-{❀ℒ✿}- Thoughts of Renly are best left for times alone with lots of wine, not in front of doomed ladies, for she was truly doomed, and yet did not know it. Poor Sansa Stark in the Lion’s Den. One so sweet should of stayed with her mother in the north to marry a good man from their country. Here there would only be eternal sadness and misery if Cersei was anything to go by. If he could, Loras would take her away from here to utter safety, but such a thing would come at a cost of his own head, and perhaps Margaerys too. As much as he adored the ginger haired maiden his sister would come before anyone else in this life.
“The thing about Dorne is that it’s so hot people spend many hours in cool waters. It’s full of pools and fountains, not to mention it’s sea is the most divine to ever be seen. My eldest brother took me there once for a trip before I left for Storm’s End. I’d like to see it again one day.” A charming smile flashes in her direction as he hopes to turn their mood in the most positive direction. Both of them had endured sadness and both of them needed something good to think about.
Their conversations turns to thoughts of a most glorious place, Highgarden. How much he missed it. How he longed to walk it’s gardens once more. But no, now he’d be stuck here and marrying a witch. At least Loras could afford reminiscence. “Yes, the flowers bloom all year round. Cooler months are full of white and blue floras that can only be found in Highgarden or beyond the wall, my lady. Summer is my favourite—-reds, pinks, oranges, yellows, tis truly like looking at a living rainbow. My bedroom used to sit over the rose garden and during the highest of seasons would be a complete sea of red. There’s no words to describe it’s beauty.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
Ser Loras, don’t burden yourself with thoughts of her damnation for steel can only be molded by fire and what is she if not the cold winter steel that glints under the sun? What is she if not already cursed upon and spat at but still living? She may not have swung the blade but she condemned her father to his early death and by the Gods, she knows of her role.
Linking arms with him, our auburn haired lady follows Ser Loras as they take a tour around the Gardens, slow, languid steps to smell the fresh air each breeze brings. A storm would be good, a storm would be clean. Azure eyes look on with intent as she listens to his stories. “It’s funny. At the North, our springs are to keep warm for the water is always hot. To be so close to the sun, it must mean never being cooped up by snowfall. I wish to visit them too.”
“Highgarden sounds like a dream, ser. The air must be so fragrant there with flowers in constant bloom. Do you have a favorite type?”