sixthiterationlogs | [OTA] When the sun has set ...

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[OTA] When the sun has set ...

WHO: Loras Tyrell.
WHERE: The fountain, the inn.
WHEN: Dec. 19 (probably through to Dec. 20).
OPEN TO: Anyone and everyone at The Inn.
WARNINGS: Probable mentions of death/murder, captivity/torture, usual Game of Thrones things.

The Fountain

There was a ringing in his ears. Even under the water, it was persistent, the remnants of the split-second boom, and Loras wasn't sure what to process first. Or, really, how to process any of it at all. The first and most critical thought was this: he was dead. That much, Loras was sure about (an odd thing that it would get him here, as he'd never once evoked the drowned god in his life). What more he could guess, was that if he were dead, then this would certainly be the semblance of an after life.

An afterlife where no doubt the others he'd lost would be waiting. His father, Margaery, Renly.

The moment of joy was fleeting when the second fact settled in. Water. He'd been thinking of it this whole time, as brief as it was, but it hadn't quite struck him in full. Loras was surrounded by water with a glimmer of the surface above him and the sudden, sinking (hah) realization that what he wanted was up there. The Knight of Flowers had never learned properly how to swim but knew the mechanics well enough - and what he lacked, his basic survival instincts filled in the rest. He kicked and struggled his way up for what seemed to be an endless stretch of time. Maybe this was his afterlife. And maybe it was easier to simply give up as he'd done at the end of it all.

The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when he broke the surface, gasping for a breath of air while the water sloshed around his mouth, slipping down into his throat. Blinking it out of his eyes, Loras saw the edge, a wall that he could grasp, just barely out of reach of his fingertips.

The Inn

It had seemed as good a place as any to go. Bustling with the occupants of the village, full of others in similar circumstances, people making the best with what they had. The last thing Loras wanted at the moment was anything bustling or lively, but he felt that his sister would grow to worry too much if he confined himself inside their home. He owed Margaery too much to cause her any burden, so the Inn it was. It was as good as any place to start to size up the other residents.

Though Loras couldn't bring himself to engage. Not on his own accord. He'd found a spot where he could sit by himself, where he could see people as they came and went if he wanted to look. He scarcely raised his eyes up from the warm drink nesting between his hands (though he had glanced up, quickly, muttering a thank you when it was brought to him). His thoughts were distant, detached, eyes dull as he focused his attention on nothing at all.

It was likely that everything about him screamed NEW ARRIVAL.

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She made a habit in her day to visit the fountain, especially when the weather became colder and winter more firmly settled in the village. Though she traveled to the woods less and less, she still found excuses for passing the fountain to look for those that struggled to the surface and sputtered over the side. She could remember how she had fought against the waters, how a part of her had wanted to sink and let the images of the Sept disappear from her mind. It was only when she lay on the ground, staring up at the sky that everything began to sink in. Jon had been the one to help her, and she determined to offer that help to anyone else she might come across.

Perhaps there was even a small gleam of hope that someday she would see family of her own instead of strangers or Starks. Though she often battled with herself about whether this was a place she wanted them to be forced to, she couldn't deny how much she missed her brother and grandmother. Even just to see them once might help alleviate the guilt she still carried and the connection to her past self that she hadn't fully let go of.

When Loras pulls himself from the fountain, Margaery at first doesn't recognize him. The familiar gold curls are gone, instead leaving the shaved head of a penitent. She doesn't know how to respond, left in a daze at the sight of her broken brother. It was her worst nightmare come to life, the man she had tried to save but only brought death upon.

It feels as if time slows down and the winter air freezes even more around her. Holding tightly to her cloak, she draws closer as her breath seemed to return. "Loras?" After all this time and here he was? It couldn't be.

By the time she speaks, Loras has found the edge of the fountain. His fingers grasp at it and the cold jolts through him, but it seems such a trivial thing when he hears her. Her voice, unmistakable, and there her face -

"-- Margaery," he manages to say, sputtering the word out. The chill is settling in but that's probably not the reason he's trembling. Not entirely. Loras starts to pull himself up, gripping the stone. He's strong enough for this, he tells himself, even as his body refuses to listen. For all that he doesn't want to do it, Loras reaches for his sister.

She'll help him. She always does. Though he hates to ask if of her even now, he has to know if this is simply a dream.

Her hands are halfway towards him when he reaches for her. Arms encircle him, helping him find his footing and careful not to let him stumble, as she had in life. She is stronger than she was, hard living had long ago worn away the delicate creature she was. She could support his weight now and encourage him to lean on her. Perhaps she could have managed that anyway? Adrenaline raced through her as a storm of memories and images passed over her. The last words she had spoken to him: 'Stay with me.' His utter resignment to their fate. The feeling of him gripping her as heat engulfed them, then nothing. It seemed like two lifetimes ago.

"Come on." She didn't have a plan. Normally when she found others, she brought them to the inn to relax and warm themselves, where others could be reunited with them or offer answers. But now this was her brother here, her family. She didn't want to expose him to so many people right away or force him to endure their questions as he tried to adjust. There was a better place, but even there they wouldn't be alone.

Despite that, she helped guide him towards her bungalow. There had been beautiful roses along the pathway up to the door and the sharp smell of fruit trees from the side, but with winter, everything faded until it was only a crisp memory of what had been there before. Inside was simple and basic, there was a decorative rug, made by Margaery and bearing the symbols of their house, but little else to indicate this was a place she considered home.

She helped ease him on the couch as she hurried to grab towels and blankets for him. "Gods, I can't believe it's you." She murmured, dabbing a towel against his cheek.

He wasn't going to argue. The cold was a shock, Margaery was a shock, and whatever was happening went well beyond his head. All he knew was that he trusted her, so he'd follow, head down. It gave him time to try and think about what he should ask.

To some extent, he noticed the rug. The little gold roses embroidered upon it would give him some comfort, eventually, but now it was simply another vague detail piled upon many things. His hands were shaking with the chill as he took the blanket.

"Are you -" A pause, letting her fuss with drying his face. "Where are the others?" Meaning, of course, their family.

She would look after him, as she had when he was a boy. It was all she could think to do in the face of all of the different emotions storming in her. Her guilt was still sharp and overwhelming, surging up when she looked at her brother. There was something in his eyes, a shadow, an absence of something. She had seen a glimpse of it in the Black Cells, but it was sharper than before. This world would not be easy for him.

"It's only me." She murmured to him, pulling back to meet his gaze. It was the only way she could keep from remembering the last look her father had given her or her last conversation with their grandmother. "I am not the only one from our world, the Starks are here."

It would mean little to him, but at least it showed she wasn't alone. "You're safe, Loras. No one will hurt you here."

Loras heard her words. It's only me and the Starks. He was certain he knew the answer, but he wondered, maybe, possibly, if her answer simply meant she was the only other Tyrell. Though surely ... She'd not omit that all important name, should it's bearer have been there.

Loras felt compelled to ask all the same. To get the disappointment out of the way before he let his optimism build too high. That, he knew now, was the easiest way.

"And ... Is Renly not here, also?" He couldn't help the small ounce of hope that slipped through his words. For all the love he had for his sister, that singular familiar face would heal all wounds far better than any other.

Her heart ached for him, knowing that she would disappoint him with the answer. After all of this time and all that had happened, Loras still loved Renly. She had wondered, as he had been so quick to confess to being his lover. A part of her had worried that the Sparrows had managed to make him feel disgust or shame, but it seemed that her brother had clutched that memory tightly and kept it from being tainted.

"I'm sorry, Loras." She murmured to him, reaching out to hug him once more. If she could pull Renly through and bring him to this place, she would for her brother. "I wish it were so."

She could understand though his desire for his lover. Had she been in his place, she would have asked for Robb. She hadn't understood him then, but she knew now how much love could ease and soothe away all other pains, even if it brought its own.

The answer is not unexpected. All the same, Loras feels that, could his spirit waste away anymore, it would. He lets Margaery pull him to her, turns his head until his face is buried into her shoulder, and just inhales. He's beyond tears. For now, all he can manage is a shaking exhale that does little to alleviate what he's feeling.

"I'm tired," he says, after a long stretch of silence. His voice is muffled from where he still hasn't moved. Everything just feels tired. His mind, his heart, his body. Years of fighting in Westeros have finally caught up to him in death. Or whatever this is.

It was only recently she had learned how much a broken spirit and a battered heart could deflate someone. She had been at her weakest after arriving, first suffering through depression and emptiness until anger finally took its place. Now, she felt nothing but acceptance for the past and hope for a future. It might be that way someday for Loras, but it wouldn't be for sometime. The worst of what happened was still fresh for him. This wasn't something he should suffer alone, not when there would be nightmares and so much else.

"I know," she drew back to get a better look at him. It didn't take much to imagine him back in the Black Cells. It was almost as if he never left and it pained her. "There is an empty room here." There wasn't really a question of whether or not he'd stay with her, it was already guaranteed. "You need to change into something warm and get some rest."

He nodded. There wasn't much use in saying anything against the idea, because that was all he wanted. He can't remember the last time he slept in a bed, or anything remotely more comfortable than his cell, or wore something clean. Even now, he was soaked through. Not a good start.

"Thank you." It could probably go unsaid between them, but Loras had never said the words to Margaery enough in their first go at life. He'd try not to be so ungrateful this time.

Danny drops by the inn even if he has now moved into Steve's house. He likes it here and it is a good place to meet people of this village. He frowns when he sees a new face. He was pretty sure he had met most people here. He picks up his own warm drink and heads over.

"Hello there."

Loras doesn't look up for a few moments. It's almost as if he doesn't even hear the greeting, but he glances up, giving the man a once over. Anyone not his sister is immediately worth of caution.

But Margaery would have warned him about any suspect people in the village, so Loras decides that this man is all right.

"Hello."

Danny smiles at him. "You all set with your drink?" He can always fetch the guy another one if he is not. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Oh." He glances down at the untouched cup, still warm but cooled off by now. "Yes." It's in answer to both questions, but he realizes that he should clarify, so he nods towards the empty seat.

"Of course. It's not problem."

Danny smiles and sits down. Then he offers his hand across the table. "I'm Danny Williams by the way. I came here a month ago. More or less."

Handshakes aren't a typical Westerosi greeting. When hands are shaken, it's in agreement of a deal, or congratulations, so it takes a moment for Loras to realize what the extended hand is meant for. He reaches over to take it.

"I'm Loras."

"Nice to meet you Loras. I have to say that is not a common name where I am from. Where are you from?" Danny says with an easy smile as he sips his drink.

Nor is Danny common for Loras, but. What about any of this is common?

He thinks for a moment, not because he doesn't remember. How could he forget. But the thought of Westeros leaves a bad taste, a lingering feeling of dread, and it had been awful.

"I'm from a place called Highgarden." That's a nicer thought to start on. Highgarden, even to someone who's never been there, likely conjures up nice images. "And then a place called Storm's End. They're in Westeros."

"Nice name. The place I live is sometimes called a garden. Why is it called Storm's end?"

He does notice the conflict and he wonders why that is.

"The weather was temperamental." Obviously. But there's an opportunity, now, to talk about something other than himself, and something other than his home.

For the first time since getting his drink, Loras takes a sip. He's almost surprised by the pleasant flavour. For some reason, he'd expected bitterness.

"Where are you from? Would you call it a garden, as well?"

"I am from New Jersey, but I live on an island called Oahu, in the state of Hawaii. It is a tropical island so it never gets cold. So yeah, jungle and plants everywhere. They have pineapples in everything." He makes a face at that.

What peculiar place names. They sound very exotic, but appealing, if they never get cold. But it only opens up more questions, and Loras has to think about which to ask so he doesn't sound ridiculous.

"A pineapple?" His nose scrunches. "That doesn't sound entirely appetizing."

"A lot of people like them, they are tasty enough, they're just... I don't like them in all kinds of food. It is a fruit. A little sour and sweet at the same time."

Well. That made sense. It was called a pineapple so Loras had wondered. Some apples are tart by nature anyway, and sweet, just like that description. He'd try it, should he ever come across one.

"We grew all sorts of things. Fruits, flowers, grains. Though it never snowed. The land was good." This was the most Loras had spoken in ages, he realized. Interesting what good a little distraction could do for a person.

"Was? Did something happen to it?" He leans forward a little. "Hawaii does have some farms, but most of the farming is on the mainland." He notices that the other seems to relax and that makes him smile.

"Oh." Loras hadn't thought about his use of tenses. Of course, having died, Westeros in his mind no longer existed - but that seemed silly, didn't it? It wasn't Westeros that stopped existing, it was him.

"No. Not to my knowledge." With House Tyrell fallen, it's likely that Highgarden or the Reach would befall something awful. "There's a sea, then? In Hawaii." The name feels odd on his name.

"Yeah, it is a series of islands in the middle of the Pacific ocean. It was created by volcanos. For some reason, people insist on climbing said volcanos. Heck, I work with a few of them."

"That sounds lovely." And he means it, even if he has no idea what a volcano is or how it creates land. The idea of an isolated place filled with sunshine and colours is lovely, and Loras doesn't want to mar that by asking ridiculous questions.

He takes the opportunity to sip his drink again, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees frost clinging to the edges of windows.

"Do you mind it here? Coming from a place like that?"

"Well, it is very different here. And I don't like that we don't know what is going on. And I have a daughter back home." He sighs. "But I got a friend who ended up here as well so it is not so bad. The place I was raised as cold like this though."

"I'm sorry." About Danny's daughter. Loras can't imagine, really, but he knows what he'd feel like should he be separated from his family. He's about to say that hopefully she'll be here one day, but he stops himself.

Instead, he says, "I hope you see her again some day."

"I hope so too. Before I was here I was in a prison somewhere were people from my country are not so well liked so..." This is actually much better than that. Even if he doesn't know where this is and that makes him uncomfortable. Also if Steve is here, who is keeping an eye on Grace.

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[OTA] When the sun has set ...

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