[Phase 2] Here to Go [Laena & Trystane]

Laena is surprised and rather panicked by the noise behind her, until she turns around and sees who it is. Oh. It's just him. She takes a moment to calm down her heart and breathing before answering. "I'm a widow. I'm allowed to get melancholic and moody at a wedding. What's your excuse? Shouldn't you be down there" gesturing vaguely towards the celebrations "making friends and being all .. happy."

She frowns at the goblets. "Leave them. You're not helping, and they've got servants for that kind of thing."

Laena shrugs. "I did. Really, finding a good husband was my primary goal at the Black Tourney. The way I figured it, I was smart, attractive - so long as you didn't compare me to my sisters, politically neutral, of proven fertility, charming, politically savvy, and, above all, modest.

"That last one was a joke.

"I was not blind to how undesirable House Starkwood was, nor my non-maiden status, but I felt my positive traits far outweighed the negatives." She sighed.

"Others disagreed."

She turns to him. "You know how many men were interested in me across the entire tourney? Two. That's it. Just two men. One was a lord, at least. I liked him. He was smart, savvy, charming ... I think I could have been happy with him." She takes a drink from her bottle. "So, of course, he was murdered. Because the world has nothing better to do than to shit on my hopes and dreams.

"The other man ..." She sighs. "I wish I knew. I *like* him. But him being unlanded and not due to inherit is the least of his problems. Still, I gave him a simple challenge: get both his and my families to agree to the match, without me putting my finger on the scales at all, and I'd take that as proof that my instinct that there was something special in him was correct, and I'd marry him.

"He failed. Utterly and completely.

"Still, throughout the tourney, he *said* a lot of the right things. And then I'd turn my back, and he'd do something else stupid. I still hope that, if he can but master his emotions, he could actually become truly formidable. But it just always seems like he loves his hate more than he likes me. You have to watch the hands with people, not the mouth. Words are wind. See what they *do*.

"Some days I think I'm just tormenting myself. That I should just give up all hope. Then others, I remember how he looked at me, like I'm water in the desert, and I let myself hope again. And then I start believing that he only sees me like that because I'm the only woman who'd display any interest in him. Of course, the only way he can prove *otherwise* is by leaving me for another woman, so there's a self-sabotaging belief if ever I had one. So I spend my life cycling between hoping he'll improve, fearing he'll go for another woman if he does, and giving up on the idea entirely."

A few moment's pause for her to catch her breath. "You probably just wanted a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer, didn't you?"

"The Dornish." She replies bluntly, before raising her arms in an aggravated gesture. "And it's not even personal! I could understand it if a Dornishman killed his father or raped his mother or something. But no! It's all tied up in shit that happened before he was even born done by and to people he never met! He only learned it from the man he squired for. But if one person can teach him that, then another person dedicated enough can 'un-teach' him. Keep the subject away from the Dornish, and he's funny, charming, and easy to get along with. It's so *easy* to see the man he naturally is, then something Dornish comes up and it's like 'whoosh'" she waves a hand in front of her face. "All rational thought goes 'bye', and there's nothing but that implanted hatred, displacing the man I saw. It's utterly infuriating!"

"I wouldn't ask you to, anyway. When it comes to fighting or war, I'm happy to let you men handle it. Otherwise, *I* act, rather than hiding behind others."

She considers his question a moment before shaking her head. "'Alone' isn't the problem. I could go down there right now," gesturing towards the party, "and well inside of an hour, find a man willing and able to sneak off for some private company. Not that I would, of course, but I could."

She takes a few moments consider how to phrase her next words. "You see a man. He's being manipulated through his hatred by those around him to do their dirty work. It is easy - oh so easy - to just sit back, shake your head, tut and spread gossip about what a bad man he is, how he's sure to end up a blackguard to rival the likes of Ser Rennifer.

"You can do that, or you can take a risk, extend a hand, and try to drag him off the path he's on. Proving that you are stronger than all the shit piled up in his head, stronger than those abusers around him, stronger than him. You are right, it's a lot of work to rid someone of a hatred, and it requires effort from both sides. You're right that it may all be for nothing.

"But if you succeed?" She looks into her cupped palm. "While to the world, you are still only a single person, to him, you *are* his world, beyond doubt. *That* ... that's not 'not lonely', that's ... true devotion. His heart, balls, and life are yours. That's rare and precious. Where the best most women can hope for is to be a valued mobile womb, that's precious, indeed."

She closes her fist, drops it, and snorts. "So, really, all I'm asking is to be worshipped like I'm one small step below the Seven. Really, is that so much to ask?"

"The tourney at Whitewalls, most like. He's formidable in both joust and melee.

"At a time when he believed both he and the subject matter were anonymous, and that no-one was listening in - in other words, at a time when someone is most likely to be telling the truth - he said he loved me. No hesitation, no second-guessing himself, no ambiguity. He loved me. He further said that if I loved him back, he'll sacrifice, he'll change, he'll do whatever it takes.

"But he *also* said earlier that he'd have no problem getting both families' approval, and he failed. And that he'd win a particular duel without issue, which he lost. And others - he has a history of failing to keep his promises. Ladies who go 'Oh, I know he lied before, but *this time* I trust him' deserve everything they get. And I don't want to join their number.

"I don't think it's deliberate lying - I'm sure he absolutely believed it to be true. But that's the problem. If I could *just know* that this time, *this time*, when he says he'll be able to change, it's really, really true, I wouldn't be nearly so skittish."

"Except there's a difference between 'fortune interfering' and 'blatant overconfidence'. I knew from the start that convincing the families would be hard, but he has subsequently admitted in what he thought was private that he never even *considered* that they'd disagree.

"That kind of overconfidence is *terrifyingly* likely to prove fatal sooner rather than later.

"But then, if I want him, why should I not reach out and *take* him? What's to stop me? Risking being a widow *twice* over? I'm sure that would be a huge deterrent to the massive queue of men who are still interested in me after my first." The bitter sarcasm is clear.

"I know the answer, of course. It's obvious when I think about it. I'd no longer be 'Lady Laena', I'd be *his wife*. I have faith in my own capabilities. My own judgements. My ability to not have my reach exceed my grasp.

"I don't have faith in his. And I don't have faith I'd be able to get us out of the whole he'd dig.

"If love is a kind of faith, maybe that exact lack of *faith* is why I can never say that I love him, too.

"Eh." She shrugs. "If I weren't drunk, I wouldn't be discussing this. Might damage my aura of omnipotent omniscience. No harm in saying what you think - there's even odds I won't even remember it come morning."