Margaery sat herself so as to view both the glittering waters of the salted seas, and the gardens. The vantage was more for intercepting any interruptions rather than enjoying the view – a trick her grandmother taught her. There were spies everywhere in the capital; even she had begun recruiting a handful of the like. While the Tyrell typically enjoyed surprises, she found more oft than not that the ones offered here were not benevolent. It was best to try to minimize those encounters all together.
The servants were swift to the task of serving them. Quiet, too, and while they mostly avoided making eye contact Margaery did offer a small, sincere smile and a murmur of thanks to those that did. They may be destined to a life of servitude, but that didn’t mean that she personally was not grateful for their work.
Her attention turned to Sansa when the girl spoke, and no sooner had she finished speaking were they presented with the pastries. Margaery’s smile grew at the sight of them.
“One of my favorites,” she admitted, placing one of the sticky sweet cakes on her plate. The brunette knew that Sansa enjoyed them just as much. It was one of the traits she observed from the times they spent together.
“Though I must say, the ones made from lemons in Highgarden are far sweeter.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
It felt– it felt so utterly good to be able to share
something with Margaery. A point of connection,
a taste of friendship. She has been alone for so
long, not knowing who to trust beside herself and
even then, doubting her ability on sleepless nights.
Margaery may not carry her burdens for her but
she allows Sansa a modicum of normalcy that she
so dearly misses, an easy friendship that requires
little but herself. She smiles easier, with her.
“One of mine too,” she offers as she reaches out
after her companion to pilfer a cake for herself. It’s
bright, still a little warm from the kitchens and Sansa
i n h a l e s hers in two bites. There are crumbs on
her chin as the flakey pieces escape her fingers but
instead of feeling embarrassed, she only giggles, her
smile not diminishing as she wipes it away.
"I do like the tart one myself, lady Margaery.“ The
cooks in Winterfell managed the perfect balance of
sweet and sour; the cake so delicate it melts in your
mouth. Just the thought makes her miss home, the
nostalgia a numb stab to her chest but she brushes
it off and instead, reaches for a second one.
”Do tell me of Highgarden, my lady. I imagine the
harvests plentiful. You’d never have to buy fruits do you?“