She pursed her lips. Margaery had rather enjoyed being a Baratheon; the stage was a noble sigil and one that commanded respect in a way that wasn't so obvious as a lion or dire wolf. But the flayed man? She would prefer something more noble.

But she wouldn't be so foolish as to vocalize that; outnumbered by Boltons as she was.

The offer of a bath did make her smile. Margaery wondered if they had any scented oils here in the North, or if simply being clean was considered enough. "A bath would indeed be divine, thank you. The servants might also then take my gown for measurements, to make adjustments to the more climate-friendly gowns you offered?"

Margaery allowed herself a laugh and even blushed a bit. "Though I fear I will indeed look foolish. I'm not certain I would know how to move in wool and furs." She was used to silk and satin, ribbons and fine jewels or nothing at all. Finery, and luxury that the North usually scoffed at. She would look silly, and likely be mocked upon attending dinner.

As it was, she hadn't liked the look she'd received from the kennel master's daughter upon her arrival.