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[versigny]

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[swage]

[He does stiffen slightly, the man-proportioned limbs on boyish Henry's frame turning momentarily into a collection of awkward angles. But it's only for a moment, really. Then the sympathetic thudding of his heart against the inside of his ribs loosens the joints right up again. He's a bit stupid, he knows, but he would have to be a complete moron not to feel some tenderness for the way Lady Tyrell's composure crumples.

So maybe the way he's looking at her once she dries her pretty eyes is equally surprising as the nonsense thing he's just said. Which is to say that Henry is looking at her perfectly directly, his pointy ears and neck having forgotten the red of embarrassment.

(Across the field, Captain Bernard bawls some order than assembles the working guardsmen into a proper fighting formation and points their attentions firmly elsewhere rather than toward the shaggy old beech tree under which the pair of them are sat. He'll get less credit for giving the young lady and her indiscretions some manner of privacy, of course, but it's the noble thing to do.)]

I said thank you, [he confesses, though even he sounds befuddled and a little frustrated by the mildness of his past self's reply. But what was he to have said to the sour friar otherwise? Go fuck yourself, father, probably has dire implications for his immortal soul.] But honestly, I think he's a bit of a prick. I'm not sure I'd recommend you go to the presbytery for advice.

[versigny]

[ his full-on eye contact is what anchors her again, certainly surprising enough that her mental faculties are able to kick back in and help her resume full control. it doesn't hit Margaery until then, how much she's grown to expect commoners to avert their gazes when she speaks to them. she doesn't dare look over at the training yard this time. ]

You're far stronger than I am.

[ count your many blessings would've earned the priest an outright brawl with her, whether her soul was in his keeping or not, and would've been a very costly decision later.

- she remembers too, her advice given as their feet sank deeper into mud, the patter of rain a welcome sound around them. she thinks of Henry's expression then, and feels terrible for the way her words could've sounded so similar to the priest's. you're still alive. count your blessings. move on. ]

I'm sorry for what I said to you, that night. I might not have meant it the same way, but that is hardly what matters.

[ and she will certainly not be seeking out any men of God for advice. God is an excuse, Olenna had said cryptically one crisp autumn evening long ago, and has only been proven more accurate ever since. but that does remind her: ]

Can you read?

[swage]

[He'd argue—he's not stronger, really. He probably should have told that fat old friar exactly what he thought of him, and spat on him for being unchristian about the folk from Skalitz while he was at it. Instead, he'd let the rotten feeling simmer in his guts like something poisonous. A braver man surely would have told the fool to shut his gob, friar or no.

But that's between him and himself. It's certainly not worth debate here in the sunshine with Lady Tyrell.]

I can.

[A little. Capon keeps sneaking him books that he read as a child and making Henry read passages aloud. But he's proud enough of knowing his letters to sound confident in the answer he gives. Yes, he most certainly can read.

Only first before she can send the conversation racing away on some new track, he motions faintly backward with his thumb as if hooking back a beat in time. Says—]

I'm sorry too. About your brother, and for what you and him went through. And for running my mouth that night too.

[versigny]

[ the wise response would be to thank him and leave it at that, or sniff about how he's artfully torn through her attempt to change the subject. instead, she shakes her head. the laughter expelled more than just air, it seems. ]

That night, I smiled because I wanted to, not because it was expected of me.

[ where she had her family to help her decompress before, there are only walls now, silent and rigid and cold. and confiding in her handmaidens when she's so vulnerable is out of the question; they're depending on her entirely and realizing how uncertain she is would terrify them.

besides, nothing Henry had said was particularly untrue or malicious. he doesn't seem capable of the latter. ]

Any judgments I would pass from that night would be from my own behavior.

[ which a few must be judging right now, as she's lingered in his company for too long. Margaery smiles at Mutt, reaching over to give a quick pat on his head before she nods at the cup in Henry's hands. ]

Are you done sparring for the day?

[swage]

[The spotty dog has good enough manners not to cringe away or growl or grumble at the unexpected hand between his floppy ears. He does turn his face a little toward his master's hip, pressing his big nose nose into the sweat stink of Henry's clothes, but his cord of a tail gives a little wag seemingly in spite of himself.]

Oh, [Henry looks at the cup again as if only now remembering he has it in his possession. He straightens his back a bit, and offers it back to her.] I am. Captain Bernard doesn't care to have me work with the rest of the guard on that sort of thing.

[Says he's too hopeless to bother drilling properly just yet. The beatings will continue until technique improves.]

You may want to ask the Captain about your brother later once he's gone back to the castle and has had himself a wash. He's more inclined to kindness when he isn't mucking about in a field.

[versigny]

[ it's an excellent tip; she files that away for later as she takes the cup. ]

I don't blame him. And you'll get there. [ she gets to her feet, dusting off her skirts and shaking out any rogue blades of grass. ] I'm sure I'll be seeing you more often if everything turns out well. Perhaps, one day soon, you may even find yourself sparring with my brother.

[ Loras is strong. and he's a Tyrell. she's watched him get beaten hundreds of times and never give up, so she trusts that this is a fight he'll endure and eventually win, as unfamiliar as it may be. still, ]

When that joyful day comes, I will cheer for you, Henry.

[ her parting smile is exactly the same one she left him with days prior, although this time, it speaks more of them sharing a secret.

if Henry does manage to hear any gossip from the higher castle, he may be surprised to hear one about a particularly brave and gallant citywatch guard who escorted Lady Tyrell back to her quarters after a nightmare kept her from sleep. ]

slaps a sneaky 🎀 on this

[swage]

[He watches her go, of course. Then he pats the spotty dog between the ears and sits for a while longer watching the Rattay men at arms go through the motions of their work while Captain Bernard hollers at them. He pretends to focus on watches their footwork and the way they handle their swords and shields. Luckily, Capon shows up and sweeps him off before the indignity that would have been otherwise inevitable had Henry stayed put until the end of the training session finds him. The questions and cajoling and general fun-making from the young men of the guard for having had the audacity to speak to Lady Tyrell will just have to wait.

They skip archery in the yard, and instead shoot their arrows in Lord Capon's favorite secret glen in the Rattay woods far from the advice of any bow master. For a time, Henry is pleasantly immune or at least unaware of gossip.

It does eventually find him, of course. Though by the time it does, some of the would-be bite has been tempered. The lady has nightmares, they say. Henry knows next to nothing about ladies (particularly mysterious and pretty ones near his own age); but he knows plenty about nightmares. Capon's favorite whore in the bath house below Rattay's walls has been making him a decoction for just that thing.

Thus, some days later a phial appears in Margaery's quarters. It sends her maids all aflutter with concern—Where did it come from? Who left it there? What if it's poisoned?—, but the note with it is blatant enough. It's reads:]

From Henry, of skalitz, in servus to Sir Radzig Kobyla
To my Lady Marjery Tyrell, of high garden

Good morneing. Apolugy for the state of this letter. I am writeing it with a lent pen which goes a long diferently from the one I am acustomed to.

In any case I won't go on and on. I have been told to take this to help with uneasy sleepeing. NOT by the parish preest. I can't say who though as it doesn't much befit a lady. But it does help. If you nede more, send one of your girls to me and I will introdoo introdues make sure she knows ware to get it.

If you nede anything else, you're welcum to ask after me otherwise. My leege has me do all kinds of work for Sir Hanush and Lord Divish and I don't see why he'd spite the Tyrells. He would shurly want me to offur.

That's all.

Henry