That's a helluva pivot. Jone smiles, holds a finger up. "Not for you, luv." She hefts her poleaxe over her shoulder. "Reaver. All strength and blood. More pain I cause-- to me, or t'other-- stronger, I am."

She looks Margaery over. "You're a slight sort. I'd say archery, but you'd have to build up your arms. Then again, it's better than building up bloody everything. And you'll still have need of basic defending-- It goes a mile, to just know the places that bleed most, kill fastest, and how to conceal a few good knives. Were you taught any of that?"