Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones, or the A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Chapter One

Standing over Renly's funeral pyre, Ser Loras Tyrell replayed the events of that cursed night over and over again in his mind. It had been months ago, the night after the great tourney at King's Landing to honour Lord Eddard Stark's appointment as Hand of the King. He'd spoken truly to Renly that night as they'd lain together, he thought bitterly, he would have been a good king, the best king. But now, that would never be, and Loras wondered bitterly if it was his fault that his love was now dead. He'd pushed him after all, he reasoned, Renly would never have declared himself king if Loras hadn't encouraged him to do so.

His brooding was cut off by a light touch on his arm, and he turned his head and met the concerned gaze of his sister. Margaery had done all she could to comfort him in the two days since Renly had died. To his shame, he had broken down and cried in her arms the night before, but as always, Margaery had not judged him, just as she hadn't resented his relationship with Renly, which had continued even after Renly's arranged marriage to Margaery several weeks earlier.

"You should light the pyre now Loras, they're waiting." She said quietly.

Loras nodded and took the blazing torch she held out to him. He stepped forward, and took one last look at Renly's face. He was still beautiful, even now, he thought, but he looked so different. Renly's face had never been so pale, and there was no smile on his lips. It was wrong. Renly was almost always smiling, but in death, he seemed almost a stranger to Loras as he looked down at him.

"May the Gods give you peace, Renly, my King." He whispered, and then he touched the torch to the kindling of the pyre, and turned away, unable to watch as the flames leaped up, and the man who had been his only love and who would always be his true king was lost to him forever.

Later, he sat in his tent, and stared unseeing into a cup of wine as the sun set outside. He had been in here since leaving the pyre, and he would let no one in, not even his sister. That would hurt Margaery, he knew, but he needed to be alone, and to remember.

He had gotten to know Renly a few years ago, when he'd been his squire. The feelings between them had grown fast, no matter how much Loras had tried to fight them, and soon enough there was no doubt that Renly had his heart. They couldn't be open of course, but still, all the whispers and stares of the lords and ladies of the royal court, who seemed to know everything about everyone, had been worth it, he wouldn't have given up being with Renly for the world.

He sighed then, this was doing him no good, and he knew it. He needed to do something, to throw himself into battle perhaps to take away his anger and grief. He knew exactly who'd murdered his king, and as much as he bitterly blamed himself, he knew deep down that it wasn't truly him who'd sealed Renly's fate. Renly's own brother Stannis had done that, and if Loras had his way, the false king would die, and soon if the gods were good.

Loras lifted his cup, and took a long swallow of wine. He had to stop brooding and rest, he told himself, he'd be leading his army further south at dawn, it was essential that they reached Highgarden, the Tyrell seat, as soon as possible, Stannis could send his forces after them, and as much as Loras would've welcomed meeting him on the battlefield, his sister was with him, and he'd never put her life at risk, not even to get revenge.

Loras sighed and lay himself down after he finished his wine, but he could not rest. Thoughts of Renly swirled through his head, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw his face, smiling at him like he had so many times over the years they'd been together.

Hours later, he heard the rustle of his tent being opened, and he sat up at once, reaching out for his sword in the darkness.

"Who's there?" He called, annoyed at the intrusion.

"I'm sorry to intrude my lord, your sister Lady Margaery sent me. May I come in?"

Loras sighed, no doubt Margaery was worried, and he'd done nothing to calm her fears.

"Come in." He sighed, and lit a candle from the still warm coals in the brazier. In the light from the candle, he saw an unfamiliar knight entering his tent. The knight was around his own age, possibly a year younger, around seventeen perhaps, and he wore a golden doublet, with the three green leaves of House Oakheart emblazoned on the front. He was handsome, Loras noted dully, he had pale golden hair, and deep blue eyes, which were regarding him curiously.

"Who are you?" Loras asked him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Ser Olyvar, of house Oakheart, if it please you, my lord."

"So, you're the heir to Old Oak?" He asked him. The Oakhearts were bannermen to the Tyrells, in fact they were among their most loyal lords, and yet Loras had never met this particular member of their House.

"No, my lord," Ser Olyvar answered, "My brother Ser Willam is the heir."

"I see. Tell me, why did my sister send you to me at this hour?" Loras asked, frowning slightly.

"She asked me to bring you this, my lord, it's from the Maester. She thought you might have trouble sleeping, and she said this would help."

He held out a small flask to him then, and Loras took it, a small rueful smile crossing his face. His sister knew him so well, he'd thank her later he told himself.

"Thank you," He said. "You may go now, Ser Olyvar."

"Yes my lord," The knight said, and then he hesitated, and glanced at him, as though he meant to say something else.

"Is there a problem, Ser Olyvar?" Loras asked him, frowning slightly.

"No, I...no, my lord, I'll leave you now. Good night." He left the tent, after inclining his head politely to him.

Loras sighed again, and blew out the candle, the light would only hinder his sleep. He considered Ser Olyvar's strange behaviour, and then dismissed it. It really was time for him to get some rest, and pondering the actions of a stranger wouldn't help. He uncorked the flask that Margaery had sent and drank the contents, hoping against hope that it would bring him dreamless sleep.