#jeyneofthewesterlings

🏮⚔️ death: what are three things you want to do before you die?

❝ i want to return to yi ti again, as myself, and embrace my little brother again. i want to tell him i do not blame him for what transpired, and that i think he will be a great emperor one day. i do not intend to stay there though, that life is over, but i would like to one day be released from lady margaery’s service, when she is safe, and find some lands of my own on which to live, i may have enough coin to purchase some soon, or i had thought i might earn it by proving indispensable in the battle against the night king. call me shallow, but my final wish is to fall into bed with a woman from each of the seven kingdoms - to know what makes a girl from the reach touch softer than one of iron from the islands, to know if a girl from the westerlands would roar like a lioness under my kiss, just as a riverlander might sigh with all the languidness of a silver stream. ❞

🏮⚔️ the sun: do you believe in magic?

❝ i do not believe in magic, plain and simple. too many things have gone wrong in my life for me not to have wished for magic to fix them, but it has never come. fate is the only supernatural force i am willing to accommodate, and even that is just the way of the world. ❞

🏮⚔️ the chariot: thoughts on astrology?

Loras eyed Garlan with contempt, his green eyes clouded with prickly contempt in a way that was surely familiar to his older brother, who had been weathering the storms of his younger brother’s unpredictable temper since Loras had been old enough to talk - perhaps even before then.

“You sure have strange way of showing that, Garlan.” He snapped, turning to face away from his brother. “Your gallant words might be enough for Leonette, and Willas, and the smallfolk, even grandmother, but it means little to me when all you have done for the past months is feed my guilt and self loathing.” 

It occured to Loras that he was being to harsh on his brother, that he had shouldered much of fallout from his own mistakes, but what had been said was said, and what had been done was done. “Get out.” Loras scowled, “I am tired of this conversation - I only wish to speak to Margaery; do me a favour for once and tell her to visit if you see her.” 

Loras rolled his eyes at Lord Royce, seeing the man now only as a very physical, very intimidating reminder of his past mistakes that he could not bring himself to admit to out loud for the shame of it. Renly’s death had left him broken, empty and devoid of much but anger and sadness, all of which he had begun to take out on the late Ser Robar’s older brother. 

“Thank you for your concern.” Loras’ voice was haughty and lacked any of the politeness that had been drilled into him from so young. “But that means nothing to me, seeing as I always win, and it is not respect I seek.” Glory, notoriety, fame, justice - those were what he sought with his blade in his hand. 

With his piece said, he turned back to sharpening his sword with almost obsessive attention. Renly had used to tease him for being so hellbent on honing the edge so perfectly, and so often, but old habits die hard. Besides, it gave him an excuse not to look Andar in the eye, for he knew if he did, guilt would be all too obvious in his glance.

He huffed a small laugh at that, finding both humor and truth in her words. If anyone would have told him several years ago that most banners would be coming together in an alliance to fend off the undead, he would have labeled them mad and chased them away. “It’s certainly a strange time we live in, isn’t it?” His ship was docked near the encampment, but he felt more solace here feeling the soft rock of waves and the wood of the vessel groan. His men were down below, enjoying drinks and a hot meal, as it seemed the crew were much like their captain in wishing to avoid mixing and mingling with those on land. 

“I’m curious to see how things will settle after all this is done, and while I’m sure Robb will be intent to stop you, I do hope you plan to visit the Iron Islands frequently.” Chances were however...Robb would stop her. Division would be up quickly, and the fight for the throne would continue despite the current, albeit shaky, camaraderie. Her place had already been secured, as had his, and it would inevitably place them on opposite sides.

“Maybe,” Loras snarled between gritted teeth, “If you told me what it is you are thinking for once in your life, I wouldn’t have to make assumptions. You’re a fucking coward, Garlan - you walk around with your pretty, adoring wife, your perfect children, and your huge keep that you rule beloved by its people and you think that gives you the authority to act like I’m a villain, like I’m a burden to you and grandmother and Willas and Margaery.” 

Loras’ fist clenched dangerously, and he knew he should lower the increasing volume of his voice lest the wrong ears catch wind of it, but he couldn’t help himself as his anger sparked to flame. “You think I’m a traitor, a turncloak, you think I’m stupid, and that I think with my heart and not my brain - you hate me for dragging our family through the mud. Say it, admit it - you hate me.” 

Green eyes narrowed dangerously at Garlan, contempt burning in them like the fires on the Blackwater the night they had both fought in the capital, side by side, brothers in arms. “What should I do about it?” Loras’ voice burned with a quiet fury now, and a tear escaped his eye, bleeding down his face. “Should I grovel at your feet, brother? Should I cry my apologies for another year, two, three? Should I take the black and renounce our family name so that you can have it all to yourself and I can tarnish it no further?” Should I do what I plan when we ride north, and leave you with one brother and not two? “Tell me, and perhaps I won’t have to guess any longer.” 

Jaeyi’s fingers closed like a cage around her tankard of ale, though it was almost empty and her smile came a little easier from its effects. She liked the company of this Valeman, he was frank and honest, but very serious in a way that emanated off him in waves. 

He has lived through much, she thought to herself, as the room full of people from every corner of the known world bubbled with chatter in the great hall of Dragonstone. Each of them carried with them lies - she herself was perhaps the greatest liar of all. 

“I despise liars just as you do, but lying itself is as critical a skill as talking, or fighting, or shitting, or fucking. Perhaps it is just as innate.” She said, flicking her black plaits over her shoulder and smirking at him. “Do you have children, my lord? Children learn to lie almost as soon as they learn to speak, men and women grown never forget that skill - and a skill it is.”