#ofmargaery

‘ i --- ’  jon cuts themselves off from saying anything else. what were they to say, they never lost anyone like that. jon still remembers seeing mrs. tyrell be wheeled out, her body covered respectfully by the stark white sheet from the paramedics. jon came out of courtesy, finding out the location of the funeral from the press. they felt some ... semblance of responsibility for margaery, for mace, for the other tyrells they encountered that night. they bowed their head in respect again, clutching tighter to the bunch of white calla lilies they had prepared.  ‘ here, ’  they held the bouquet out to her,  ‘ i thought i should bring something, at least. ’

her stare is cold as ice, chilling as it bears into margaery, unamused. she says she had never lied but on the contrary, olenna’s simmering paranoia tells otherwise. it’s difficult to be suspicious of your own blood, every maternal instinct inside of you fighting against it, never fathoming the betrayal. it’s worse than death, she thinks. but if she was to be bested by anyone, she would be at the very least bested by someone she trusted so much. she’ll let margaery have it this time. ‘ alright, ’  she finally drawls, setting down her playing cards on the table,  ‘ i fold. ’