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The garden made of ash

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Margaery knew what was going to happen and that's why she ran toward him, took his hand and try to drag them out of the crowd that surrounded them as a bramble of thorns.

“Loras” she tried to meet his empty eyes, “Loras” she called out his name in a desperate way.

“Loras” her voice trailed off, “ground, trees, flowers: home” she hissed embracing him, holding him and covering his eyes with her hands.

When the green hell wrapped them in its tongues of fire, the most beautiful roses they burned together.

After the greenish rain nothing was left of them if not a garden made of ash.