to a table tucked in the back, where several goblets and a decanter of wine lay presented. Sitting at a nearby bench was an elderly woman, wearing a magnificent fitted jacket embroidered with golden stitch complimenting a pastel blue silk skirt. She wore a matching blue barbette which flowed down her shoulders. But what really caught Sansa's attention was the face the barbette framed. If she thought Margaery had been studying her before, it most definitely paled in comparison to how she felt under the gaze of Lady Olenna.
“Lady Sansa,” Margaery said, her voice smooth as honey, “it is my honor to present my grandmother, the lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”
The woman’s face softened slightly at the introduction, and curved her lips into a small smile. “Kiss me child,” she said, extending a jeweled hand to the girl.
Sansa took it gently, putting her lips respectfully to the woman's wrinkled hand. She smelled of rosewater, and for a moment she had a runaway thought where she found herself wondering if Margaery smelled the same.
“Its so good of you to visit me in my foolish flock of hens,” she continued, “and I’m sorry for your losses.”
Sansa heard that same apology from few people in Kings Landing. Since the news of her brother and mother's death, she had only received condolences from Lord Baelish and Lord Tyrion, but most of all Shae. Shae was the one that had held her through the night when all of Sansa's resolve broke, and felt like she was going mad with grief. That night, she truly did not know if she would go on.
Yet here she was, listening to the same kind words being spoke from Lady Olenna, who Sansa was sure was just trying to be kind, but she felt they rang hollow, as they did every other time she heard them uttered. Perhaps it was just Sansa, who couldn’t bring herself to feel a thing.
“And I was sorry when I heard of Lord Renly's death Lady Margaery,” she said looking to the brunette, eager to steer the conversation from herself, “he was very gallant-"
“Gallant yes, and charming and very clean,” Lady Olenna interrupted. “he knew how to dress and smile and somehow this gave him the notion he was fit to be King,” she said almost bored. Sansa looked to her feet, unsure of what to say.
“Renly was brave and gentle, grandmother,” Margaery said, shooting an apologetic look in Sansa's direction for her grandmother’s abrasiveness. “Father liked him as did Loras.”
“Loras is young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick,” Lady Olenna said matter-of-factly. “That does not make him wise.” She was silent a moment before glancing back up to Margaery, “as for your fat head father-"
“Grandmother please!” Margaery chuckled, the sound light and pleasant on Sansa's ears. “What will Sansa think of us?” and she looked to Sansa with a playful, lopsided smile on her face, her eyes full of mirth. Her personality was contagious, and Sansa found herself smiling shyly back at her. It didn’t escape her that Margaery had failed to address her as lady this time either.
“She might think we have some wits about us, one of us at any rate. It was treason,” she said, turning her attention back to Sansa. “I warned them. Robert has two sons and Renly has an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair.” It was not a question. She sighed and shook her head forlornly, “I should have stayed well out of all this if you ask me. But once the cows been milked theres no squirting the cream back up her udders and here we are to see things through. What do you say to that Sansa?”
Sansa swallowed hard as Lady Olenna watched her with patience, waiting for her to answer. To say the elder Tyrell's gaze was unnerving would be a tremendous understatement. She opened her mouth to speak when Lady Olenna suddenly smiled, “should we have some lemon cakes?”
Sansa was grateful for the sudden change in topic, though she was not very hungry. She hadn’t had a proper appetite since her father’s execution, especially for Lannister food, sitting at Lannister tables, where her father himself once sat.Even more so since the news of the Red Wedding reached her. She was thin, but not awfully so. Not to her.
“Lemon cakes are my favorite,” Sansa replied gratefully.
“So I’ve heard,” she said happily, before leaning past Sansa to a servant currently pouring wine at another table. “Are you going to bring the food or do you mean to starve us to death?” she bit, as the servant looked slightly bewildered. Sansa held back a smile. She found the ornery old lady quite amusing, her wit refreshing.
“Here Sansa,” Olenna said as she stood, “come sit with me.” Sansa glanced to Margaery, who gave her a reassuring smile and nod, and Sansa’s anxieties were alleviated just the slightest. The girls presence somehow brought her comfort, as though she wouldn’t let Olenna interrogate her too aggressively.
“I’m much less boring than these others,” Olenna said airily as she led the girls to the alcove where the table was set. Sansa couldn’t help but look out to the view of the sea, the water a bright calming blue, the horizon stretched out for what seemed an eternity. She couldn’t help but think of home, or at the very least, anywhere but Kings Landing. It was a tempting image, this view.
“You know my son?” Olenna inquired, snapping Sansa from her thoughts. She quickly looked back to the Tyrell women as they sat down at the table.“Lord of Highgarden?” she continued.
“I haven't had the pleasure,” Sansa said truthfully. She hadn’t heard much about the Lord either, save for his negotiation of the alliance with the Lannisters, which resulted in Margaerys presence here today. Sansa was suddenly and painfully reminded of the girls dangerous marriage to come.
Olenna chuckled, “no great pleasure believe me. Ponderous oaf, his father was an oaf as well, my husband the late Lord Luther.”
Sansa glanced up to Margaery across the table, who held an expression that she couldn’t quite understand. She looked sympathetic, no doubt due to her grandmother’s constant berating of those around her, but her face held something else. Almost a shyness to it, as though she held a secret Sansa did not yet know about. Sansa let her gaze linger on her a second more before turning back to Olenna.
“He managed to ride off a cliff while walking,” Olenna scoffed. “they say he was looking up at the sky, and paying no mind as to where his horse was taking him. Now my son is doing the same, now,” she straightened a little at this, her face hardening slightly and Sansa realized that she had already made the mistake of falling into such ease with these ladies, and that Margaery's presence certainly wasn’t going to deter Olenna's advances.
“I want you to tell me the truth of this royal boy, this Joffrey.”
It hadn’t been the question Sansa was expecting. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the truth of her former betrothed was not it. Now that such a question was out in the open, Sansa had no idea how she could possibly answer. Surely the truth was far too ugly, and should Joffrey find out Sansa spoke ill of him, he would have her head. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to understand what it was Olenna wanted to hear.
“I-I-"
“You you, who else would know better? We've heard some troubling tales, would there be any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated you?”
They obviously knew of what Sansa had been put through at the hands of Joffrey. It was no secret that he ordered her father’s execution in front of her, then there was the incident in the throne room in front of the entire court, when her clothes had been stripped and she had been beaten senselessly until Lord Tyrion had stepped in. Another part of her died on the floor that day, surely there wasn’t much left now. She looked at Margaery again and the girl dipped her head, looking to Sansa with encouraging eyes, giving her the slowest, most imperceptible nod. Her mouth turned into a sweet, trusting smile, but it only worsened Sansa's nerves. She could no longer bear the woman’s kind eyes, and resorted to looking down once again. Had she glanced up, she would have noticed Margaery's smile falter, as she saw the confirmation in Sansa's defeated face.
“Did he take your tongue?” Olenna said with impatience laced in her voice.
Startled, Sansa was quick to speak, “Joff-King Joffrey,” she corrected herself, “his grace is…very fair a-and handsome and brave as a lion.”
This time she did glance back at Margaery, whose smile had vanished, replaced with a carefully masked expression, neutral, but with a hint of scrutiny. Sansa was quite sure the girl didn’t believe her for a second. After all, Sansa was a terrible liar.
“Yes, all Lannisters are lions,” Olenna said thoughtfully. “And when a Tyrell farts it smells like a rose. But how kind is he, how clever? Does he have a hard or gentle hand?”
Sansa was put in a horribly awkward position, and she was sure the Tyrell ladies knew this. Figures, it is just another House looking to wield power from the last standing Lady of Winterfell. She wondered if they knew just how little power she had, how useless the title was.
“I’m to be his wife, I only want to know what that means,” Margaery said softly, and Sansa's gaze went to rest on the youngest Tyrell. She saw a young woman, just like her, just as she was when she arrived to Kings Landing. Young and beautiful, her heart no doubt full from the reality that she was going to marry a King, making she herself a Queen. She saw her soft, golden eyes, and the way her lips remained3 upturned even though she had a concerned expression on her face, but remained beautiful nonetheless. This girl didn’t deserve Joffrey, and didn’t deserve to go through the horrors she herself faced.
She made to reply when the serving boy came around with their lemon cakes, placing them ceremoniously on the table. Sansa breathed an inaudible sigh of relief at the precious moments of delay the young man brought her along with the food.
“Bring me some cheese,” Olenna ordered.
“The cheese will be served after the cakes my lady,” the boy said, confusion written on his face.
“The cheese will be served when I want it served,” she barked back, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I want it served now.”
The boy managed a quick, nervous nod before he bowed out of the alcove and rushed off to satisfy Lady Olennas order. Sansa's eyes followed him as he left, as she almost longed for his presence back to alleviate the insurmountable pressure building on her as a result of the current conversation.
“Are you frightened child?”
She was.
“Theres no need for that,” Olenna said dismissively, as though she read her mind, even though it was more likely her face. “We’re only women here. Tell us the truth, no harm will come to you.”
An empty promise that had cost her dearly before. But what choice did she have? Sansa might have been naïve but she wasn’t stupid, and recent events had taught her to open her eyes to the game and realize when she was being played. They both very well knew the answer to their questions, but they wanted to hear how Sansa would respond.
“My father always told the truth,” she said quietly, looking back to her hands, unable to meet Olenna’s hard gaze.
“Yes, he had that reputation, and they named him traitor and took his head.”
Sansa couldn’t help but flinch, for the words still cut her deeply. She mentally chastised herself for showing such weakness, and she snapped her eyes to Olenna, a fire burning within here at the repeated mention of the word traitor associated with her father’s name. “Joffrey,” she said, sharper then she ought to. “Joffrey did that.” Now she looked to Margaery, with the same cold stare she gave her grandmother. Sadness graced the Tyrells features, and Sansa almost felt regret over addressing her with such passion. Almost.
"He promised he would be merciful and he cut my father’s head off. He said that was mercy. He took me up on the walls and made me look at it,” her voice began to waver as she recalled the traumatizing memory. She took a sharp breath and immediately realized what she had done; her face turned crimson with embarrassment of such a display, in front of such a prominent house, the future queen herself. Her emotions always did get the better of her, and this was another sickening reminder of just how foolish she really was. She was about to stutter out an apology when a soft voice cut through her thoughts as though they were nothing.
“Go on.”
And then a soft hand was gently pressed around her own, which had gathered a trembling fistful of her dress in her lap. She looked up to see Margaery closer than before, not quite worry etched in her features, but something of sympathy, concern. It looked quite genuine, and Sansa mentally applauded her if this was indeed acting. Margaery, Joffrey’s future wife, seemed the very embodiment of everything that was kind and pure. Everything he was not. She found herself swallowing down the apology she almost choked out, and her heart slightly calming its pace. She couldn’t help but be very aware of the warm hand still gripping hers. But then, she remembered with a sinking feeling, that this was Kings Landing, where no information is free, and no punishment is let go. Soon this will be Margaery Lannister.
“I-I cant, I never meant-my father was a traitor, my brother as well. I have t-traitors blood, please don’t make me say anymore.” She pleaded, realizing her mistake. She was expecting Joffrey to come raging through the gardens any minute, sword in hand to gut her himself.
“She's terrified, grandmother, just look at her,” Margaery said softly, her eyes pleading with Olenna. Sansa couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, she felt like a child who was being coaxed into saying what the adults wanted her to.
“Speak freely child,” Olenna said, her voice losing its edge, softening into that of what a normal grandmother might sound like. “we would never betray your confidence, I swear it.”
Sansa wanted to believe her, but past experience screamed that she shouldn’t. That trusting the Tyrells could be as dangerous as trusting the Lannisters, that these two women couldn’t care less about her or her past, certainly did not care about her future. But she found herself speaking the words anyway, perhaps because she was tired. Perhaps because someone needed to say them. She continued to stare at her hands, as though not maintaining eye contact meant she wasn’t really saying them at all, not really.
“He's a monster,” she said quietly, defeated. Her eyes stung with tears, another reason to hate herself and everything she was.
“Ah,” Olenna said, as though that settled everything. “That’s a pity,” she said looking to Margaery, who shrugged and took another sip of her wine.
“Please, don’t stop the wedding,” Sansa said in horror.
Lady Olenna chuckled, “Have no fear, the lord oaf of Highgarden is determined Margaery shall be queen.”
Sansa dared look at Margaery when Olenna said this, and she received a sad smile from the Tyrell girl, as she looked almost ashamed and unable to meet Sansa's eye. She immediately regretted saying such things about Joffrey, no matter how true they were. The look of utter defeat on Margaery's face had not been worth it. She tried to tell herself it was better than getting a nasty surprise on her wedding night, but it didn’t bring her much comfort.
“Even so we thank you for the truth,” Olenna said honestly, with a hint of finality. Sansa got the impression that they were done here, and it was time she took her leave.
“Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, I apologize again for my outburst. It was rather unbecoming. If it pleases you I will take my leave, I’m rather tired.” She wasn’t exactly lying. Dining with Olenna had taken a great deal out of Sansa emotionally, and right now she wanted to get away from talks of treason, murder, and abuse. She lived through the torture enough daily.
“Of course my child,” Olenna said before resuming to her nearly empty wine glass.
“Let me escort you Sansa,” Margaery spoke, as she made to get up.
“Please, it is no trouble Lady Margaery.”
“I insist,” she replied sweetly. Sansa could see she had lost this battle.
She walked with Margaery back towards The Keep, unsure of what to say. Her outburst into damn near tears left her feeling rather weakened and small in the presence of the future queen, no matter how much Margaery didn’t seem to mind. Sansa was still having trouble reading the girl, her true intentions. Thankfully it was Margaery that broke the silence.
“I must apologize for my grandmother’s…insistence, she thrust upon you,” she said, struggling to find a respectful word for what transpired. “I could see it caused you a great deal of pain, I want you to know I appreciate the honesty regardless. I shall not ask that of you again.” She said earnestly.
“Its quite all right Lady Margaery. I do hope this does not affect the way you might perceive me.” Sansa replied timidly.
“Never,” Margaery whispered, her eyes sincere. She cleared her throat and looked awkward for a moment. “Forgive me if I’m being forward, but I would very much like for us to get to know each other more. Would you mind if I sent for you in the evening after dinner?”
Sansa was slightly taken aback by the question, though she acknowledged that she shouldn’t be. Of course Lady Margaery wanted to get to know her better; no doubt her grandmother had a hand in this. Sansa, being the only remaining heir to Winterfell, was sure she grabbed the attention of many great Houses. Not necessarily for good reason.
She wouldn’t dare turn down Margaery's request however, she knew she already hadn’t started on the best foot with the Tyrells after what happened at lunch. She didn’t need anymore enemies than she already acquired.
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Margaery,” Sansa replied politely.
Margaery tossed back her head and laughed melodically, “Please, Sansa, just Margaery. Where might I find you?”
“My quarters in the Keep. My handmaiden, Shae, will greet you.”
Margaery smiled that gorgeous lopsided smile that was contagious in the best way to Sansa. “I look forward to it Sansa. Until then,”
She gently touched Sansa's shoulder before she departed, meeting her eyes and causing Sansa to feel unnerved all over again. She didn’t know how to act in Margaery's presence, and her lack of understanding the girls intentions only made her feel doubly so. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, watching as the girl returned to the gardens. She could only hope that tonight wasn’t a repeat of what just happened. She wondered if she would ever tire of hoping for the best.