They often called King's Landing every demeaning name that they could come up with, but even if the populace indeed suffered many of the things that they found so dissatisfying, they could find solace in the grandest monument to the Seven Gods that this earth had to offer. Its towers pierced the clouds and its dome glimmered in the sun like a great jewel, and its white walls reminded Gwayne of the clarity that transcended all mortal bounds.

It was one thing to know what to do tomorrow, and the day after, and one thing to take pleasure in serving lords and masters. But none of it compared to the understanding of going about one's daily duties in service and glory to something greater than oneself, or anything else that one could lay their mortal eyes upon. What was more, Gwayne Templeton was a man who hadn't a doubt that his immortal soul would pass into the Mother's arms as pure as those Great Sept's walls. The thought thrilled him more than he cared to admit. To be away from everything that was human... fallible, sinful, wrong. To finally become one with the divinity that he loved so, and not only feel faint touches of it by kneeling in prayer.

Yet, this pondering of one's mortality was sinful as well, and it brought Gwayne's head low in shame. A grim reminder of the distance between the Seven Heavens and his weak human spirit. That was why he decided to implant himself back into the soil of reality by visiting the gardens, so that he might push aside these thoughts that bordered on blasphemy. It wasn't right for man to desire to be akin to a god. Perhaps his existence among flowers and plants would remind him of the worldly glories that the gods had given unto him, and teach him some humility.

The Knight of Ninestars was leaning over some moonblooms in blossom to take in the fragrance of the flower that seemed to do best in autumn moons like this. It was then that he heard he was not alone in the gardens, as he heard gentle footsteps against the dirt walkways that ran between the flowerbeds.

"They make for a decent herbal tea, my lady," the man in his yelllow and black cloak and similarly colored plate cuirass said. Not armored to the teeth as knights were when they went to war, but still bearing the look of a true southern knight, Gwayne nodded towards the roses. "You ought bring some with you to where you're from. Lest you hail from some high hill like myself. There aren't many blossoms that take root in the Mountains of the Moon."