She's not ready for a while. It's sort of like a game of chicken, where she thinks she might be ready but when the moment comes, she finds she can't let go. A few seconds turn into nearly a full minute before she finally releases him from her grasp, face immediately turning up to look up into his.

The sun might be a welcome relief, but it also throws the lines of Jim's face into harsher relief, provides a contrasting soft glow to the bleak haunted nature of his eyes. If she didn't know any better, Margaery would almost assume that he'd been battling - and killing - human beings, not reanimated corpses.

I'm fine, echoes in her mind. Almost a taunt for how accurate it may be on the surface. But her style has never been to come out of the gate with a charge, so she says nothing for now.

"Have you been able to get some rest?"