Margaery stared at the hand extended toward her, momentarily stunned.
Her eyes were still red, tears streaked her face, and she had yet to recover from her terror.
She looked at Aegon's face, then at his hand, as though making sure this was no illusion.
Then she slowly reached out and took his hand.
Her hand was pale, her fingers long and slender, her palm soft and slightly cool. Her fingertips still trembled.
Aegon's gaze settled on that delicate white hand for a moment.
Then he closed his fingers around hers and pulled firmly, drawing her to her feet.
Margaery stumbled a step toward him, almost colliding with his chest. Once she steadied herself, she hurriedly let go and lowered her head.
Aegon did not speak at once.
He glanced at the Black Three-Headed Dragon Banner clutched tightly against her chest before speaking. "It seems House Tyrell has made its decision. Only... it appears to have come a little late."
Margaery nodded, her eyes reddening.
"After we parted in King's Landing," she began, her voice choked, "I returned to Highgarden and began trying to persuade the noble houses of the Reach."
"I traveled by carriage, visiting their castles one by one, telling them the Targaryens had returned and House Tyrell wished to lead them in pledging allegiance."
She paused.
"But I met resistance everywhere. Not a single house would give me a definite answer. They either shut their doors to visitors or sent a lady to put me off."
A hint of tears crept into her voice.
"In the end, I went to Oldtown. Only when I arrived did I discover that the earls I had called on but never managed to see were all meeting there in secret."
"They were discussing how to resist the Targaryens and how to