The celebration had turned out to be more lovely than the Queen of the Reach and Rock had anticipated, but it made her anxious nonetheless. Part of her hoped for a smoothly-sailing evening, for the sake of the Starks and for the sake of her own family--but a greater part wanted those on the outside to attempt and make their way in. She wanted Cersei Lannister to dare and step foot into Winterfell--she wanted the bastard who’d threatened her in the streets to come out and attempt an encore. She wanted them to try to show their strength, in a place where they would be easily outnumbered and brought down. And all the same, she felt uneasy. She did not want the chaos associated with it, only the justice of the end. Margaery continued to smile and make conversation throughout the evening, but her mind felt weary--the same chalice of wine she’d received hours earlier sat in her hand, untouched, and she would occasionally look down at the drink and think of Mace and Garlan. Eventually, she excused herself--walked off down a corridor in the hopes of finding a moment’s peace, but instead found that she was not without company. “Fresh air,” Margaery chirped as she came to a halt--citing her reason for being away outright. “It’s funny,” she mused with a smile as she moved to glance over her shoulder, “I never thought I might associate ‘North’ and ‘hot.’”