The wind in King's Landing carried the acrid scent of war, stirring fine dust through the streets and alleys as it swept past shattered walls.
Collapsed beams leaned against blackened stone walls, rubble and bricks lay scattered everywhere, and even the air was thick with dust, ash, and the lingering smell of hunger and cold.
Ragged civilians huddled beneath walls that still offered shelter from the wind, hugging their arms and shivering. Their gaunt, sallow faces were blank and lifeless. Only when the smell of food drifted past did their clouded eyes stir, revealing an instinctive longing.
Margaery Tyrell walked slowly through the wreckage, her pale green skirts brushing the broken stones and dust. She showed not the slightest disgust, moving as composedly as though she were walking down a gallery lined with blooming roses in Highgarden.
She carried a half-full wicker basket, neatly packed with bread freshly delivered from Highgarden. Its fresh wheaten fragrance was utterly at odds with the smoke and decay around her.
Guards wearing armor bearing the sigil of House Tyrell followed behind her. Quietly and efficiently, they distributed bread from the basket to the people gathering around, moving carefully to avoid provoking a scramble.
"Take this. May the Seven bless you." Margaery personally handed a piece of bread to a skeletal old woman, her voice gentle.
The old woman accepted it with trembling hands, tears welling in her clouded eyes as she mumbled inaudible thanks.
More people gathered silently, reaching out their hands, the naked desire to survive in their eyes. For a moment, the scent of wheat overpowered the smell of smoke, spreading a faint warmth through the ruined street.
The guard close beside Margaery watched their surroundings warily, then leaned toward her and lowered his voice, his confusion tempered by respect:
"My lady,