[Spiriting away the Key to the North took much and more than palming a brass trinket and pocketing it. The key was a girl of fourteen with hair of rust, skin of porcelain, and eyes of blue. In her chest beat the heart of a wolf howling in grief, torn from its pack. Margaery hopes one day that wounded heart might beat for her instead. As the new queen to the seven kingdoms, it's not often she can leave King's Landing for home in Highgarden. Heading south for lush forests and orchards is a welcome reprieve from her husband. He's likely slaughtered entire warrens by now, toying with his crossbow in his boredom.
Better it be rabbits than our people.
The hunt curbs his bloodlust and she pulls his strings, serving as the true ruler. Still, even queens need their rest. She's taking a stroll when a booming voice thunders through the rushes. Leaves shudder at the heavy steps of one Ser Alexander, a friend of her father's.]
Listening to vile rumors, are we? Has the king's lady mother been whispering in your ear?
[Best to act coy. Outright denial only invites argument.]
no subject
Better it be rabbits than our people.
The hunt curbs his bloodlust and she pulls his strings, serving as the true ruler. Still, even queens need their rest. She's taking a stroll when a booming voice thunders through the rushes. Leaves shudder at the heavy steps of one Ser Alexander, a friend of her father's.]
Listening to vile rumors, are we? Has the king's lady mother been whispering in your ear?
[Best to act coy. Outright denial only invites argument.]