King’s Landing was certainly not Loras’ favorite place in Westeros. It was busy, it was crowded, it smelled odd, there was a lack of beauty. A lack of greenery, to say the very least. Hells, even the wine they drank seemed to come from the Reach. He felt as if he’d done enough mingling in the crowds; he needed some space to himself, and, in this godsforsaken city, the only space he could find was in the palace gardens, still nursing a goblet of a wine from his home region. “At least the wine is acceptable,” he mused aloud to no one in particular, giving it a look. Loras was already dreading having to go and retrieve another glass.






