Margaery swallowed a gulp of ale rather hard. Was she that transparent? Her grandmother had taught her carefully, and she had learned to be guarded and mysterious with her true feelings. But he'd found her out so quickly, how? There was no point in denying it, he obviously knew, as he had nailed it down so accurately.
"Forgive me, my lord, but that is indeed my thought," she admitted. "I am in a strange place, with men of a clan whose reputation is one of brutality and barbarism. I have no one here that I am certain without a doubt that I can trust."
The maid's words echoed in her mind again. That Hannibal was a good man. So badly Margaery wanted to believe her. This man had protected her from Ramsay, taken her out of an uncomfortable situation at dinner, and made her genuinely happy when they'd visited the kennels. Even so, her grandmother's voice echoed in her mind. How could she trust him? The Boltons were clever, and knew how to be patient.
"Your father issued the killing blow to Robb Stark," she whispered. "He served the King in the North faithfully, and waited a good long while before executing him. How am I to know for certain that a similar fate does not await me? When the Tyrell army backs the Boltons, when the Tyrell treasury is emptied in this alliance, what use am I? What obligation is there in keeping me alive?"
She leaned closer to him. Trying to assess his character by observing him. Growing up raised and groomed to be queen, of course Margaery knew how to read people too. She was naturally suspicious. "How do I know I can trust you?"
The pup at her feet gave a low grumble, which drew Margaery's attention. She smiled and ran her hand over the pup's little head. He had given her a dire wolf pup, allowed her to establish some level of dominance among the elder wolves - rather than feed her to them. That said something of his character, did it not?
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"Forgive me, my lord, but that is indeed my thought," she admitted. "I am in a strange place, with men of a clan whose reputation is one of brutality and barbarism. I have no one here that I am certain without a doubt that I can trust."
The maid's words echoed in her mind again. That Hannibal was a good man. So badly Margaery wanted to believe her. This man had protected her from Ramsay, taken her out of an uncomfortable situation at dinner, and made her genuinely happy when they'd visited the kennels. Even so, her grandmother's voice echoed in her mind. How could she trust him? The Boltons were clever, and knew how to be patient.
"Your father issued the killing blow to Robb Stark," she whispered. "He served the King in the North faithfully, and waited a good long while before executing him. How am I to know for certain that a similar fate does not await me? When the Tyrell army backs the Boltons, when the Tyrell treasury is emptied in this alliance, what use am I? What obligation is there in keeping me alive?"
She leaned closer to him. Trying to assess his character by observing him. Growing up raised and groomed to be queen, of course Margaery knew how to read people too. She was naturally suspicious. "How do I know I can trust you?"
The pup at her feet gave a low grumble, which drew Margaery's attention. She smiled and ran her hand over the pup's little head. He had given her a dire wolf pup, allowed her to establish some level of dominance among the elder wolves - rather than feed her to them. That said something of his character, did it not?