I have indeed heard him say that. [And a few other choice things best not repeated, no matter how badly behaved the two of them have been tonight.] Though for the record, I'm not sure I'd pick Sir Hans as my guiding star.
[Surely she doesn't need him to tell her that, though. Lady Tyrell is a perceptive young woman, and Hans Capon isβwell. Neither of those things, for starters.
But no, he hasn't missed the fact that she has said she wanted something. That that something was this. To lay with a man? To lay with him, specifically? No, that's not something he's going to work through just this moment, though just the whiff of the idea puts a strange knot in his belly.
[ as tempting as it is, Margaery only bites back a smile at his words; it wouldn't be appropriate for her to dress down one of her gracious hosts, even if he doesn't quite have the authority just yet. instead, a softer, ]
He reminds me of my brother sometimes. How he used to be.
[ the words float out of her, too natural for her to snatch them back without creating an awkward situation. so instead, she shakes her head to indicate that Henry doesn't need to deign her with a response - what could anyone even say to that, anyway? - and does her best to get comfortable on the bed.
the pillow somehow makes it feel as though her head is somehow even lower than her feet, which thankfully becomes less of a problem when she allows herself to relax and let the exhaustion that's been pooling on the edges finally pour in. in one moment, she's realizing she should sit up again to turn out the light. in the next, sleep is blessedly pulling her under, darkening her awareness so quickly that she has no chance to resist. ]
no subject
[Surely she doesn't need him to tell her that, though. Lady Tyrell is a perceptive young woman, and Hans Capon isβwell. Neither of those things, for starters.
But no, he hasn't missed the fact that she has said she wanted something. That that something was this. To lay with a man? To lay with him, specifically? No, that's not something he's going to work through just this moment, though just the whiff of the idea puts a strange knot in his belly.
He finally shrugs into his shirt.]
π
He reminds me of my brother sometimes. How he used to be.
[ the words float out of her, too natural for her to snatch them back without creating an awkward situation. so instead, she shakes her head to indicate that Henry doesn't need to deign her with a response - what could anyone even say to that, anyway? - and does her best to get comfortable on the bed.
the pillow somehow makes it feel as though her head is somehow even lower than her feet, which thankfully becomes less of a problem when she allows herself to relax and let the exhaustion that's been pooling on the edges finally pour in. in one moment, she's realizing she should sit up again to turn out the light. in the next, sleep is blessedly pulling her under, darkening her awareness so quickly that she has no chance to resist. ]