sixthiterationlogs | "Loras, Stay With Me"

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"Loras, Stay With Me"

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: After the Lichen Mission
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: N/A

It still hadn't settled in her mind. After a long trek through the woods, she had expected to return to her brother, comforted in a way that only he knew how. For all of her protection of him and how much she took on for his sake, he provided her a safe place that made her feel as though they were still behind the walls of Highgarden. But instead of seeing him among the group of those waiting, she was instead confronted with the news that he had disappeared. While she was sent away by the Observers, her brother had been taken away.

She had swallowed her emotions and retreated to her room, somewhere that shielded her vulnerabilities from view. But she couldn't hide away forever. Her animals needed her and there were chores to do. Much like with every loss, the work gave her something else to focus on, returning her to state she only knew in Westeros. But hiding from her hurt and heartache wasn't as simple as before. She could be angry for her slights in King's Landing, but now, all she could do was linger over what she had lost.

Instead of going to the inn for lunch, she found her way to the fountain, wishing and praying to the Old Gods and New that she would see him scrambling over the side again. But the waters were still and nothing emerged, only silence surrounding her. She sat at the side of the fountain, letting her hand run over the water. Nothing. There was nothing.

As much as she hated her tears, she couldn't keep them back any longer. Slowly, she pressed her face against her hands and finally broke down.

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Peggy's still nursing some soreness from the mission and she has a new fear of some of the terrifying creatures around. She feels out of place, a little to the left of centre, but she's fairly sure that she's going to feel that for some time in this strange new place. After all, it's where they've been, and yet, it's not at the same time.

She's been out to try and see if she can't log any more information about the new creatures when she comes across Margaery at the fountain and has a terrible feeling. Approaching cautiously, she stands behind her a few steps. "Margaery," she speaks up gently. "Will you come inside with me? Maybe I can prepare you something to drink?"

She's quick to wipe at her face furiously, hoping to remove any traces of her tears. It was hard to forget how brave Peggy had been during the journey. They all had been, despite not knowing what was ahead or waiting for them. Peggy had always been kind to her, ever since they first met years ago. It was less humiliating for her to see Margaery like this. At least she knew and understood her, even if it was only a little.

She cleared her throat, nodding in agreement. "I'd like that, thank you." If only to get away from the fountain. She was only torturing herself this way. It wasn't as if Loras was going to climb out. "Are you all right? We only just came back."

Peggy opens her mouth to say that there's no need to wipe her tears away, but then recalls that it's not her place to tell her what to do. She'd be in a similar situation, she knows, not wanting anyone to see her grief. Tipping her head to the side, she regards her with as little sympathy as she can muster, but as much kindness.

"I don't want to complain about it, but I'm tired," she admits, "I haven't been that far out in some time and I'm still a touch disoriented, without the canyon." She ushers Margaery inside, intent on making something for her to at least allow her the distraction of a moment.

Pity would have been difficult to stomach, but Peggy spared her those looks, offering kindness instead. It made the thought of her weakness being witnessed by someone easier to accept. Peggy had always been kind though, from the first day she had met her. While they hadn't spoken as much recently, Margaery had always considered her a friend. Being weak in front of her was not as painful as it would have been with someone else.

"I couldn't sleep out in the woods, I kept thinking about what was out there." Which hadn't helped her when she returned and found Loras gone. Sleep hadn't been quick to come after that either. "Are Jude and Francis any better?" She hadn't thought about them at all after their return, much to her chagrin.

"I haven't spent as much time with them as I likely should, but yes, I should like to imagine they are," Peggy notes, with a hint of concern yet in her voice. She still doesn't like that they were led around like that in order to find the cure, but so long as it did save a life, she couldn't truthfully complain too long.

"What did you encounter?" she asks, thinking of those strange bats that had robbed Owen of his sight.

It would be heartless for her to complain, though it doesn't remove the feeling of bitterness buried in her heart, knowing Loras' last minutes in the village were spent alone. She was wandering the woods while her brother was being sent away. It was hard not to be angry at that, though there were few she could take it out on. The Observers were elusive as ever and it was impossible to find a way to make them feel her rage.

"I don't know. I couldn't see what it was in the dark, but it had glowing eyes and blended against the dark. I didn't move or go in closer for a look."

"We had terrible bats, that once they bit you, you experienced a blindness that was luckily only temporary." She can't imagine if it hadn't been. "Whatever the price, at least we were able to get back to the village and help the others."

That's not why they're going to drink tea, though. They're doing it for other reasons, though Peggy doesn't want to start off with prodding.

"I forget sometimes that this place isn't exactly like the village we were in before. The creatures and plants are different." While she had a passing knowledge of plants, these were like ones she had never seen before. It wasn't safe to go in the forest, not simply because of the different animals, but the traps she couldn't anticipate.

Peggy didn't need to prod, Margaery would cut straight to the matter. "My brother returned home."

"I think that sometimes I catch myself acting as if nothing has changed," Peggy has to admit, but then she catches sight of one of the creatures or sees how the landscape is no longer the familiar visage of the last two years. "It certainly wasn't home, but it grew so familiar," she confesses.

"Do you want something to...?" And she's cut off, because her offer to fetch food pales in light of Margaery's words. "Oh," she says, heavily. "I'm so sorry."

"It was home." The only one she thought she would know. Somehow, she had grown attached to it, despite all of the dangers and difficulties they had to suffer through. "This place may look the same at times, but it's different. The plants, the animals. I feel sometimes as if this is all one great trap for us."

She has no appetite. Even if she accepted the food, she doubted that she could actually eat it. "He only just came to the village, pulled from the same moment that I was. There is nothing for him to return to, but that wasn't enough for the Observers to keep him here."

"I don't want to give false hope, but do you think there's a chance at all that he could be in another part of this village or another version?" Peggy knows that she might be treading on unsteady lands, but even she has to admit that maybe she doesn't have the lay of the land as far as she's aware.

For all she knows, maybe the ones who vanish are simply several villages ahead of them, waiting to be caught up to.

She shook her head. "I think that he left when we left to collect the lichen. One day he was here and the next he was gone. There is no sign of him." And she had looked, even sending her sheepdog to hunt him out, offering his clothes to catch the scent. But all Gilbert had done was lead her back to their home and nowhere else.

"I never wished him to be brought here. He was better being left at rest rather than suffering this hardship and the aftermath of what we went through." But maybe this was her being selfish in the end. She hadn't wanted to face having her brother only losing him in the end, leaving her alone.

"This is a worse pain than I imagined." It was difficult to admit that, but Peggy wouldn't mock her or use it against her. She would understand.

Peggy wishes that she were more physically affectionate, because this is when she thinks a hug or something softer would be helpful, but where she can offer support and empathy, she's not very good at the other side of things. "Perhaps it's better, then?" She can use words, as well, which is one of the few saving graces.

"If he has gone, perhaps he's at rest," she says, something she'd spent a long time trying to tell herself about Steve, only to find out he never did die. "Still, I know how hard it can be. I'm afraid only time really helped, for me."

Perhaps it was. That was what she had to tell herself, even if her heart hurt at the thought. Death didn't seem like much a relief overall, though she had never seen the other side. She could only hope that her brother found some peace. She wasn't a religious woman and didn't believe that others were waiting to reunite with him, but there had to at least be an end to suffering.

"He isn't suffering." And life was suffering for him after what he experienced in the Black Cells. "I should have been here." Yet she was off on a trek through the forest. She hadn't seen him on his last day, she hadn't held him or stayed with him during those last moments. It was the bitterest truth to endure.

"You were doing a kind thing," Peggy says, her practicality winning out now, but she understands all too well that sort of guilt. In the same shoes, she expects she might have been feeling the same way. In fact, she might even be saying the same things, but they had to help people.

"I'm sure that if he understood what was happening, there was no blame in it," Peggy says, setting a mug of tea in front of Margaery, now that it's steeped.

She accepted the mug gratefully, needing the warmth of the cup to fill her veins and find its way to her heart. Everything seemed so dull and drained now, as though the world were missing the color it had before. This wasn't the sort of woman she preferred to be, but Loras had always been a special case for her. He was the only one she knew that had made her feel something genuine and deep, at least until coming here.

"I know." She was practical as well, but sometimes thoughts could override that. "But he needed me as well. He suffered so much in our world and hadn't recovered. Was it right to leave him behind in a place he didn't know, surrounded by people he was still uncertain of?"

"You can't take that on yourself," Peggy insists, because she knows all too well that it's a scary and too easy road to fall down, thinking that you might be the sort of person who has to always be responsible and feel the guilt if something goes wrong. After all, if something is to be done right, then she has to do it.

At least, that had always been her thought process, which was an exhausting and awful thing. "I'm sure that holds no grudge against you," she promises, even though she knows no such things, really.

It wasn't in Loras' nature to hold a grudge and she didn't expect it to begin now. He had to know that she had no choice in going on that mission. But even knowing that wasn't enough to ease the guilt that held her heart in a vice grip. Unless she saw him again, it would likely remain with her, another mistake that cost her brother dearly.

She didn't wish to feel this way, miserable and uncertain of herself. It wasn't the sort of woman she was. "It doesn't feel any easier. We have been here so long and seen so many come and go, but it still hurts the same as the first."

"I know," Peggy says, and the softness in her own voice surprises her, perhaps because after all this time, she might have thought herself stronger when it comes to loss. Instead, what she's learning is that she's not nearly as talented when it comes to processing it as she'd like to be.

"We can only drink our tea, eat our food, and keep to our routines. They'd want us to be strong, after all, which is terribly annoying, isn't it," she tries to tease.

She managed a smile, nodding at the sentiment. "Aye, I think they would. Being strong for them will always be easier than being strong for ourselves." She'd done it all of her life, staying strong for her brother and family. It would at least return her to something she knew, remaining firm for them and keeping their memory in mind.

"Tea is a good place to start."

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"Loras, Stay With Me"

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