Margaery held tightly onto Good Ser's arm, but the more creatures she saw, and by their wide-eyed stares to her, and some who looked nervous themselves, she straightened herself, and reminded herself she was a Tyrell of Highgarden.
I must keep strong. It is not court - but one could be forgiven for thinking there is no danger here.
"Tell me - good ser," said Margaery, as a pair of young men leered at her in such a way as could only invite the headman to their doorstep on her father's orders, "What - what tales have you heard of me? Why was Lord Stark sitting the Iron Throne?"
Good Ser chuckled. "Take it from me - tell me where you came from."
"Well," began Margaery, alert at the scent of such fare as eaten by the handful, from many stalls, "I suppose it is no secret - His Grace King Joffrey died at his wedding, may the gods - "
Good Ser stopped at a stall, and brought out some slim pages torn from a book, and the seller handed over a frozen oblong on a stick. Good Ser took a bite.
"Dig in. Don't disappoint - give it a go."
"This is unlike any - I prefer this, good ser, to lemon cakes."
He grinned, and she walked beside him now with her hands swinging by her sides. She was swept up in the affability of the crowd who, if most bizarre in everything else, were at ease in a way that the even the smallfolk had been after many years of King Robert's peace.
Margaery and Good Ser were set upon by the appearance of a man wearing a black cape and his chest emblazoned with the sigil of House Whent, and a girl whose hair was tied loose to either side of her head, wearing the bright colours of House Tully, and carrying a baseball bat.
"Get out of here," the girl squealed, with her legs bare in public in such a way that Margaery could never get away with, "It's her - it's Natalie! Can I snap you for my Insta?"
Margaery glanced up with wonder at the same slim brick which produced the sun for but a moment.
It must be that the gods commune with us all - this must be their prayer as brought onto those of us so small.
The man of House Whent flourished his cape, and the girl jumped up and down to hurry to his side. Good Ser took a step back.
"You're not Natalie - right? I'm not bein' punked?"
Margaery frowned. "Only maesters of old age can claim any deficiency in memory. Let it not stain your honor that you should forget a lady's name."
Good Ser rolled his eyes and blew his fringe out of his face. Margaery began to lead the way, for her curiosity could know no bounds. She heard a voice.
"My queen!"
Margaery whirled, and saw the gold and red finery however poorly stitched, the mannerisms and smirk not quite of King Joffrey. Her hand went to her throat.
"Y-your Grace."
Somewhat-Joffrey frowned. "Are you Natalie?"
This brought relief - Margaery smiled, and glanced up to Good Ser.
"It is humbling," said she, to him, "I must tell you - at my wedding feast, there were five dwarves in motley, all for the five kings. I cannot tell you to what degree these mummers look - look convincing."
Margaery rubbed her neck, and cleared her throat. Good Ser stopped with a frown.
"I would - if you might permit me to - "
Good Ser pointed, and Margaery headed towards a door, of which there were a pair and each with a vaguely familiar sigil on either. She saw a group of girls enter one, and Margaery followed them in.
"Oh my god - I love your dress," said one of the girls.
Within the room, Margaery could not have imagined such architecture before; and from what followed that moment, she needed no further indication as to what was apparently a bizarrely fashioned chamber pot.
She pulled at the soft silk which broke in her hands and blocked out the excited chatter from the other girls.
"So - so odd," Margaery muttered under her breath.
She stood up and glanced down, and out of curiosity pulled the door handle on the chamber pot, and her eyes widened. She was left still more surprised to see that the door handle beneath the Myrish looking glass produced a steady steam of water.
"I am quite sure I could never get the hang of this - however much I should want to."
Margaery emerged, uncertain of herself, relieved to see Good Ser nearby. His perpetual frown and mood had since made an improvement.
"It is no court of King's Landing," Margaery took his arm out of habit, "But I should say - "
Margaery saw outside one booth a pair of girls kissing; emerging from outside, a man dressed as a woman; going outside, a girl in as little clothing as on her wedding night.
" - this place, whatever it is," Margaery glanced up at Good Ser, and smiled, "It seems no danger to me - and all are at peace. I should not be surprised if it was I who died at my wedding feast - and now dwell among the gods."
Good Ser smirked, and Margaery knew she had him in her charms at last, and when she felt herself slipping -
- it was onto a feather bed she landed, the wooden door closed at the far end , and the smell of shit which no window could keep out, and her disappointment and loss were overwhelmed by her fear.