[The way he laughs would rival the rumble of any storm. It's no surprise that many a man has quaked and trembled at the sight of him. Some whisper that he's Robert Baratheon reborn, come to plague the seven kingdoms once more out of disdain for his heir. The smallfolk whisper of him as if he's some demon in disguise, a damnable creature who punched his way up and out of the seven hells.

Margaery likes him well enough.

Better to be feared as a demon then damned as a harlot. As Rider lets arrows glance of his skin, so does Margaery let insults ricochet off her armor. She's not helping herself with the sort of company she keeps but she refuses to become Cersei. A queen must have friends. True friends. Being alone only leads to losing one's self in the court's intrigues.]

Not at all. They say you're much like my dearly departed father-in-law, bless his soul. How could I have disdain for that?