A/N: This fic is, as they say, "inspired by true events", but the inspiration is rather tangential. Plaudits go to His Holiness GRRM, Sanrio, "Ramble Girl", and my lovely beta for all they've done. You're the best.
They had been expecting him. In fact, they had been preparing for his arrival for the past two days. Every night that he didn't visit them, they became more and more indignant. They thought they knew what it meant, of course. It meant that Loras Tyrell considered them the sixth-most-organized mummer's troupe in and around Renly's camp. The sixth of six.
Still, they were all bows and curtsies and "Sers" as Loras entered their disheveled little gathering. In truth, Loras knew little about the relative merits of the mummer's troupes that had attached themselves to Renly's army. Renly had always been the one to enjoy the mummer's performances: the stories, the pageantry, the way the mummers slipped into their roles as easily as they slipped into their costumes. Loras didn't much care. He usually spent the time practicing the sword with some of the other knights, the ones who weren't distracted by mummer's farces from the war that was to come. Better mummer's farces than wenching, thought Loras. The money spent on that might go straight to Littlefinger, for all we know.
"Ser Loras," said the handsome man sitting closest to Loras, rising from the stool he had been perched on. His long hair was dyed a farcical blue, perhaps in imitation of Pentoshi custom, though his light skin gave the ruse away. "We are delighted to see you. What brings you to our humble encampment?"
Loras bit down an unnecessarily rude comment. To keep Renly's army together, it meant everyone had to be happy, from the king down to the lowest camp follower. Instead, Loras assumed his fourth-most-charming smile, and replied, innocently, "I don't believe that will be necessary. But there may be something you can help me with. We need… a costume."
"A costume?" said the blue-haired man, a look of surprise on his face. "Why, whatever for?"
He knew what it was for. If he hadn't already, the man was a blithering idiot, and the mummer's troupe was the sixth-most-organized mummer's troupe of Renly's encampment. After all, Loras had already asked the five other troupes for the same thing. A maiden's cloak, the sort that a bride would wear on her wedding day and then shed in favor of a similar cloak with her husband's colors. Renly's own troupe of mummers—the ones who played only at the pleasure of the king—were lacking one, Loras had been saying, and they quite simply had to have one for the next performance of "The Marriage of the Braavosi Banker".
It was well-known that "The Marriage of the Braavosi Banker" was one of Renly's favorite plays. Loras hoped that the reason why it was one of Renly's favorite plays—the kiss shared between the Braavosi banker and his erstwhile "bride", really a male bard from Dorne—was not so well known. The previous troupe that had performed it for Renly had seemed to know something of the truth of it, though. The kiss shared by the two actors, which was supposed to be a chaste peck on the cheek, lasted a bit long. Even Loras had to look away in distaste. No, Loras never intended that the play actually be staged, not so close to the upcoming wedding. He needed the maiden's cloak for… other plans of his.
The mummer managed to locate a number of maiden's cloaks a bit too quickly for chance. No mummer's troupe would be without a maiden's cloak or five; weddings were always a common theme for performances. But the maiden's cloaks they had were just so dull, which presented a problem. They had beautiful floral trims and simple sigils of geometric figures or insipid little birds. Loras needed a maiden's cloak that would make Renly laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Worst of all were the cloaks with flowers on them. That would just remind Renly of the wedding.
Unfortunately for Loras, this troupe was no different. As the blue-haired man continued "discovering" maiden's cloaks with a remarkable alacrity, Loras kept shooting them down.
A plain white cloak, embroidered with a yellow sun? "Not what we're looking for."
A flowing red cloak, with a small blue lake on it? "No."
A short, ornate cloak, emblazoned with seven colors, with a white teardrop? This gave Loras pause. It certainly was ridiculous enough, and looked like nothing out of Westeros. But it still lacked… something. And it would be a bit odd for the man who created the Rainbow Guard to be wearing such a thing. Renly might actually think it had been made for him. "Not that one, but… something along those lines, perhaps?"
The blue-haired man's eyebrows furrowed briefly, then he smiled. "Ah!" said the man. "I know just what you need."
He went back and rummaged a bit through the troupe's clothes—and, this time, the rummaging didn't seem to be merely feigned—until he pulled out a single garment. "From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," announced the blue-haired man. "It is said that this garment is used by sorcerers when making their most sacred spells."
"I guess the Shadow Lands are less shadowy than I thought," said Loras. "Shadowy" was not a word that could ever be used to describe the piece of clothing. It was an impossibly bright pink, for one. So bright, in fact, that Loras couldn't imagine where in the world it would have come from; that shade shouldn't have been possible. Margaery would likely know.
It wasn't at all a maiden's cloak, either. The… robe?... seemed designed with a man in mind, with long pant legs attached to a form-fitting torso. The garment seemed to go around the feet, too. Perhaps it was used to travel over rough ground, though Loras could hardly imagine it affording the wearer with a very stable grip. The one thing it did have in common with a maiden's cloak was the sigil on the chest that reminded Loras vaguely of a face. The face, though, had some lines coming out of its sides. Whiskers, perhaps? Was it supposed to be a man? The feet, too, were emblazoned with the sigil for reasons Loras couldn't fathom. Just as importantly, of course: it was Renly's size.
"This is just what we are looking for," said Loras, smiling again. "What sum do we owe you to compensate you for this fine… garment?"
"How could I ask for any monetary reward?" asked the blue-haired man. "I live to serve my king. Please, Ser, take this to His Grace as a gift, on my behalf. And, should he ever be looking for a new troupe to supplant the so-called players he currently employs…"
"Yes, yes," said Loras, "The King shall hear of your generosity, to be sure." Smart man, thought Loras. Though Renly is too fond of his "players" to get rid of them so quickly. Margaery has been looking for a singer, though…
The man bowed slightly, and Loras took his leave. Yes, perhaps Loras could cheer Renly up after all.