Wolf of Númenor

Chapter 61: Ever Eastward to the land of wine and dragons

City of Annúminas

Ser Loras Tyrell was training the most recent volunteers for the garrisons; they were most hardy youths who had heard tales of the Battles of the Dale and Isengard, and while they were eager for glory, most had seen too few winters, and it would take many years to prepare them for war.

Time they did not have it seemed, they had received word from the South that Amon Amarth was spewing great clouds of ash and fire, and the foundries of Mordor were fashioning engines of war.

The Rose of Harlond was fearful of Sauron's wroth he suffered a defeat, yes but behind the Black gates, evil was stirring, and its malice was focused at one in particular.

Jon Snow, the wild wolf, his brother in arms and brother by blood if he was honest with himself.

Loras had heard little from Jon in the past year though he was not worried; after all, Jon was a Noldor in all but name; he loved to hunt, hawk, and had a keen love of song and verse the latter inherited without a doubt inherited from his Teleri and Vanyar blood, but above all, Jon had a passion for the fashioning of metals and stone.

Though Loras could little understand the wisdom of his brother to live for so long among the dwarves, it was madness whether their lousy table manners or the profuse consumption of ale, the dwarves were a queer and wondrous folk, and after many years living among them, Loras had been eager to depart for Arnor.

Though his time among the dwarves had proved fruitful, his brother in arms had become a splendid warrior and poet there was little left of the sullen boy who had set foot on these shores so many years ago, and there was little doubt in his mind that Jon had a glorious destiny and he would follow him till the end even into the fires of Mordor.

At the thought of Jon, a wistful smile adorned the Knight of Flowers's face.

The youngest son of House Tyrell would never have imagined that their lives would be altered in such a way; indeed, he hadn't the faintest imagining of what awaited him the day his father had brought that motherless boy to foster with them and yet here he stood in a land of queer magics and fantastical legends.

Though thinking of this happy life drew his thoughts back to Westeros and his beloved Renly, it brought tears to his eyes, knowing that he lived while Renly had perished brought low by that wicked bitch from Asshai, it seemed Stannis cared little for Kinslaying so long as a crown was on his head.

After the death of his beloved, Loras had taken his arms and armour and buried Renly deep in the forest none knew where his beloved was buried save Jon and Robar, an oath of blood so none would desecrate his grave.

But even after the years he spent in this land, Loras seldom thought of Westeros, for it reminded him of the blackest stain upon his honour.

The moment he slew Emmon Cuy in a fit of rage, to kill a man in battle was necessary, but it was another matter to slay an innocent man.

But until that moment when he killed Emmon, Loras never understood what it was really like to have his hands stained with blood.

It had taken years for him to wholly trust any save Robar and Jon though truly, Loras never thought so many fair maidens would accompany them to Middle-earth.

Those maidens of many houses storied and famous had fallen for his brother in arms whether by his own allure or perhaps the grace of the Valar and accompanied them to Middle-earth if only his sister and Mira could see Jon now they would be wroth with jealousy though perhaps it is best they remain in Westeros any woman who would sacrifice love for a crown deserves neither.