Loras Tyrell (age 16), District 3

My name is Loras Tyrell. I'm sixteen. And I'd die before I'd let my family--especially my little sister--get hurt. See just cuz I'm the second youngest doesn't mean I depend on others much. Since Garlan works a lot and Willas is crippled, I spend most my time looking out for myself and for Margaery. Our father loves us all. But I know he has to work too.

I'm still praying that Margaery will be safe when it hits me. Margaery is only fifteen, I think. She deserves to live. She--

Her name isn't called. Mine is.

x-X-x

The door of the Justice Building opens and my sister flings herself at me, tears running down her face. "Loras, no--why? Why did they pull your name? What have we ever done?"

"It's random, Margie," I tell her gently. She frowns and pulls away.

"Garlan says it's rigged."

I laugh, though it sounds half like a sob. Garlan and his conspiracy theories.

She hugs me tighter. "You can't die, okay? Promise me you won't. Promise me you'll kill all the rest of those fuckers--"

"Margaery!"

"--and come home. Okay? Promise me, Loras."

"I promise. I love you." I hug her tighter and bury my face into her hair...

The door opens and I look up. My dad and my two brothers look down at us sadly, Willas leaning heavily on his good leg and his crutch. Garlan tackles me and Margaery on the couch in a tight hug. I grunt.

"Garlan--c-can't breathe--"

"Sorry, little bro." he stands and then sits down on the couch, on the one side of. Willas walks painfully slow and sits down on my other side. Dad still stands, and there are tears running down his nose. He takes off his glasses and wipes his face. I reach for his hand and squeeze it.

"Loras, listen." Willas says firmly. I look at him, study my oldest brother's face. This might be the last time I see any of them. "You're very smart. And you're a very good fighter."

"The careers will be better." I mumble.

"The careers, on good years, are six kids out of twenty-four. And usually they're not even that. Either way, you have the advantage."

"And," Garlan adds. "You're the nerdy gay kid from Three--"

I blush and Willas cuffs him over the head. "Very helpful, Gallant. That was completely necessary.." He grins slightly at the use of his nickname. It's a nice nickname, and he deserves it.

"It was. Listen! No one will expect you to be tough. Play that out, and at the end turn in to the awesome fighter we know you are. Okay?"

I nod shakily. "I-I'll try..."

"That's all we need you to do, Loras." Willas whispers sadly, and Garlan nods. Margaery lays her head against my chest.

"We love you, son." Dad says. His voice cracks and my heart breaks. "You've made me proud, and I know you stand a chance. I know you have it in you to be strong and come home."

"I promise you. I will." I say firmly. "And Dad, I-I'm sorry about before--"

He shakes his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, son." he puts his hand on my shoulder and tears well in my eyes again. "I meant it when I said I'm proud of you. I will be no matter what happens. You come home safe, and you can be with anyone you want, man or woman."

"Just come home." Margaery whispers.

I nod. "I-I will. Thank you, Dad--I love you, I love you all--I couldn't have had a better family--"

"Don't make it sound so final, kiddo." Garlan says softly. His grin is gone though.

"Time's up." a Peace-keeper snarls in the doorway. My father and my brothers each kiss my forehead. Margaery hugs me tightly and presses something into the palm of my hand. Then the Peace-keeper grabs her arm and yanks her off me. She yelps and I stand up, frowning.

"Hey, don't touch her! Let her go!" I grab my sister back and put her into the room behind me--we're in the hallway now--before punching the guard in the face. He stumbles back and Margaery gasps.

"Loras! Be careful! You're gonna be in trouble--!"

"I don't care." I hug her one last time and press a quick kiss to her forehead. "I love you. Go to Dad and the others now. I'll see you soon."

She nods and runs out of the hallway.

I sigh and glance down at what she gave me. It's a pin: a gold pin, of a rose. It was our mother's before she died. I wipe at my damp cheeks and, pinning it to my clothes, I pray for luck. No matter how good of a fighter I am, I'm not niave and I know I'll need luck.

Especially after punching that guy...