the sun has set

Loras was shaping up to be someone Theon felt more and more he could trust, something his family would sorely disapprove of, but if he was dismissing admitted guilt it was proof enough he would not shape Theon a man from his past sins. So many of Westeros specialized in their intent to hold grudges until their deaths, or at the very least, cling to a man’s wrongdoings to later use them against him. Loras, in Theon’s eyes at least, did not seem like so many others.

“It isn’t grace that has me acknowledging it, it’s guilt and shame.” Theon admitted. If he had grace and honor, he would have never committed the acts in the first place, and he would have seen Robb and the Starks as his family despite their efforts in keeping him an arm’s distance. 

A keep or a wife…it sounded what would be planned for any young knight of Highgarden, especially a Tyrell at that, but it reminded Theon that if they should both survive, they would inevitably have to part ways. It was a fact that struck him harder than expected, and he wondered after it all was done and the banners departed, if he would see his friend again. “Despite what the chances my be, my arrows will find your enemies during the fight.” Every shot would count, nothing less was acceptable, and he would do everything in his power to ensure the forces did not overrun and take the few that mattered to him. “I suppose if the undead wish to bring you down, I will make them fight twice as hard.”

Guilt and shame. Everybody seemed to want to see the same emotions from Loras himself, but he had sworn an oath, and would not be swayed by his grandmother’s assertions or his brothers’ disappointment to feel guilty for supporting the man he loved in his assent to the crown, nor shame for loving so deeply someone who the gods deemed unfit for someone like him. Some days it was much harder than others, but he was stalwart and stubborn, and hopelessly in love with a dead man. “Perhaps that makes you a man of good sense.” 

Theon’s sentiment was kind, and it made Loras smile, ever weak for nice young men with chivalrous promises and caring hearts. He never thought he would think such things of a Greyjoy, but here he was, doing just that. 

Jojen blinked once at the honest of the man’s words, then chuckled softly, “I am not smart.” he said, shaking his head slightly, “I’m merely a man who dreams. The wondering mind gives one the chance to see many different things.” And in his case they were sometimes forced upon the waking mind as well.  Jojen had little to do in his childhood save to learn and so he had done so, that didn’t mean he could always employ what he knew well. So often these days he felt as though he were lost. He nodded slightly as the other introduced himself, “Tyrell? You’re from a great southern house?” Jojen chuckled, “You seem too kind for that. I am Jojen Reed, a pleasure on both sides.” he said with a small nod.

The other seemed nervous, it struck him as almost comically odd, to see a muscled young man in his prime so cautious and nervous in the face of cradling a tiny bird in his palm. He didn’t dare laugh though, he suspected this may have greater meaning for the other man than Jojen knew and the experiences of others should never be overlooked. “I believe he feels safe with you,” he told Loras, smiling as he saw a grin take over the other’s face, the first real smile he’d seen the other have. Yes, he’d done some good this day, him and this little bird, he was certain of it. The warmth of the success spread though his body and a small chuckle escaped him, a laugh full of friendliness and simply joy, nothing garnered at another’s expense.    

Jojen happily watched the little bird in Loras’ palm, “My father and sister taught me. I have grown up surrounded by nature, not above it. There’s a different perspective to it I suppose, but there are some skills you can only learn that way. For example, we can talk to some animals as well.” Jojen turned back to the bird, pursed his lips and whistled a high pitched tune, bobbing his head a little. The bird paused in its feeding to look at him, tilt its head and chirp a little tune back before returning to its feeding. “See?” he chuckled again, “So, no matter what people think of you, an animal, a creature who can inherently understand right and wrong, see’s you as safe and kind. What’s some mis-placed gossip in the face of that?” he asked gently.

Loras smiled, perhaps a little uncomfortably. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of anything but kingly shadows and dead stags in what were surely nightmares sooner than any kind of dream. Jealousy struck him that this boy could learn something from what he saw in his head while his eyes were closed. “Its a pleasure to meet you too.” Loras had met plenty of Lords in his time, and yet none of them were quite anything like Jojen Reed. “I am - you have us mistaken for some of our other southern peers - us Tyrells are not unkind people, I promise you that.” Prickly, some might say, self serving, cunning, untrustworthy even, but unkindness was the game of Lannisters and Targaryens and Baratheons. 

Though he himself could not communicate with the bird, he was convinced that Jojen could, or at least the young lord knew how to read its actions and sounds. To hear that the bird felt safe with him was a beautiful thing indeed, and he laughed as it copied Jojen’s sounds. Joy, Loras remembered, felt like this. He remembered the way he had laughed playing in the gardens with Margaery when they were little, and hunting with Garlan and Willas when they were all still back in the Reach. Most of all he remembered Renly, who would have laughed too, out of joy, to see the bird perched on Loras’ calloused hand. 

“I’ll admit, I feel a little foolish to have paid attention to any of it.” Loras said, a humbled blush colouring dimpled cheeks. “There are more important things in this world than what people think of me, true or not.” The little bird thought nothing ill of him, and he cared more about that than the twittering of Lannisters and Baratheons and Starks. “Thank you, Lord Reed.” He said quietly, but ever so genuinely. “For showing this to me.” 

“You have.” Greydon assured him. “You are a true warrior, Ser Loras, but backup, just in case, can never be harmful.” The young man was so stubborn it seemed, always wanting to do things on his own, forgetting that having help was not a weakness. “You and I both know, that myself, nor Garlan or Willas would ever be able to fill the void in your sister’s heart if something was to befall you. Don’t lie to yourself. She is a strong woman but even strong people have those they can’t bear to live without.” 

“Margaery will no doubt marry soon, once this war is done, and she will leave Highgarden - and me. I would rather give my life in the battle to come to ensure that she is safe than try to protect her from grief that will dissipate in time.” Perhaps he spoke too casually of his fears, but Greydon was at least a good confidant - Loras could speak whatever he wanted, and he knew that most likely the only other ears it would reach would be those of his Grandmother. He was a loyal man, if nothing else. Even strong people have those they can’t bear to live without - the image of Renly in his mind’s eye called out to him. He could not be strong much longer, when living without the man he loved held such little joy anymore. The words hit a little too close to home, and his words were clipped as he pressed Greydon. “You sound as though you speak from experience, ser.” 

Theon chuckled, finding himself flattered at the so called selfish admission. Perhaps it was selfish on his part too, for he would much prefer the Knight of Flowers be back here with him than in his rightful place soaking in the awe of the many that adored him further up the line. The Greyjoy’s eyes brightened, unused to returned compliments but finding he rather enjoyed them coming from Loras’ lips in particular. Another reason to want him around, as while everything he said was interesting and offered a film of comfort that allowed Theon to forget where he was heading and what trouble awaited him there, his presence also seemed to lift the kraken’s spirits, making him feel more alive and less like he was being dragged through the mud under Arrow’s hooves.

“Their words are justified, I assure you.” Theon said softly, not wanting Loras to think he was an innocent victim enduring the lashing of verbal abuse for no reason at all. “I wronged them years ago, reluctantly of course, but that doesn’t matter. The North Remembers…and they are true to holding to their anger.” His smile faded as he spoke, breath visible in the cold air as he sighed. “I was young, foolish…and I wish I could undo it all, but I can’t.”

His arm guided his mare just a fraction closer to Loras’ side, and he leaned back in his saddle to find a more comfortable position. “You rode back here to be with me, you can call me whatever you like.” He jested, good nature returning to him in an instant. “But of course that’s fine. I feel we’re past the point of obligation for courteous titles.”

The question drew his gaze to Loras, meeting those eyes with his own and staring into them for a moment before shaking his head. “Honestly…I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” As soon as he’d received word they were marching to Winterfell, many of his hopes had been washed away. If he was not killed before the battle or during it, Robb would surely end him after. “What about you?”

"If they are, it means little to me.” Loras shrugged, his words were perhaps naive but he had little interest in involving himself in the quarrels and tensions of the northerners, or anyone for that matter. “You did not wrong me, or those I love. We are living in a time of war, no man can claim true innocence - not you, not King Robb Stark, not me, not anybody.” Loras watched the train winding up ahead of them, countless men and women from every corner of the known world who had all had to do what they must to survive. 

“At least you have the grace to acknowledge your past mistakes as mistakes.” He managed a good-humoured laugh, though it was a weak, self deprecating thing. “I have always found that a hard thing to do.” He would never betray Renly by word or deed, Loras had promised that in front of the Seven in the days after his lover’s murder, but such a promise had been hard to keep now that the Tyrell’s support of a king with very little claim was seen as an act of treachery, foolishness, and betrayal. Loras had learned to pick his words carefully, and claim naivety when it came to discussions of what others called his mistakes since then. 

He had to choose his words carefully when talking of the future too, for he had no intention of having one. There was little Loras wanted more than glory, except for perhaps rest. He had already penned a letter to leave for Margaery, apologising for leaving her and instructions to give to Garlan and Willas for his burial - he wished to be taken to the Stormlands where he had laid Renly to rest, if logistic permitted, and buried next to him so that the wild roses might one day cover his grave completely and leave him to an eternity in the Seven Heavens with his lover’s arms around him. “I will return to Highgarden, I suppose.” Loras said, with a shrug, his lies stilted. “My brother Willas might find a keep for me, or a wife, but I am not sure I’m cut out for any of that. I haven’t thought much about it, if I am honest - it seems like there’s a rather large chance we might not come back from this at all.” 

Andar had little desire to move toward Harrenhal, though he was a man who knew his duty. He’d been pleased, truly, that he’d been able to make plans with Harry, that he’d been able to get to know Lyarra as an adult. But there was part of Andar that was restless, that knew a war was coming. He wanted little to do with it and late at night he often found himself missing his daughter. She was safe in Runestone and though he was tempted to bring her with him, he knew such thoughts were selfish. There was no one to look after her here and much as he hated Littlefinger and his cronies, Andar knew Aemma was better protected at Runestone than she would be anywhere else.

He had been riding his horse and conversing with one of his father’s bannermen near the back of the column, having offered to take up the rear to ensure that the women and children traveling with them remained safe. It was slow going, but Andar had made the best of it. And then the column seemed to stop and the people began to mill about, going around something. With a shake of his head, he took his horse’s reins in hand and trotted toward the commotion, his nostrils flaring as he saw a familiar face. Andar’s jaw tightened but he said nothing untoward, aware of the audience they had with women and children looking on. He could not let the Knight of Flowers make him look a fool.

He jerked his head in a facsimile of a nod and dismounted, handing his reins to a squire. “What has happened?” he inquired, not directly answering the question verbally as he looked at the wagon wheel. “It could be worse. At least the wheel has not completely splintered.”

Loras knew that Andar Royce would not turn down an act of kindness towards these people just because he was there too. No, that rigid sense of Vale honour would get in the way of making any sort of scene, and Loras’ own innate Reach-bred chivalry prevented him from doing the same either. Without quite meaning to, Loras found himself chuckling quietly to himself at the way Andar’s analytical question was immediately self-answered. It was a familiar mannerism that Loras had found endearing in Ser Robar, though the memory was bittersweet as that unavoidable guilt swept in like an oncoming tide. 

“Indeed. A small amount of luck.” Loras replied, going about lifting the children out of the wagon so that they might fix this problem before it drew the attention of those further ahead and caused a large amount of trouble. He handed one of the older boys the reins of his horse and asked him to look after the stallion for a moment, seeing as he looked the type of strong, smart boy to be capable of such a task. 

The child grinned, and did as he was bid, Loras’ lips curling in a kind smile as he turned away, though such an expression was gone as soon as he met Andar’s gaze again. “We can probably lift it out of the pothole without much trouble if a few of the men take each side. Then we can reset the wheel on its axle and be on our way - what do you think ser?.”

“Take my concern with a grateful heart, Ser Loras.” Greydon advised him. “When you’re on the battle field, and even when you’re not you have someone here who will defend you to no end. That is a valuable asset to anyone.” He reminded him of his dedication to House Tyrell and all that came with it. “And further more someone who will defend your beloved sister even when you are not by her side. I will make sure that House Tyrell remains standing.”

Regardless of Loras’s distain, Greydon had a job to do, of which he refused to fail. He wasn’t going to allow Loras to take that from him. “If anything at all, take my advice for Margaery’s sake.” 

“I will do my best.” Loras grumbled, hating how vulnerable and petty he must seem in front of a man like Greydon who had seen just how small he had once been, and how little he had truly grown up in all these years. “I do not need defending on the battlefield, ser. Have I not proved myself in that area more than enough already?”

Loras reeled at the targeted comment. Greydon had grown up at Highgarden, and knew innately that the bond he shared with Margaery was stronger than the one he shared with practically anyone else. “She has you, her sworn sword, and Garlan - even Willas. If something happened to me she would be safe enough.” At least that is what he told himself, as he prepared himself for the reality of what he planned to do in the oncoming battle. 

That grin earned a reciprocating smile, likely the first he’d offered anyone since the journey north began. “I’m the youngest of my house, and my sister is far more of a leader than I am. My presence at the front is neither needed nor required.” His men followed him, albeit reluctantly and he couldn’t fault them for that. Even his own Uncle had settled on him being more wolf than kraken leaving him little more than a stranger to his men with a name that demanded respect. 

“Besides, the further north we go the harsher the tongues of Robb’s bannerman become. They don’t want me here, and so relieving them of my presence during the march seemed the best choice to make.” They had been less comfortable in the south, out of place, surrounded by thousands of men they had been trained to fight against, but now they were headed home, and with it their confidence renewed. 

Though because Theon had sought to be away from the judgmental stares did not mean he wished to be alone, and at Loras’ concerns at intruding he quickly looked to him, afraid he might pick up pace and leave without awaiting an answer. “No. No, you did no such thing. I’m glad you’re here, and I’m honored if you came this far back the line just for the intent of seeking me out. With you looking as grand as you do, I feel rather unworthy of it.” An admirable knight alongside a traitor…what a pair they must make, but the men they rode beside knew nothing and cared nothing for their past and titles, and there was little need to guard words. Theon offered another smile, hoping his preference for Loras to remain with him was clear. “So please, stay. I feel much better with your company than without it.”

“So is mine. And she has far more interest in it than I do.” Leadership and politics had never been the greatest of Loras’ strengths - and there was no point, when Willas was of such perfect temperament to lead their house into the future, with Garlan and Margaery alongside him as aid. Loras’ place had always been on the battlefield, with a sword in his hand and a laugh on his lips. 

Loras dared the northmen to speak ill of Theon in his presence, he would surely make them eat their words regardless of the diplomatic disaster that would ensue. The North remembered, but Loras cared little. Of course, he would have to answer to his grandmother as to why he was causing trouble, but she likely already knew exactly why. Not much got past the Queen of Thorns. “Perhaps it is selfish, but I am glad they have no need of you at the front.” Loras grinned, fixing his emerald gaze on Theon as they rode, glad of the seemingly mutual desire between them to spend time in each other’s company. The vehemence and speed with which Theon affirmed Loras’ presence here dusted the apples of his cheeks with pink, though the young knight ducked his head in an attempt to disguise such an unseemly reaction. 

“The honour is all mine, Lord Greyjoy.” He replied, adjusting his grip on the reins. “And the only thing you are unworthy of is the harsh tongues of the men you were raised amongst.” Granted, Loras did not know the full picture, nor completely why the men of the north despises their kraken ward so much, but he could not bring himself to ask. He liked knowing Theon as he was, not for the folly of his past actions - just as he liked being who he was, instead of carrying with him the actions he was condemned for by so many, but which he could not bring himself to condemn internally. 

“Tell me, then, Theon - may I call you Theon?” He asked, wide eyed and perhaps shy under his layers of chivalry and velvet that he wore like armour. “What will you do once the Night King has fallen?”

Jojen had grown in a land of true nature, wild nature in which he and his people were yet one more branch within a food chain. They had learned how to deal with the creatures and even be at one with them, often a Crannogmen did not need to Warg to mount a Lizard-Lion, they merely needed to gain the great beast’s trust. It was the same with little birds too; trust was what mattered most, and animals gave it more easily than most. “I imagine they would, and with that love comes loyalty and a desire to please, to work hard and fulfil tasks, animals aren’t unlike people in that way.” he said, voice soft yet friendly. They hadn’t been travelling for long and he’d loitered towards the back of the walking pack so he was not yet overcome with fatigue. “All magic is rare, but it is certainly present if one knows where to look for it.” he raised a finger and gently ran it along the head of the bird who hopped and lent into the contact. He’d spent many months learning how to put birds at ease within the neck, they’d flutter to his balcony in Greywater and keep him company since his father preferred Jojen to not interact with people idly lest his Sight come into play and word of his gift spread to the wrong ears.

“There are different kinds of wise.” Jojen said gently, looking up at the other man and smiling, “The wisdom it takes to wield a blade well, to plan a political victory, to love a friend in need, they’re all different. And it seems to me you can certainly wield a sword, and you do no seem cruel, so in that you’re already two kinds of wise.” Jojen shook his head, “A coward would be one who refuses to acknowledge the whispers at all. Knowing they’re there but not wanting to deal with them for a moment is simply fatigue, and even the Old Gods know to respect that.” Else he suspected they would force visions upon him until his body broke under the strain.      

“That is correct.” he nodded, “Though many, even fellow Northerners, often give us less charitable names.” he added with a small smile, truly such insults didn’t bother him, he knew his worth. “Oh you’d have trouble with that affair.” he told the other, “Lizard-Lions are kings in the swamp, invisible in the water while you struggled forward in armour. They’d strike before you knew it, clamp their jaws around you and drag you under the water.” he told the mini-tale as an expert storyteller would, chuckling as he finished, “But, they can also be very placid, and let you walk by without you even knowing they’re there. Depends on their mood, sometimes the braver thing is to do nothing, hmm?” As the other came closer Jojen nodded, “Well, that depends on you, hold out your hand.” he said, reaching into his pocket and drawing a few more seeds out, he tipped them onto Loras’ palm and placed his palm level to his. After tilting its head curiously, the little bird hopped onto the other’s hand and began pecking up the feed. Jojen gently gripped Loras’ bicep and nodded at him, “Don’t move your hand now, stability is safety.”   

“You’re wiser than anyone I’ve ever met.” Loras said, matter of factly. There was no point disguising what he could plainly see - and the young knight found it easy to be generous with compliments where they were well deserved. The words that spilled from this young man’s lips sounded like they should be being read from the crumbling pages of a maester’s old text rather than uttered between strangers under a rustling copse of trees. So caught up he had gotten, in the intricacies of what the Crannogman spoke of, that he had forgotten the courtesies that he wore like armour. “You say so many interesting things, I half forgot my manners in listening to them. My name is Loras Tyrell, and it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

He had an affinity with his horse, and had loved to spend time lying in the sun with the cats who lounged around Highgarden as a boy, so he tried to convince himself that the bird was no different. Horses, cats, birds, people - they shared this world all the same, and he tried not to be so tense as the young lord approached him with his tiny friend. Loras knew he would be infinitely embarrassed if the bird flew off - he had no intention of coming across as some oafish brute who could do nothing but smash other men’s skulls in with his sword. He valued his own softness as much as he did his strength, after all. Loras accepted the seeds in his hand, and all but held his breath as the little bird eyed him up, as if choosing whether or not to hop over from his perfectly apt perch. 

“Right. Well, hopefully for your sake we arrive there soon and you can frolic in as much snow as you like.” As for Greydon he would be bundled up inside with food and ale. 

He took the stare as a battle of wills of which he didn’t advert his gaze. He knew that Loras wasn’t particularly fond of him but he took it in stride, knowing that regardless he had a job to do. It didn’t truly matter if Loras liked him or not, but it would help in his efforts if he did. “Your mistakes? As long as the kingsroad itself. Your lack of subtlety and impulsive nature has gotten us into too many a situation that I have had to fix. You need to think before you act. Especially going into a battle as we are. I’m not saying this to judge you, I’m telling you to head the warning to be careful. I don’t want to have to carry your body all the way back to Highgarden.” 

Loras scowled, despising the way Greydon spoke to him as if he were a child. Perhaps that was how the older knight still saw him, or perhaps it just amused him to tease. It was not like Loras did not take the bait, as he bristled with frustration as he always had. 

“You sound just like my grandmother.” Loras said, unable to stand the pressure of Greydon’s stare any longer as he averted his gaze like it was nothing, a haughty gesture in every way. He snorted smugly. The Knight of the Flowers had little intention of returning back to Highgarden - he wanted glory in the battle that was to come, and a hero’s death so that he could have the Stranger lead him to the soul of his lost beloved in due time. “I have survived this long, lack of impulse control and all. Your concern is misplaced. I am not the boy you once knew - there is no need to treat me as though I still stand as tall as your knee.”