While she despaired for her friend, despite the girl’s cheerfulness, Sansa was glad of the forthcoming royal wedding. Her closeness to Margaery meant it was acceptable to flee the rooms shared with the Imp in favor of the company of Tyrells, and there was so much to do, to speak on, before the nuptials. Today was far different, however, with most of the attending ladies gone, and the king’s betrothed pacing wildly before what scant family remained. Under her breath, the Rose continued to mutter “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” while her grandmother looked on patiently. Sansa’s heart broke that no one moved to comfort her, and so she strode forward, hands falling to brace on either arm and rub gently, bringing her friend back to the present. “You can, Lady Margaery. You can.”