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It was a rarity that anyone visited Storm's End nowadays, and Alyn didn't think he'd ever seen such chaos as when it was announced that King Tommen would be making the journey east and returning to the castle by the sea that had been his father's ancestral home as soon as the snows melted . It was quite an honour, and the castellan ordered repairs to be hurriedly undertaken and Brella had the servants sweep the old fortress from top to bottom at least three times in preparation.
It was a very grand occasion indeed when the royal family did arrive. King Tommen had asked for as little fuss as possible, but as might have been expected, Brella had ignored that request and planned as large a feast as possible. Alyn thought that it was perhaps for the best. The king had brought his family in its entirety- all four of his children and his wife. And whilst Tommen was well liked, Alyn imagined that it was predominantly for Margaery that the staff had striven to return the castle to its former glory. The queen was admired by the entire realm, but as the last Lady of Storm’s End, Alyn imagined that she was particularly beloved here, despite never having once stepped foot inside the castle that had been her first husband’s seat.
All seven Kingsguard accompanied them too, which surprised Alyn a little but awed him all the same. Even when he’d still resided at court, it had been rare to see them all in one place. They moved as one, all dazzling in their white cloaks as they followed their one-handed lord commander in single file, and Alyn had to think that even the woman cut a splendid figure as she made her way through the hall. As the most recent addition to the Kingsguard, she had been considered an odd choice when Jaime Lannister had decided on her and yet the white suited her more than the blue ever had.
Ser Loras was the last to enter and Alyn had to smile to himself when he saw that the man clearly intended to ignore him as usual. He knew that he recognised him. He couldn’t not have done. Queen Margaery herself had greeted him as if he were an old friend rather than merely the squire of a man long dead and had even inquired after his wife and children too, but her brother was a different kettle of fish entirely. He didn’t even glance in his direction as he passed and Alyn was far too cowardly to speak to him.
He had to laugh though to see that Brella had none of his cowardice. Clearly unimpressed with his silence, she marched through the hall and spoke to him as if he were still a ward of Storm’s End and not uncle to the crown prince and princesses. That was hardly surprising, Alyn thought. Brella had always behaved as if she were not merely an elevated servant, but what did take him aback was that Ser Loras tolerated her fussing, albeit with very poor grace. He stood stock-still as she exclaimed over how grown he was, and it was only when she had the audacity to try to ruffle his hair that he wrenched himself from her grasp.
It was odd watching him during the following feast, Alyn found. As far as he was aware, Ser Loras had all but grown up here within these walls and yet he seemed somehow out of place despite his familiarity with the older servants. Alyn had to wonder what was running through his mind. He had expected somehow that it would be with great sadness that Ser Loras ever returned to these halls and yet he smiled often as Alyn observed him. He’d always been rather stoic in Alyn’s opinion, but he shared many a jest with his sister as they ate, and he even allowed the youngest of the princesses to climb up his leg and fall asleep in his lap. Indeed, if he was at all unsettled by returning to a very familiar castle when its former occupant was long dead then he certainly didn’t show it.
It was jarring somehow, and Alyn realised he’d been wrong when he’d thought many years ago now that Ser Loras would never smile again.
The king turned out to be an easy guest, and several days passed quite uneventfully. Today though, even the ever cheerful Tommen looked a little put out when he descended for his midday meal and realised that he would certainly not be going out riding with his wife as he had planned. As was common on Shipbreaker Bay, the clouds had rolled in from the east and rain fell like rope from the sky.
It seemed obvious that nobody would be venturing out this afternoon and yet Alyn was rather taken aback to see that he was wrong just a few moments later. Ser Loras was as silent as a shadow as he slipped out the front doors into the rain.
"Boy," Jaime Lannister beckoned him over with his one remaining hand and Alyn tried not to take offence at the manner of his greeting. He was not Lord of Greenstone quite yet -not whilst his father still lived- but he had a wife and two children of his own. He'd hoped to be accorded a little more respect. All the same, one did not pick a fight even with a one handed kingslayer and so Alyn abandoned his wife and children to turn to him.
"Yes, Ser."
Ser Jaime gestured to the disappearing white cloak. "Do me a good deed and follow him, will you."
"Why?"
"Because I asked you, that's why."
Alyn glanced out through the windows a little hesitantly. It would not be cold out. Spring was well underway now, but the rain was falling thick and the wind was howling off the sea. Wherever Ser Loras was going, he certainly did not want to accompany him.
"Exactly," Ser Jaime laughed, smirking at his expression. "Are you not the least bit curious where someone might venture out voluntarily in this?"
Alyn took another look at the window. "Not as curious as you are, Ser."
Ser Jaime snorted. "I’m not curious. I know where he's going. At least I have a good guess. I merely wish to confirm it." He gave him a small push. "Better hurry, boy. He's not one to dawdle."
One did not disobey the lord commander of the Kingsguard easily, and so Alyn kissed his wife and abandoned his plate of food in favour of his cloak. It would do little against rain like this, but he supposed that it was better than nothing.
He was annoyed to find that Ser Jaime had been right. By the time that Alyn made it to the stables, Ser Loras was long gone from his sight. Following him turned out to be a lot easier than he'd expected though. The rain had washed the previous day's travel away and Loras' horse left an easy path to follow in the mud.
The trail didn't lead far. It was little over a mile before the tracks ended, and Alyn brought his mare to a stop with a little curiosity despite the rain dripping down his neck. Quite what had prompted Ser Loras to leave the road here was a mystery. Alyn knew the land around Storm’s End well. There were no holdings in this vicinity, no landmark on the path, and nothing at all that marked this patch of trees as any different from the rest of the forest.
Alyn dismounted all the same though, ducking into the forest with some relief. The rain was barely noticeable under the canopy of trees. It was easy to see which direction Ser Loras had gone. Loras' horse was tied up underneath a sturdy oak and Alyn left his mare there too. He'd clearly carried on on foot and the path was harder to follow now that he was in the forest. There was no mud to leave an obvious trail and instead Alyn had to rely on where the grass laid flat, clearly trodden down under heavy boots.
It took him a good long while to catch up but Loras himself at least was easy to see when he came upon him. The white cloak offered him no camouflage in the forest and Alyn could make out his shape through the thinning trees quite well as he got closer. Oddly, he’d left the shelter of the canopy and was knelt on the wet grass as he bent over something. Alyn couldn’t help but draw breath sharply when he realised what it was.
The grave lay in the very centre of the secluded hollow, marked with the sort of stones that were common in the Stormlands. A dark grey, they had sea-softened edges and Alyn imagined that they had been brought up with great effort from the coast. In between and around grew flowers. They stood out like a patchwork of colour amongst the green of the grass and the surrounding trees.
Alyn didn’t need to wonder who was buried there. The disappearance of his body had faded into legend. All sorts of tall tales were told of it and Alyn supposed that he should have known that Ser Loras had buried him.
He was clearly intruding and yet Alyn couldn’t force himself to look away. Loras had got back up to his feet now and was taking a wrapped package from his saddlebag. It held yet more flowers, and Loras laid them against the rocks as carefully as if he were depositing a newborn babe in a crib. They looked to be roses, and Alyn tried to take a silent step forward to get a closer look.
It didn’t turn out to be silent at all and Loras startled at the snapping of a branch under Alyn’s foot, whipping round like a thief caught red-handed. Anger flashed across his face at the intrusion but softened slightly when he clearly recognised him.
“Oh,” he said dryly, sheaving his sword. “It’s you.”
Alyn swallowed.
Loras sighed, a rivulet of water running down his forehead. “Let me guess. Jaime put you up to following me?"
Alyn couldn’t deny it. “I shouldn’t have agreed,” he said. “And I wouldn’t have. Had I known…” He felt himself tail off, his eyes drawn once more to the centre of the glade. “It’s beautiful here. I think you chose well.”
Loras sighed again, more heavily this time. He too turned back to look at the grave. “Do you think?” he asked, although Alyn doubted he cared much for his opinion. “This was his favourite place to come when we were boys.”
It was an oddly sweet sentiment from someone who was notoriously far from sweet and yet Alyn couldn’t picture Ser Loras as a boy. He hadn’t been very old at all when they’d first met, but he’d been a knight and a tourney champion several times over already. It was hardly surprising that he now also boasted a white cloak and the honour of being the Red Keep’s master-at-arms, and it was hard to imagine him as anything less nowadays.
“It’s lovely,” Alyn agreed, for it was true. It was painstakingly obvious how much care had been put into the grave of a man who was now twenty years dead. The flowers were well tended and he doubted that it was a coincidence that the grave faced Storm’s End and the sea that lay beyond its walls.
Loras hummed softly, following Alyn’s gaze through the trees and to the distant horizon. “I like to think he's at peace here."
Alyn just nodded. He too missed the man that was buried here, but he imagined that his grief was a shallow imitation of what the man before him felt. It was odd hearing Ser Loras speak so intimately to him about that grief though and he wasn’t sure what to say.
"You're talking to me,” he said, frowning despite himself. “You always ignore me when we cross paths.”
Loras just shrugged. "It's not personal,” he stated bluntly. “You remind me of my loss and so it's easier most of the time to simply ignore you.”
"But you're talking to me now,” Alyn pointed out.
Loras smiled a little wryly. "There are greater reminders of my loss here than you," he murmured, sinking down onto his knees on the damp grass. “And nor do I wish to forget right now." He stroked a loving hand over the nearest rock, so carefully placed atop the bare earth. "And as there is no living king or queen for me to protect in this clearing, I can allow myself to remember. And to feel."
His words stirred a great melancholy in Alyn’s heart and he was suddenly glad of the rain, for it hid the wetness of his eyes. The breeze had picked up slightly too though, threatening to scatter the flowers that Ser Loras had laid to the wind, and Alyn watched as Loras quickly tucked them under one of the stones to anchor them safely.
"It's a tradition of ours in the Reach,” Loras explained when he saw Alyn watching. “We lay flowers on the grave.”
That wasn’t done in the Stormlands, perhaps because so few flowers were grown and Alyn cocked his head. “Why?” he asked.
Loras looked thoughtful. “To show that the dead are remembered, I suppose.” He touched a wild blossom that was growing in the ground. “And we plant to remind ourselves that out of death comes life." He picked up one of the larger rocks to reveal the soft earth underneath. "I imagine that if I were to dig down now, I would find nothing but his bones and the crown I buried him with, but he lives on in the flowers that bloom here.”
Alyn supposed that a rather nice thought. “Does that make you feel better?” he asked.
Loras shrugged. "Not really." He picked a bloom idly, running his fingers over the petals. "Flowers may be pretty to look at but they are much poorer company." The words were jovial but his expression was not, and regardless of his apparent apathy towards them, he tucked the flower that he’d picked into the brooch that bound his cloak rather carefully.
“You still grieve like it was yesterday,” Alyn whispered. It was hardly a question and he regretted judging Ser Loras for his smiles this past week.
Loras looked up from the flower. “Yes and no,” he said. “I think the grief will always be there perhaps. It's a part of me now. But it's less... sharp. It aches rather than drowns.” Turning his back to Alyn, he bent over the grave and pulled up those plants that were growing but bore no flowers. “Some days are harder than others.”
“And today?”
Loras placed a hand on the stone. “Today?" he echoed softly. "Today is an odd day.” He sighed heavily, sitting back on his heels as if he truly were still a boy. “He would have been forty years old today.” He turned one of the stones over in his hand, brushing the dust from it as if he were polishing silver. “I'm not sure why I mark it still. I can make this journey every year but he will never be older than he was the day I laid him here.”
“No,” Alyn agreed quietly.
Loras frowned, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “I was four years his junior and yet I'm so much older now than he shall ever be.” He swallowed visibly. “He always seemed so grown up to me. So wise. And now I look upon men of one and twenty and realise how very young he was when he died."
Alyn nodded sadly. He understood that sentiment. It was odd to think that he too was far older than the former king for whom he’d once squired. In his mind’s eye, that long dead man would always remain older than him. He'd been a reassuring presence when he'd been alive, the man who could solve every problem with a smile and a word in the right person's ear.
“He never seemed so young,” Alyn said.
“Oh I’m sure he did,” Loras chuckled softly. “Just not to us. Because we were younger still.” He took a shaky breath. "It is a cruel injustice that I've now lived more time on this earth without him than with.”
There was something raw in his voice that made Alyn want to flee, but he supposed that Ser Loras was right. It didn’t seem like it was possible, but he knew far too well that the man buried here had been dead now almost as long as he’d been alive.
"Yes," he agreed sadly. “But it does no good to mourn forever.”
Loras said nothing. He merely returned to staring at the ground as the rain streamed down his face.
"My great grandfather used to say that time heals all wounds," Alyn added meekly. "Eventually anyway. He took three wives and outlived them all. It was said that he loved each of them fiercely. "
Loras looked at him a little blankly. "I could never love again.”
"No?” Alyn thought that a sad thought. “Not ever?”
Loras closed his eyes. “I'm a kingsguard,” he said softly. “We swear to celibacy.”
“Yes, but none actually do for true, do they?”
Loras shrugged. "Some do. Some don't. For me it's not such a hardship."
"No?" Alyn’s thoughts drifted to the wife he had back at Storm's End. She was a pretty thing, brought up on the craggy shore where the Stormlands gave way to Dorne, and he couldn't imagine how cold his bed would be without her. "How do you keep the loneliness at bay without somebody by your side at night?"
Loras turned his face up to the sky despite the clouds obscuring the sun. “I doubt all the warm bodies in the world would keep my loneliness at bay,” he murmured. He stroked the rock closest to him absent-mindedly. "I have my memories. They're enough. I have no desire to love again.”
Alyn chewed on his lip. “I doubt he'd have wanted that for you.”
Loras smiled. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But seeing as he's not here to tell me otherwise, it's my decision to make."
"And you’ve decided that you must punish yourself like that?" It was hard to imagine what he would do if his wife died and yet Alyn doubted that he would resolve to never love again. He certainly knew that his wife would never want him to live with her loss forever.
Ser Loras looked baffled though. "But I'm not punishing myself," he said. "Being faithful to his memory is not a burden to me.” A rather stubborn look came onto his face. “Some things are simply not able to be replaced and so it is better not to try."
Alyn nodded gravely. He knew better than to argue with Ser Loras. “Perhaps you are right,” he whispered. “And perhaps your faith will be rewarded in the seven heavens.”
Loras turned his face back to the grave that he knelt before. “Perhaps,” he agreed softly. “I'm not a septon. But I at least hope to see him again when I die." He paused, turning over a flower thoughtfully in his palm. "And sometimes even now I feel that he is with me. When I laugh. Or when I dream.”
Alyn sighed into the rain. His grandmother still claimed that she heard echoes of Cassana in Greenstone's halls and in the sea. Her memory was failing her now and there would be nights where they’d find her out of bed during a storm, desperately seeking the daughter that she’d lost to the waves so many decades ago. Muddled as she was, she was always adamant that her daughter called to her from across the sea and nobody could tell her otherwise.
“And do you think that it is real?” he asked. It was oddly reassuring to think that the dead might linger and look over those who they were closest to and yet it seemed a bizarre notion all the same.
Ser Loras laughed though. "No,” he said. “I think that it's a figment of my imagination tinged with memory. But I find it comforting even so."
Alyn could understand that and he nodded solemnly. There seemed nothing more to say somehow and so he merely bowed his head. It was the only way he could think of to show his respect, both to the man who was buried here and to the boy he'd left behind who was now fully grown.
Ser Loras let him stand in silence for a long moment before he turned to him. “You should go now,” he murmured. "Before it gets dark.” He turned his face up to the sky again. What little light that sifted through the clouds was fading as the sun set into the west.
Alyn was silent as he made his way out of the clearing. He knew without asking that the request had little to do with nightfall and everything to do with Ser Loras' desire to be alone as the day came to a close. All the same, he couldn't help looking back through the trees. Ser Loras made an odd sight. Silhouetted in white against the setting sun, he looked a little strange sat amongst the flowers of many colours.
His voice carried too on the breeze, and whilst Alyn desperately tried to make it out, he couldn't quite catch whatever it was that Ser Loras was whispering to the earth. He knew it was for the best and that the words were hardly meant for his ears. but whether it was a figment of his own imagination now or merely the rustling of the wind above the distant sea, he could have sworn he heard two voices.