Garlan Tyrell

“Okay…so Margaery is going to flirt her way in.  Garlan, you can get in with his friend’s help.  That’s good.  As long as we have the chance to keep an eye on Loras, remind him that he isn’t in this alone, I think he will be okay.  Stark said I’m not allowed to visit…but, I’ll give it a shot after you guys have been over and had the chance to gauge the situation.  Hopefully we won’t have to worry about much longer than that…we’ll have him out before he really has the chance to do himself any harm.”  Garlan’s comment about ‘it being up to Loras to eat’ had weight.  Loras’ eating habits had always fluctuated with his stress level, and judging by the weight he’d lost in the last few weeks, this stint in jail would only make things worse.

"I already put in a call to an old professor that is now on the Supreme Court.  He said that according to the official documents that declared martial law, the court systems are functioning as usual, so we can go after the Nights Watch in court.  Technically, Stark did go through the correct channels in arresting him because of the assault charge.  But since that is a false accusation, we just have to provide Loras’ alibi.  Once I’m able to get ahold of the official charge record, I’ll pass it on to your family attorney.  In theory none of this should be difficult.  But, considering the Watch has been completely fine with circumventing the law so far…I’m sure they’ll throw a few kinks our way soon enough.”  He sighed, sitting back in his chair as he stopped flicking through his law books for once.

Just because Renly hadn't been able to control himself did not mean that Garlan couldn't enjoy a drink.

'Mm. Yes. Fine. There's a hell of a lot more than one at TMC, you know, all as good as each other, but I'll send them all your way, Renly, I'm sure you know how to deal with the smarmy arseholes better than I do.'

That could have been a slight and it could have been a compliment, there was no sarcasm in his voice and yet there was still some bitterness in his face from being yelled at in his own home. He did not take too kindly to it, still. The tea was calming, he had to admit, but it was dragging him down into sobriety.

“And yeah, come when I get off. See what’s happened by then.”

[He glances at his watch, noting how long he’s been absent.]

'I'll see you soon. Don't get into trouble, and don't let the big boys tease you.'

His stomach drops a little at Garlan’s request]

“You know I can’t do that. I don’t even have access to the file.” 

[he sighs, anxious and wanting to help, but feeling rather useless.]

“I’ll see what I can find out and let you know ASAP, okay?”

'Try to find out when it was supposed to have happened, that's all I need. Anything else is just bonus.'

He wanted to give the man a hug, tell him that his help, anything, was appreciated, but he wasn't there. Maybe later.

‘We can drink, and I can talk, you don’t have to say anything.’

He gave his shoulder a squeeze and led the man into the nearest pub. It was quiet, thanks to the day and the time, and would allow them to speak freely and privately. His arm unwound from Lester’s shoulders but he kept a firm grip on his forearm, making the man turn to face him,

“I might talk,” he offers.  Garlan should get something from this meeting too.  He does not only want to take.  Lester might be poor company, at least the way he is now, but he is still company and if Garlan offers him his, then Lester must offer his company back.  But then, this was the offer that Garlan gave, company and freedom from his thoughts and worries.  Lester will simply have to repay him in some other way, at some later date.  ”But then, I might not.  Perhaps I will only listen to you.”

'There is nothing in particular I want to talk about, you know, I don't mind, anything at al, though I think we can happily stay away from talking about work, you and I, I'm sure, have both been absolutely swamped.'

He hummed a bit and looked up at him, swirling the alcohol in the glass,

And now he was trying to get through the rest of his work he’d let pile up, after finally finishing off that one bit that had nagged at him day in, day out since last Friday. There was just too much of it though, and the only person he trusted enough to help him get these other important things done, was Lester. So, as much as he hated to do it (he knew how hard the guy was worked, he knew that he had almost as much as Davos did and that the only reason Davos had so much was that he’d been obsessing over that one thing) he’d decided to ask Lester to lend him a hand with some of it.

Sighing, he pushed himself up and out of his chair. He picked up the pile of papers (if he was going to fob some of it off on Lester, the least he could do was let the guy pick what he’d rather do) and made his way out of his office and down the hall to Lester’s. Davos just hoped the guy had a little less work than usual, even though he knew there was no way he wouldn’t.

He hesitated just outside the door for a moment, wondering if this was really the right thing to do: it wasn’t fair. But life wasn’t fair and nor was work, so Davos pushed it open. He had expected to see Lester at his desk, but he hadn’t expected to see him looking up at a man who looked a lot like the CEO of TMC. What the man was doing there, he didn’t know. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man, letting the door shut behind him.

“I’m feeling fine.”  So this is about their last meeting.  Lester does not wish to dwell on that, though, and he wants to leave the statement at that, but he feels Garlan deserves more explanation.  ”Far better then I was last time we met up.”  He gives Garlan a weak smile.  ”Thank you for coming to see me.  And how are you?  You know, I had just been wondering, what—”

But his thought is cut off from the door opening and Lester can’t help but wonder about all the visitors today.  His office is not such a popular spot in the building and he does not think he has ever had two people who have come in at the same time.  Davos peeks his head in the door.

Garlan basked in the fact that he was sociable, sociable enough to make friends outside of the company and outside of the family's approved list, he was old enough to make his own decisions and if that meant getting cosy with a member of the Night's Watch and being buddy-buddy with the Minister of Defense then so be it. He watched Davos enter and caught the suspicious look, but he repaid it with a smile.

The man stood as they were introduced and he held out his hand to the man,

Lester prefers romance to drama; comedy to tragedy.  Not because he fears sadness or tension, though he would rather avoid both, but because he cannot escape the fact that no story ends at the ending.  Life goes on and that is much more difficult a realization when it comes at the end of a horror story or a tragedy.  These people, these characters he has gotten attached to have to continue to live past the time their story ends. 

They have to live because life goes on and Lester is realizing his life is turning out like that.  Not a tragedy—he is not so deluded to think that he has it much worse then anyone else—but he has to continue on without progress or success.  His life continues to move even when the story is not on him so he has no chance of any sort of progression or success.  Why should he have any success?  The people he is tracking have miles more time, people, and luck.  He does not have any power.  He needs power, he needs authority if he is to continue, if he is to have any bit of hope, but he has no money, no name, and a meaningless position.  He can make his people work themselves to the bone, but what use is it?

But he will continue.  There is nothing else to do.  Why should he do anything else?  He folds the paper he is working on and leans back in his swivel chair, groaning.  When did he grow so pessimistic?  When did his faith start to waver?  No, though.  It is not his faith that wavers.  He never had much faith in himself.

'Nothing in particular, I just thought I'd come and visit, they've become far more lenient about who they let through those doors, you know, despite this martial law.'

Garlan chuckled, moving to sit himself opposite the other man. He was tired and wanted, more than anything, to get away again, maybe to Spain, France, Portugal, anywhere.

He hardly notices Garlan bringing him out of the restaurant, though he does notice the hand on his arm.  It is more comfort then he has had in weeks.  Just to have someone want to help him.  He knows that is his own fault, always smiling.  But it is so much easier to smile.  So much better to make others feel good.  So much better then this, so much more of what he wants then pity.  He thinks pathetic, and can’t help to wonder what Garlan would say if he knew just how pathetic Lester was.  How little he cared for his brother, how little he cared for his life.

Not that this matters.  Not that he matters.  He has a lot more work to do before anything like that happens.  He has to catch the Brotherhood.  He does not have time for days off and does not have time for drinking.

'We can drink, and I can talk, you don't have to say anything.'

He gave his shoulder a squeeze and led the man into the nearest pub. It was quiet, thanks to the day and the time, and would allow them to speak freely and privately. His arm unwound from Lester's shoulders but he kept a firm grip on his forearm, making the man turn to face him,

He nodded in Garlan’s direction as he suggested they stay calm.  Though the stern look on his face didn’t soften until Margaery returned with tea.  Garlan’s comment about ‘emotions’ was not lost on him.  Renly did not appreciate being told what he should and should not be feeling.  If he wanted to freak out and run through the streets shouting for Loras’ return, he damned well would do that.  All of his life people had been telling him he wasn’t feeling the right emotions.  His brothers told him to stop being so dramatic.  At his all boys prep school, the ideals of a “tough” man had been drilled into him.  Law school had practically been a seminar in how to remain distant to a client’s situation.  And then there had been that year spent telling himself he couldn’t feel what he was feeling toward Loras.  He had hated it.  Every single situation.  He hadn’t found true happiness until he had just learned to give in to his emotions.  He spoke up in Parliament about helping the people he wanted, he hadn’t been afraid to admit his feelings, and most of all, he told Loras he was madly, irrevocably in love with him.

It was that love that made it impossible for him to remain rational and calm now, as Garlan insisted.  But despite knowing that the apology was hardly sincere, and knowing that the issues with Garlan weren’t even close to being resolved (or understood), he gave him a small smile and listened intently as he shared what little information he’d gathered.

He took a seat as he contemplated what all of this meant.  ”The Nights Watch have always remained politically neutral.  If this means Stannis has taken control, his dismantling of UK law runs deeper than we first anticipated.  We might have more hoops to jump through with this.”  He opened his lap top and began googling “political prisoner”.

'My "contact".'

He scoffed a little bit and grabbed a biscuit, almost crushing the poor thing in his hand, and he pulled it apart with his fingers, wanting something to fiddle with more than something to eat.

'It's easy enough for me to get in there. I've already told him to keep Loras fed, but at the end of the day it will be down to how he acts, too. I can see him, I can get him food, cigarettes, but it's down to him to eat.'

Garlan doubted that he would, Loras would no doubt be too wrapped up in being a pain in the backside and making it harder for them. He'd probably end up assaulting somebody while he was in there.

The man sighed and wiped his hands on the couch, leaning his head back, not knowing much else of what to say,

Garlan touches his arm and Lester puts his hand on his, briefly.  It might be a little awkward, and he has no idea what Garlan thinks, but he had to just touch someone.  Touch their hand.  It was necessary connection.  Then his hand drops back to his cup and, a second later, Garlan’s returns to his side.

He gave a small nod of thanks to the ladies and gents as they worked and he escorted his friend out into the warm, London air. He half wondered if he'd looked quite as heartbroken when he'd broken the news of deaths back on tour, or if he'd blocked it out after the first time.

'We'll have a drink, I think it might do you well to talk to somebody,'

He paused a little, licking his lips as he guided the man away from the cafe,

'Somebody that knows what you mean.'

“You ask—such ambiguous questions.”  And he’s certain his voice is shaking.  “Like about my boss.  How am I supposed to answer that?  I have two brothers.”  He can feel a burn past his temple, but he keeps his hands firmly in his lap.  If I only talk about Rich, I’ll be fine.  “Richard is…up and down.  As we all seem to be.  Working two jobs, one he loves and one he hates.  Still writing music.  Still in a band.  Broke up with his boyfriend a few months ago and suddenly became even more anti-social.  He and Walda get along really well.  He and I have been eating dinner together ever since—”

He can feel the burn in his eyes, feel the sting, and that’s wrong because water shouldn’t hurt so much.  “Guyard’s dead.  In the Stadium.  Or, after the Stadium, I suppose.  It took him days.”  He gives another shaky breath.  He can feel someone’s eyes on him and he knows they much be staring.  He can feel eyes on the back of his head.  “That’s why—you see that’s why I have to…”  He considers for a moment.  “You never liked Guy at all.  I remember that.  And I could see why.  He could be a total prat.  That was what I called him, all the time.  He would be so irritating and I would just loose it with him.”  He gives a laugh that he’s certain sounds slightly insane. 

'Don't worry. I know it can be hard to lose somebody close to you.'

He let his hand drop then and pushed his chair back, moving to the man's side, and with a hand on his arm he lifted him up from his seat,

He was already past him, and busy unloading his law books onto the dining table when he heard him offer him a drink.  He thought nothing of it, assuming he was offering water or tea.  He was a Tyrell after all, and that was well within the domain of a polite host.  But as he turned and noticed the glass of wine in Garlan’s hand for the first time, all emotion dropped from Renly’s face.

Was this some sort of joke?  Garlan knew Renly had only just recovered from his struggles with alcohol.  Even looking at the glass now was incredibly tempting.  His worries for Loras could be instantly eased with just a few sips.  But at what cost?  He’d get back to their empty apartment tonight and what would stop him from drowning his fears and sorrows with a bottle of Jameson?  Next day, still no Loras…a stiff g&t to chase away the hangover…and it would just spiral down from there.  He was stronger than that now, but who was Garlan to mock his past failures? 

“Excuse me?” Renly said loudly.  “Garlan, I don’t know what your problem is with me.  I’ve done nothing more than fall in love with your brother, but apparently you take offense to my presence in his life?  And now, you offer me alcohol, knowing full well the struggles I’ve had with it in the past.”  He averted his eyes, still ashamed that he had let himself go down that road in the first place.  He hated having to admit to his weakness.

'You're right, so what say we keep cool heads and not panic or rush into anything that we haven't thought through, and let's not let our emotions get the best of us.'

Perhaps it did seem as if he were a little too calm, but that was, at the end of the day, what a large glass of a good vintage would do to somebody. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but there was a surge of anger in him, just beneath his skin and more than ready to burst through at Renly, or Margaery, whoever rippled the surface first, and as it was looking it was neck-a-neck. He saw her glare and he ignored it. He didn't want to help Renly with his things, he didn't want to help Margaery in the kitchen, all he wanted to do was go to bed. But, alas, he couldn't be sure of Loras' fate, what they were doing to him in that little room and Renly was right, on one account. 

He hovered in the hallway, feeling awkward in his own house, he could hear the kettle going and he could hear Renly shuffling papers. He did feel bad, slightly, for what he'd said, not that he'd immediately meant it, but what was done was done.

Garlan was back in the room before Margaery, touching at the papers on the table that held no real meaning for him, and he sat himself down. His jaw was clenched, his body tense and he could not bring himself to look at Renly--he couldn't even remember the first time he'd heard the name, or when he and Loras had begun seeing each other, but now Renly had Loras and Renly had Margaery, Margaery had Willas and, well, maybe I ought to buy a dog, he thought.

'I apologise.'

He said to Renly, stiffly, still wishing he had that wine in his hand. 

'I've spoken to one of the Night's Watch. Assault on a civilian. Stannis' name thrown about, not much else to speak of. Working on it, though.'

“Oh, please.”

“All I know is that the charge is for assault on a citizen. The name Stannis Baratheon was thrown around, but I dunno…Loras been in any barfights with the Prime Minister lately?”

[He hesitates, noting the sigh he hears crackling over the phone line, and the resignation in his friend’s voice. He hesitates for a moment, worrying.]

'Not as far as I know.'

He shrugged, a gesture that wouldn't be seen, but he hoped would be translated along the line. 

'I'm fine. Perfectly fucking fine.'

He was lying, of course he was lying.

“I thought you’d be breaking down our door by now….He’ll get food and all—as far as I know, the Watch isn’t in the habit of starving their inmates… 

[Satin rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.]

'While brawn can help it's not the best thing to do, they'll only have you lock me up, too.'

He sighed down the phone and sat himself up properly, using his hands to grope blindly for a notebook and pen,

The cab ride to Garlan’s house was eerily quiet, and much too slow for Renly’s liking.  He had stressed to the driver the importance of haste, but his pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.  He’d have preferred to just sprint the short distance.  It would probably have been quicker, seeing as it was just two miles from Camden to St. John’s Wood, and he could cut through Regent’s Park.  Only it wasn’t quicker, because Renly could not run.  Not even to save Loras.

So instead he sat in the back of a cab with an overactive imagination, picturing all of the horrible things that could be done to his husband.  He had studied law and had concentrated on civil and human rights.  He knew all too well what had been done to political prisoners in other countries during military coups.  Because that was what Loras was…a political prisoner.  The “assault” charge was about as flimsy a story as one could imagine.  Renly had been with Loras every day since the accident.  He’d slept next to him every night.  He knew where Loras was every moment of every day (up until now).  He would have known about an assault.  

Beyond that, the lies had been written across Jon Stark’s face.  Any have decent barrister could take this case down in a matter of minutes, but in order to do that it would have to go to trial.  Renly wasn’t sure what the state of the court system was right now.  Stannis had control of just about everything else?  Who knew when fair trials would resume.  Loras could be locked up for months…years…however long it took for this martial law bullshit to be resolved, if it ever was.  

The lump in his throat grew as the anger returned.  Anger at Jon Stark, Stannis, Melisandre, and mostly himself.  He should have saw this coming.  He should have put his fucking non-existant career second to the safety of his loved ones and made sure Loras wasn’t dragged into this.  

Finally the cab pulled up outside Garlan’s house, and he released his balled up fists long enough to throw some cash at the driver.  His manners where forgotten when Loras’ well being was in jeopardy.  

Margaery’s car pulled up after him, and he waited to greet her, thankful to finally see a familiar face.  Without Loras, he often felt completely alone in the world.  Like he was returning to the state of mind he’d grown up in…loneliness.  This wasn’t true anymore.  He was a Tyrell now.  He had Garlan, Willas, Olenna…an entire support system.  And of course, he had Margaery.

He looked awful already.

As the two turned towards the door Garlan found himself dragging his bare feet over the carpet to meet them there. So Loras is in jail, he thought, with the Night's Watch, it could always have been worse, and they were Tyrells at the end of the day, there isn't much chance he'll be in there long.

He pressed his lips together and pulled the door open as they approached, waiting to lead them into the house properly. It was a nice house, there was no doubt about that, homely despite it's high ceilings, it was sparse, yet cosy, a the floors were bare of carpets and it left polished, bare floorboards, shaggy carpets, in some places only the concrete, but somehow it worked.