Margaery holds the opinion that the best part about training is the part when she gets to take a breather and watch other, far more skilled people. Some make it look like a proper dance despite the heaviness of their weapons, and although she knows that there’s no measure of grace in the battlefield, it’s almost enough to romanticize the whistle of steel through the air or the heavy satisfaction of a target well hit.

She’s only in the process of stretching for warm-ups the first time she spots someone she doesn’t believe she’s seen before - almost stately, with the same amount of confidence housed in her expression and the grip of her swords. The confidence is clarified only a moment later, as Margaery watches one of the straw heads fall off with poorly disguised interest. Her swings had been so well-controlled, almost effortless, and even though the muscles in her arms pull at the motion, Margaery manages a gentle clap.

“That was truly wonderful, my lady.”