… when she awoke, Margaery saw that she was on a bench that was not made of wood, and that the tourney balcony she was on was not made of wood either, and she was alone and wore a pale green samite gown.
The gods have answered my call. They have granted my wish, they speak to me in my dream, it was Willas who made this all true.
She frowned and knocked on the bench, tapping her feet on the floor, glancing at the door which had no handle as she had ever seen.
But how bizarre! It is as though craftsmen from across the Narrow Sea have plied their trade.
Margaery could hear the noise of the melee below, and clapped her hands. She was alone and needed not to play the part of queen, and glanced over and gasped.
Siege engines! No - carriages! They move with such speed! And the occupants - such colours!
Margaery had to sit down to catch her breath.
The gods are cruel indeed, to provoke my fancy so. Is this the future to be? Surely - surely this is madness!
Margaery sat up with a start as the door opened. The man who entered wore peculiar clothing, his doublet could scarce be called a doublet in the yellow of House Baratheon, and such breeches in a most unusual style. Around his neck he wore what must be a chain of office in which something the shape of a playing card was attached.
The man, who retrieved from his pocket something slim, and emitted smoke not unlike a dragon, started in surprise to see her. Margaery rose with practised calm to soothe her nerves which were strained to breaking point.
"Lady Margaery, of House Tyrell," she curtsied slightly.
"Wow," he chuckled, and another puff of steam escaped his lips, "You look just like her."
Margaery could keep on her face that practised smile, for nothing in her arsenal but by weighing up this stranger, and the words necessary to soothe him should he be an enemy to her, could be of any use to her presently.
"May I know your name, good ser?"
The man instead produced a tatty book, in such colours as made her eyes widen, and in these loose pages did she gasp to see to which passage he pointed.
"You should defo show up," he nodded, and his breath was smoky-sweet, if overpowering at first, "Cash prize. Good for your Snapchat."
Margaery smiled, because she could understand but little of what he said, and his accent surely from across the Narrow Sea.
"You must forgive me, good ser," Margaery clasped her hands, "The subtleties of… "
Margaery snatched the papers back, and stared.
"But this - this is Lord Stark sitting atop the Iron Throne!"
The man chuckled, and retrieved a small slim brick which shone in the sunlight, and through this she saw such reflections as she had herself when staring at a body of water, images flicking so fast by the touch of his thumb, that she was surely seeing everything that could be seen through the eye of the gods.
"This is you," the guy smiled, and held up this treasure of the gods, "And this is your brother, right?"
"There - there is a similarity," Margaery cleared his throat, "Good ser, how can this be? This land is so unlike mine - how far across the Narrow Sea - "
The man frowned. "What year do you think it is?"
"Why - it is 300 AC."
"Here, it's 2018."
Margaery staggered. "2018 AC? It cannot be. And yet - and yet my brother's exploits as a tourney knight are still upheld? My House does rule for - for longer than Aegon the Conqueror? Is this the future my grandmother set in motion?"
The man eyed her with pity. "You're a real good actress."
"Ser, I am no mummer. I only wish to seek the truth - "
The man rolled his eyes. "Here - you're not in the future - to us - "
He moved his thumb across the slim brick with such colours, that she was now reading an account of Joffrey's death -
"The gods!" Margaery clutched her throat. "This is - my world - my world is but a tale - "
The man pointed over the edge. "Look down there. It's not just your world - it's every world."
Margaery saw over the tourney balcony, so many creatures and persons of such ilk, and alike the man's plain doublet, was a banner raised where the siege-carriages entered, in the colours of House Baratheon, with the castle's name - Comic-Con.