bethcassel:
𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋.
he looked her over much the same as the other lords and ladies of the court and found her wanting. “𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒅. 𝒊 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒂 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉, ” she clarified, suddenly nervous. sansa wouldn’t have been so silly as to disparage the wine. “ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒉, ” she answered, the answer falling flat. “ 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒌 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒍’𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, ” as if loras tyrell knew or cared who ser rodrik was. her cheeks flushed a little, aware in a moment that she was no longer a little fish in a pond that everyone could spot, but a guppy in a vast ocean.
“ 𝒏𝒐, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒅. 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏. 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊’𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉, ” he was a pretty man, the floral nature of tyrell apparel might have looked feminine to some, but beth thought it was complimentary in its beauty. she saw little comparable embroidery in the north. “ 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔, ” she smiled, holding out the goblet with a plain smile. “ 𝒊’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. ”
“You lack a sweet tooth?” he repeated as if she’d said she has a third arm hidden under her clothing. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone who completely lacked a sweet tooth before. Maybe Stannis, but Loras favored forgetting everything he’d ever learned about Stannis Baratheon. “Ah,” he nods in understanding when she explains her lineage. “Your father’s a good warrior.” I don’t think he’s a fan of mine, though. That’s unspoken, now doesn’t seem like a time to speak his own praises.
My Lord, my Lord, my Lord, how Loras hated the formalities of court. My Lord this, my Lord that - he much preferred Ser Loras, a title he’d actually earned. “You’ve heard many great things, but you don’t like it,” he points out with a shrug. No sweet tooth. How odd. “I didn’t realize the North had wines of their own.” Where can one grow the grapes in a land that’s as barren as the women seem to be fertile? Also likely not an appropriate comment, so Loras holds his tongue. He smiled in return and took the goblet from her, taking a sip out of it. He’d seen her drink from it, so it isn’t poisoned, he figured. She didn’t seem like the sort to be a very good liar about who she was, either. And there were plenty of other people wandering the gardens; poisoning him here would be an incredibly bold move. Taking another sip of the wine to show his trust, he raised an eyebrow again. “Have you not had the ale? They forced it upon me all night last night. It... certainly isn’t sweet, I’ll say that for it.”
