[ taking place some time after
this.
The Forge flickers on. A bright-eyed girl is looking into the screen, curly hair framing a gentle smile. She's wearing a Victorian men's jacket (sorry, Renly, you'll never get it back again) over what appears to be a wedding dress. Ulterior motives? Of course she has none. ]I do hope that you won’t scare off
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Winter comes quickly here.
[Margaery Tyrell. She mentally locks the name to the face on the Forge. The sound of it is familiar -- the Tyrells, of Highgarden -- but it means little to her, in practice.]
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So I gathered. Do you have a name, my little helpful ghost?
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If you tell me who you are.
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[A pause.]
Arya Stark.
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I was friends with your sister, and I hope I can one day call you a friend as well. Do you ride, Arya?
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She listens with suspicion, but when Margaery asks her the question, the answer comes unbidden to her lips, and she feels almost like the old Arya Stark again.]
Better than Sansa.
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Then we shall go riding sometime. Or perhaps hawking, if that is more to your tastes?
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[How is it you manage to bring out this petulance, Arya?]
---I just don't like riding.
[Be better at it, she doesn't care. (She kind of does) Just don't make her do it.]
I could take you if you wanted.
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