Loras

Outside the ornate glass windows of the grand hall, an epic storm raged. Lightning seared through the sky, and the thunder that sounded would have rattled any lesser castle. Not Storm's End, though. Renly told him that Storm's End was actually the last and strongest of several castles that were built at the spot by the very first storm lord. All his attempts to build a holdfast had come to naught, as the gods of the sea sent storms to throw down the walls, until finally a castle was built that could withstand the gods' wrath. As the story goes, the gods were upset with the storm lord for wedding his daughter. All the best stories always came back to love, Loras knew.

Love.

Beside him, Renly shifted uncomfortably as he sat in the hall's high chair, listening to the petitions of the few who had dared to brave the storm. The lord shifted again, and his velvet doublet - a rich, earthy green today - rustled softly against the granite of the chair, between claps of thunder. What few of the Lord of Storm's End's subjects had made it to the hall were quite long-winded, making up for the lack of other petitioners. Loras largely ignored them, bored with their rustic bows and excessive "m'lord"s. He was glad he was not Mace Tyrell's first son, or even second, else he had a good chance of having to suffer through this tedium eventually. Loras loved the small folk, but when they were cheering him in a tourney, or as he rode through the streets - not when they were complaining about fires or stolen swine.

Renly felt the same way. Even though Loras was staring straight ahead, eyes scanning the people in the audience hall, he could just imagine his lord's face right now. Renly's thick jet black hair neatly groomed, mouth pleasantly upturned, with his startlingly blue eyes giving away all the boredom the rest of his face hid so well. Always pleasant, always patient, always kind to everyone, regardless of rank or status. Not just pleasant, but genuinely charming. Loras knew that the other squires and young knights called the Knight of Flowers arrogant (not to his face, of course), but he had never heard anyone even hint that Renly was less than wonderful. People even forgave Renly his tempers when he would fuss about the color of his new tunic, or how his breeches had an unseemly wrinkle.

Another stroke of lightning illuminated the hall, far brighter than the lights of the hundreds of candles that had been lit, breaking Loras from his train of thought, without a roll of thunder coming quick on it's heels. Loras could feel it reverberate deep within his chest.

"Look at this storm! Let us pray to the Seven that Storm's End lives up to it's name! I shall resume audiences on the morrow," Renly said as he rose and moved deftly around the chair. He disappeared through the lord's door with Loras at his heels, as the castle guards moved to clear people from the hall.

"Well that was wonderfully boring, don't you agree?" Renly said cheerfully, taking the steps to his apartments two at a time. "It was, my lord," Loras said, watching Renly ascend. His boots were a supple black leather, inlaid with a pattern of gold vines, and his breeches were an impossibly dark green. The lord of Storm's End always took such painstaking care of his apparel. Loras was sure that he had to be the best dressed lord in all the Seven Kingdoms. Everything fit him just so, tailored to perfection that Loras hadn't known existed until he came to squire for Renly. The squiring clothes he had brought from Highgarden were fine and well made, but they had lacked the true elegance of even the most humble pieces of Renly's wardrobe. Renly stopped and turned, so suddenly that Loras almost ran into him. Almost.

"I really do hate it when you call me that," he said.

Loras sighed. He had forgotten. Hearing people call him "m'lord" for the last four hours had made Loras completely forget. "Well, you are a lord. And you happen to be my lord. I would think you'd be accustomed to it by now, seeing as how you've been lord of Storm's End for almost ten years."

"I shall have you whipped for being so insolent. You were supposed to beg my forgiveness and tell me that it would never happen again, you know," Renly said, though considering the grin spreading across his face, Loras knew the threat was empty. Plus, there were a hundred other insolences that Loras had committed that were far more worthy of whippings.

"Your empty threats do not scare me, my lord. I am the gallant Knight of Flowers," Loras said, as the two resumed their ascent. He meant it as a joke, but when he heard himself say it, it came off much more arrogant than he had wanted. Renly just laughed.

The solar was warm when they entered, and Loras immediately went to pour Renly a glass of Arbor gold. There was a rich aged cheese on the table, with a basket of roasted chestnuts, a warm loaf of black bread, a dish of butter, and raspberry preserves that Loras's lady mother had sent from Highgarden. It had become a favorite of Renly's. He invited Loras to sit with an easy wave of his hand.

"So. What did you think of my subjects' complaints today?" Renly asked, as he set a slice of bread smeared with preserves in front of Loras. Though he asked playfully - like he did almost everything - there was a strange sadness in Renly's voice. "To be honest, I wasn't quite paying attention," Loras said, shrugging and smiling ruefully. Lightning struck outside again, for a moment casting the world in shades of black and white. Renly leaned back and turned to gaze at the storm, a grimace on his face. "To be honest, I was not paying much attention, either," he said.

Ordinarily, they would have laughed and joked about that, but the look on Renly's face was so serious. Loras didn't know what to say, to such a serious Renly. So instead, he started picking at the food on his plate and pouring himself a glass of wine. As Renly continued to gaze out the window, the storm outside somewhat lessened the silence in the solar. Eventually, though, Loras's curiosity got the better of him.

"Is there something you want to talk about, my l- Renly?" he said.

The storm lord turned. His eyes looked bluer and icier than usual, in the flashing light of the storm and flickering light of the candles. Loras felt a strange pressure start to build somewhere below his navel.

"Your Renly? I think I quite like the sound of that," he said, his voice breaking into another laugh. With that laugh, Loras knew that whatever was bothering Renly, he had dismissed it already. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. Loras smiled and shrugged. "That's not fair, though," Renly said. "If I'm your Renly, the least you could do is be my Loras, yes?"

Loras felt his face going red. "Of course, I'm your sworn squire after all," he said.

"And a sorry one at that. My glass is empty," Renly said, giving said glass a small shake. "I think you are quite hopeless at squiring, Loras Tyrell." Loras scoffed. "A squire is supposed to help knights and lords don their armor for battles and tourneys, not pour wine. If you had occasion to wear your armor more often, you would know that."

"Is this going to turn into another lecture on how I should train more, to prepare for all sorts of glorious victories at jousting and in melees like my beloved royal brother?"

Loras nodded, laughing. Renly may have been said to be the spitting image of a young Robert Baratheon, but a likeness was the only thing they shared. "Well, you don't have to be exactly like your brother. But he was undeniably skilled when it came to fighting."

Renly took a long draught from his glass of wine. "You know I do not enjoy the sight of blood, Loras." His squire knew this. At the last melee Renly had participated in, he had thrown up amidst the fighting because some lesser lordling had one of his eyes dangling out of its socket. King Robert had roared with laughter as his youngest brother was then taken at unawares and forced to yield. Loras was about to say something, when Renly held up a hand.

"I will hear no more of it," he said, and started in on his own slice of bread. As he dug the knife deep into the bowl filled with the chunky red raspberry preserves, Loras sniggered.

"What?" Renly said.

"Well, don't you think those preserves sort of resemble..."

Horrified, Renly looked down at them. A moment later, a cushion from one of the other chairs at the table came flying at Loras's head.

"The Others take you, Loras Tyrell! The gallant Knight of Flowers, famed only for his prowess at being insolent and upsetting his liege lord's appetite. You are hopeless."

"But in the best of ways," Loras said gazing at Renly, strangely carefree and happy. They held each other's gaze for a while, until Renly finally broke, collapsing back in his chair with a tired sigh, draining another glass of wine.

"I hate being a lord," Renly said.

"I know."

"Do you think everyone else knows?"

"No. But you're getting worse at hiding it."

Renly bit distractedly at the corner of his thumb nail. Lord Stannis had always hated when he did that, but Loras thought it endearing.

"It's not like I wanted this. I am a third son. Like you. This wasn't supposed to happen. If it wasn't for Robert's rebellion, I could have lived out the rest of my days as an unlanded knight - without the prestige of being a high lord, yes, but still with all of the House's incomes and without the responsibilities. I envy you, Lor."

Loras noted the use of the nickname. Renly only used it when he was drunk. Or getting there.

"I could use a bit of a shave, don't' you think?" Renly said suddenly, running his hands along his jaw.

"I was going to mention it, but you would just have me whipped for being insolent or something or other," Loras said. He rose to get Renly's shaving kit. It was nearly dinner time, so he would have to be quick about it. Though he had been squiring for Renly for almost two years, he had only been shaving him for a couple of months when Renly decided to test the Knight of Flowers' skill with a razor instead of an axe. After Loras gave Renly the closest shave he had ever been given, Renly commanded that he do it regularly, and he had never even so much as nicked the lord of Storm's End.

Renly had taken off his doublet, vest, and cloak, and was down to a simple cotton tunic with laces. When Loras knelt to begin coating his jaw with foam, his nose was filled with the smell of Renly Baratheon. The first scent was obviously the wine, and the soft lilac smell of the shaving lather. Beneath that was the strange, wild scent from Myr that he liked to wear, and underneath that, the thick, heady, manly smell of his skin. Loras didn't realize he was leaning unnecessarily close to him.

"Lor, what are you doing?"

"I'm smelling you."

"Is my bouquet to your liking?"

"Very much so."

"Well, after you stop mooning over me like a maiden, that shave would be nice."

The blade make a whicking sound as it rode the angles of Renly's jaw. "I wasn't mooning over you. You just smelled good, is all," Loras said, sounding like a child who had just been scolded.

Renly was right about the shave, though, so Loras set to work. He could feel his pulse quicken as he laid one hand on the back of Renly's neck to steady him. He was uncomfortable with how comfortable Renly was with him, and he with Renly. The only person who could even come close to how intimate they were was his sister, Margaery. But even then, there was always the veil of sibling propriety between them. With Renly, though, he seemed to be able to say almost anything. Even before he started shaving him, they would sit up for hours in the solar just talking, or Renly would cheer him on at the training yard as he unhorsed knight after knight.

Loras was concentrating on shaving the corner of Renly's mouth. He was so close to the lord of Storm's End that he could practically taste the wine on his lips. He could feel Renly's eyes boring into his own, but he refused to look up. He was sure if he did, he would be too distracted and might accidentally cut Renly. With a sigh of relief, Loras pulled back, and dampened a cloth to pat down Renly's face. When he turned around and reached for Renly's face, Renly reached behind Loras and pulled him closer, pressing Loras against him.

If Loras looked into Renly's eyes, he knew he would never look away, so he focused on the laces of Renly's tunic. Beneath the laces, a dark shadow of chest hair was revealed. Loras swallowed hard.

"Renly, dinner should-"

"I thought you had a new honorific for me now," Renly said. His voice was thick - from the alcohol and something else that Loras was not ready to name. But he said it so wantonly that Loras couldn't help get aroused, and being so close to Renly, the lord of Storm's End was sure to feel it.

"Fine. My Renly, dinner should be served shortly," Loras said, fighting the blush blooming in his cheeks.

For a second, his eyes flicked up. Renly's intense blue ones were blazing in the flicker of the candlelight, wonderfully, impossibly blue. He was transfixed. He leaned forward, and he could feel Renly pressing him closer. Loras was at full mast, and felt the warmth of Renly's thigh against him.

Suddenly, Renly stood up, knocking Loras awkwardly to the floor.

"Loras Tyrell, what are you doing?"

Loras's mouth opened and closed. He didn't know what to say.

"It's time for dinner," Renly said, striding to one of his wardrobes and pulling on a variety of richly colored clothes. He was done extraordinarily quickly - he usually liked to languish in choosing what he wore - and walked to the door. So quickly that Loras was still trying to collect himself, when he paused and turned.

"Loras," Renly said, "take care of yourself and make your way down to dinner. You can seduce me some other night."

Loras nodded meekly.

Renly paused again. "And be quick about it. We're feasting the Florents tonight."

With a quick, easy smile, he was gone.

Face burning, Loras leaned back, put his face in his hands, and groaned.