Catelyn remembered King Renly’s court, as she had seen it at Bitterbridge. A thousand golden roses streaming in the wind, Queen Margaery’s shy smile and soft words, her brother the Knight of the Flowers with the bloody linen around his temples. If you have to fall into a woman’s arms, my son, why couldn’t they have been Margaery Tyrell’s? The wealth and power of Highgarden could made all the difference in fighting yet to come.
And perhaps Grey Wind would have liked the smell of her as well.