Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's probably George RR Martin's.

RENLY

"Wake up."

Renly was not truly asleep; he had spent all night thinking of what was to come the next morning. And now that morning had arrived.

But nonetheless, he acted as if he was to appease Loras, who just "awoke" him from his façade. Putting on the best groggy act as he could, Renly turned over, smiling up at the young Tyrell. He put a finger to his mouth to silence him. "You'll wake the queen."

Both of them had to contain their laughter after that remark. Loras Tyrell wore nothing, and that's how Renly preferred him. But he had come to him in a green doublet, white wool pants, and black leather boots.

He had also taken pleasure in ripping them off.

Loras rose from the bed, his skin all but shining in the pale light of the rising sun. He went over to the window and slowly opened the wooden shutters; Renly had them installed for more privacy. The young knight sighed. "The Lannisters are more than happy this morning."

Renly rose as groggily as possible, wrapping his arms around Loras as he looked through the open shutters as well. This a warning to Eddard Stark and whoever else the Lannister bitch suspects of treason?

"The hoof beats woke me; the bell never does anymore." Loras shook his head. "They suspect what's coming."

"No," Renly Baratheon replied, "they know what's coming."

The yard rang with the sound of steel and hoof beats as men in crimson cloaks and mail and leather were either standing around cursing and jesting, or charging the straw-stuffed dummies whilst on horseback. The Hound ran down one of the dummies with ferocity, straw and wood exploding in all directions as his lance collided with the mock man.

Just like he had ridden down that poor butcher's boy near Darry.

Renly had witnessed it firsthand; he was out searching for the Stark girl with the rest of them and he and his search party were just returning to Castle Darry to report no trace had been found. Luckily Stark's own men had found her; Renly didn't know what Cersei would do with her if her crimson cloaked bastards had. On his way through a small patch of wood, he and his men witnessed the butcher's boy ridden down by Sandor Clegane, cut almost in half from shoulder to waist. He almost lost his stomach watching it. Though he did not know the youngest Stark girl as well as he did the older, he still felt horrid for not apologizing to her. Not that he had anything to do with it; but he still felt horrible.

Loras broke the silence by sighing loudly. "When do we make our move?"

Renly shook himself out of the trance of thought, returning to the real world. "Soon, hopefully. Lord Stark has the final say in where and when. He wants to wait for Robert to pass, first."

"I'm sorry for saying so, my love, but His Grace is as good as passed."

Renly pushed him away and moved to the bed, angered. "I know that, Loras. No need to remind me…" He put his head in his hands and sighed.

He could hear Loras move to his side again, felt his soft hand on his back. "I know you were close with him. Perhaps not recently, but I know you loved him. He was a good king."

"At some points, yes, he was. When he wasn't hunting or whoring or drinking." Another sigh, then Renly rose again, this time to pour him a glass of wine at the table in the center of the room. "I am going to miss him… but now is not the time for grieving. Bold actions are to be made, and Ned Stark will be at their head."

"Stark," Loras said with mirth. "He refused me the opportunity to prove myself in the riverlands. I took the Mountain down in the lists, why not on the battlefield?"

"As Stannis has reminded me since birth, the battlefield is not a joust, love. 'War is messy,' he always tells me, 'you don't get up from a spear shattering through your chest and say "well ridden, ser".'"

"It's a good thing we are preventing war, then." Loras came to sit at the table, putting one leg over the other to hide his manhood after Renly poured him some wine. After taking a sip and swirling it around his cup, the young Tyrell frowned. "Something just occurred to me."

"Curious," Renly wryly replied with a grin, sitting down across Loras.

"Shut up," Loras chuckled. "But in all seriousness… who's to be king if Joffrey were to… I don't know… fall, while securing him?"

Renly knew where this was going. "Loras…"

"I'm just curious, love." The Knight of Flowers leaned forward, looking Renly straight in the eyes. "You would make for more than a decent king."

Loras had never mentioned this to Renly before. He knew his love was ambitious… but not this ambitious. "What would you have me do? Kill my nephew just so I can claim the throne? It would never work; Stark wouldn't allow it to happen. And if it worked, there would be war. No one would fancy their young king being replaced by his uncle."

"The reach would," Loras retorted. "Your bannermen would. We could form an army—"

"I said no, Loras." His tone was lathered in anger and grief. He considered telling Loras about Joffrey's true origins. Bloody Lannisters. He knew Stark would make no exceptions to who could know and who couldn't. Maybe he could convince Ned…

Loras sighed, and turned his head to the window. They sat in silence for an hour before Pycelle's servant came knocking.

Renly knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready for it. His mouth twisted, tears welling in his eyes. Loras looked to him with sympathy, and after a firm nod from Renly, he got up and slipped behind the wardrobe, where he hid whenever a visitor came knocking. "One moment." Renly's voice cracked when he called out, slipping a robe on.

The boy was dressed in simple clothing; linen shirt, linen pants, leather boots. His head was bowed as he announced his business. "I bear a message, m'lord. From the grand maester."

Renly waved his hand, the tears coming back. "Get on with it."

After a curt nod, the boy said the dreaded words. "King Robert has passed, may the gods guide him. The Hand has called a meeting in his solar, in the Tower of the Hand."

Renly was surprised at his ability to keep control of his emotions; he barely felt the need to cry. Robert was his older brother; his oldest brother. He had always looked up to him. He was everything he wanted to be: strong, authoritative, a warrior that songs were written of. I will write him one, Renly promised himself. When we deliver him to Storm's End as his final resting place, I will sing it as they place him in the ground. And a statue, yes, a statue shall be forged as well. He will watch over the Red Keep for all time…

When Renly sent the boy away, he closed the door, and just stared at it for a time. He had not felt so empty in a long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he felt like this. He could never remember his reaction when Mother and Father died at sea, but he was sure it was nothing compared to this.

The tears began to flow, and he almost fell to the ground were it not for one arm resting against the door. Silently sobbing, Renly Baratheon didn't even hear Loras come up from behind him. The young knight wrapped his arms around Renly for some time, comforting him as the tears streamed down his cheeks and onto the Myrish rug below them. He didn't know how long they stood there; minutes, hours, days. Renly just didn't know.

But after that undeterminable amount of time, he turned and kissed the boy that was his love, and went over to the wardrobe to put on some clothes and wipe the damned tears from his face. He didn't even notice what he put on, and for a moment had no idea where he was even going. He remembered when he heard the door shut behind him, and the rest of the small council sat and stared at him, as if expecting something.

He could not remember if he had left before Loras; no, Loras left before. That was it. He said he'd gather his men and speak with Royce and Swann and the rest of them, even the Stokeworth woman, who was a part of Littlefinger's little list.

The master of coin had personally delivered a list of their potential allies for Renly to speak to and incite them to their side. All of them he knew: Yohn Royce, Lady Stokeworth, Ser Balon, the Redwyne brothers… and Loras.

Loras must be gathering them all now, he thought. His mind returned to there and then, away from how and when and what. He saw Ned Stark, who looked as if he had not slept in quite some time, seated beside Grand Maester Pycelle, at a table that was modeled to look like a smaller, less elaborate version of the one in the small council chamber; Pycelle's crimson robe accentuated his long, white-white beard immensely. Littlefinger across the room, by the now-extinguished fire; he wore a wry smile as he waved at Renly. Ser Barristan was seated across from Pycelle and Eddard, laden with his elaborate white cloak and shining scale armor; his pale, blue-grey eyes were filled with sorrow and baggy with restlessness. And finally Lord Varys, who bowed in either respect or sorrow for Renly as he walked in.

All here, Renly Baratheon thought. He's going to tell them all.

"Lord Renly," Varys softly said, his tone sad-but-not. "The realm weeps. We all are praying to the Crone to guide His Grace to sanctuary."

Renly sighed lightly, but nodded in response. "Praying won't bring him back, Lord Varys." He stepped past the eunuch and moved to take a seat beside Ser Barristan, leaning against the high back of the wooden chair. "Shall we begin?"

Eddard Stark, the conveyor of this meeting, slowly brought out what Renly suspected were the final words of his brother. Solemnly, the Hand opened the letter. "The king summoned me last night to record his final will and testament. Both Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Renly here witnessed His Grace stamping the document with his own seal, to be opened in this council meeting after he passed." He slid the paper across the table. "If you would be so kind as to remove the seal, Ser Barristan."

The old knight examined the document. "King Robert's seal… unbroken." Promptly breaking the seal, Barristan read the whole of it. "Lord Eddard Stark is to rule as Protector of the Realm and Lord Regent until the heir comes of age."

Renly waited for it, for the words to come pouring out of Stark's mouth. Say it, you bastard. Get it over with; get the truth out.

Instead, Ned Stark said "I would ask this council to confirm me as Protector of the Realm, as the king wished."

After a few moments of silence, Renly opened his mouth to say something, but was swiftly interrupted by the door swinging open, one of Stark's fat guards stepping in. "Pardon, m'lords, the royal steward is without and…"

The damned steward squeezed his way in and bowed to the council in session. "My lords, His Grace is awaiting you in the throne room and awaits the presence of his small council."

Renly rose swiftly and was about to full on throw his fist at the steward's face – irrational as that was – until Stark stopped him with a cold look, then recovered quickly enough to respond. "We shall attend immediately, then. Let us go, my lords."

It was a long walk down the stairs.

Littlefinger assisted Lord Eddard with an arm, while the rest of the council followed closely behind them. Outside the tower, the rest of Stark's household guard waited, grey cloaks snapping in the morning wind. Looking around the yard, Renly saw many gold cloaks flapping as well, and that was reassuring: Littlefinger had held up his end of the gamble. Renly just hoped Loras had his own waiting near Maegor's Holdfast.

Renly was so relieved when they reached the throne room entrance he thought for a moment he might faint. Loras had rallied them; just like Renly knew he would. He's capable of anything and everything; gods, he's perfect. Though… something was not right; something was missing.

He only realized when the throne room doors were opening. Loras.

Looking back as he was being practically pushed into the room by one of Royce's men, searching for his Knight of Flowers. Not here. He's not here. Where was he? He stopped thinking of him; he needed to focus. Renly returned his attention forward, just as the steward was yelling aloud the new king's titles and such.

"All hail His Grace Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

As they made their way toward the end of the hall and the ugly throne that stood there, Renly examined his surroundings. Joffrey sat atop the Iron Throne, arrogant and looking comfortable, a golden doublet and red satin cape adorning his body; Cersei sat beside him, wearing a emerald-green dress of Myrish lace, and looked rather worried at the sight of all the armed men that approached them. Renly liked that. What he didn't like was the fact Cersei had brought her two other children; Myrcella and Tommen stood beside her, behind the five knights of the Kingsguard – excluding Ser Jaime and their Lord Commander – who formed a half-moon in front of the barbed seat their monarch sat upon. If it comes to bloodshed, they will see it. Damn you, Cersei.

Crimson clad men-at-arms stood behind the throne and some beside it, hands on their swords now that there were around fifty of Renly's one hundred swords in the room; the rest were without, waiting. All along the walls of the throne room, however, were the golden cloaks of the City Watch and Renly had not even noticed Janos Slynt beside Ned and Littlefinger. They outnumbered Cersei and her boy five to one. This can be resolved quickly. We must be steadfast.

As the group came to a halt a few feet before the Kingsguard, Gage, one of Renly's own personal guards, slowly and carefully handed a sheathed sword to him. Renly Baratheon inhaled and exhaled, anxious, and nodded to Gage, mouthing a thank you before returning his attention forward. He held the blade tight.

Cersei Lannister stood from her seat, her hand resting on Myrcella's shoulder. Her tiara shone in the pale sunlight pouring through the windows. "Well isn't this a merry band you have here, Lord Stark. Have they all come to pledge their swords they wear so loosely in their hilts to our new king?"

Lord Eddard was silent, but Renly swore he could feel the iciness in his voice when he finally spoke. "Ser Barristan. Read the letter aloud, if you would be so kind." As the old knight nervously opened the letter, Ned continued. "This document is the final will and testament of King Robert; Lord Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle can both vouch for its authenticity."

Cersei gave the aged maester an icy look before turning her eyes toward Ser Barristan again. After he was done, the queen chuckled and applauded pitifully. "A wonderful show, my lord. But is this testament, this piece of paper, supposed to be your shield? A poorly made one, if one at all."

Ned replied almost instantly. "You may say as you please, Lady Cersei. But the sign and words are King Robert's own. And I happen to have many supporters of them." He had Littlefinger let go of him, and slowly approached the throne, his leg faltering slightly. "If you comply, no harm will come to you. No blood need be shed."

Myrcella seemed appalled. "Mother, are they going to fight? What are they going to do?"

Cersei fumed. "You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Stark. Ser Barristan, seize this traitor."

The old knight looked between the two, and managed one step toward Lord Stark before he was surrounded by eight Stark guards, bare steel in their fists. It didn't take long for the Lannister guards behind them to unsheathe their own blades, along with Sandor Clegane, whom Renly had just noticed. Soon enough the whole room, excluding the gold cloaks, looked ready to tear each to pieces. Renly had his sword out before he could think, already trying to find a man to take on. Who looks the least likely to kill me?

"You leave me no choice," Stark called out. Commander, take the royal family into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them to their apartments and keep them there, under guard."

Janos Slynt donned his helm and shouted "Men of the Watch!" before pointing his spear forward toward the enemy before them. The rest of the gold cloaks did the same, spears closing in to surround the throne.

"We want no bloodshed," Ned continued, "so tell your men to lay down their blades. No one needs to die."

The Lannister woman was now visibly paled, holding Tommen and Myrcella close; the two children were also not looking their best. Joffrey stood from his throne and was shouting. "Kill him!" he screamed. "Kill all of them! I command it!"

No one had time to respond as the Hound charged forward took of the nearest gold cloak's hand with a single swing of the sword. Blood sprayed everywhere, and for a moment, Renly though he might puke. The only sound was the screaming for a moment.

Then chaos ensued.

Janos Slynt yelled something incoherent and charged Clegane while the Lannister guardsmen charged the forefront of the enclosing gold cloak spearmen; Littlefinger was attempting to get himself and Lord Stark into the center of their allies while Joffrey was still yelling, his eyes wild with anger; the Kingsguard were enclosing around the throne, closing the half-moon to clench around the steps upwards, while Cersei and her children ran for the back door, behind the Iron Throne, for safety.

They can't get away, Renly thought to himself. They're key to this – if they escape, there's no stopping Tywin Lannister from wiping King's Landing off the face of the map. He lunged into the fray.

He had never fought without armor before; he had never really fought for his life before. Never had he been in true battle, and this was it. This was what Stannis told him about for all those years. It is dirty. He swung his sword in a wide arc as he got out of the boundaries of their group. Two Lannister swordsmen swung back, and Renly promptly parried one, while he swiftly jumped back when the other attacked. I can do this, he told himself. Easy enough: parry, swipe, swipe, parry, parry, and swipe.

It took him a moment to realize that he was not even trying to kill these men; they were his enemies. This was no tourney; this was real. He found himself doubtful he could do it: take a man's life. He had tried to wrap his mind around it all night the night before. He would have to kill if it came to bloodshed.

And it did.

Only then did he realize that the clash of steel could be heard near the doors of the throne room, and flashes of crimson, both wool and liquid, flapped and rained for all to see.

Renly screamed, to no one in particular, "Behind! We're being enclosed!"

Ned Stark heard him well enough, and yelled in a more commanding, experienced voice: "Spread out! Do not let them through!"

Renly frantically looked about the room, sweating profusely. He could see Lord Varys slipping away from the fighting, looking panicked. Grand Maester Pycelle looked confused, stumbling this way and that, trying to determine what he could do to escape the clash. Ser Barristan was still surrounded by Stark swords, and from the look on his face, looked ready to break out and get a sword in his hand.

Renly suddenly frowned; he only spotted four of the Kingsguard, and they were fighting off two Royce men, including Bronze Yohn himself, and three of Renly's own guard, near the Iron Throne. Renly could hear Royce yelling to the enclosing gold cloak's to leave the "whitecloaks" to him. Renly could not find Ser Arys Oakheart anywhere…

… or Joffrey.

Fear groped Renly Baratheon like no other in the room as he charged for the door behind the throne, sword tight in his grasp.

The hallway was not dark; he knew it wouldn't be. He had taken this more than a few times, whether it was for Robert wanting to break his fast with him or to take a casual walk along the battlements. At the end of the hallway, two doors would be waiting for him; one to the royal apartments near the heart of Maegor's Holdfast, and the other to the walls. Renly wagered Cersei would not want to leave the city without her valuable jewelry and fine clothes. Oakheart would want to leave right away, but the Lannister woman would insist. So, that was the door Renly took.

Renly slowed his pace as he neared the royal apartments, hearing the crashing and thrashing coming from one of the rooms: Robert and Cersei's room. Sword pointing downward, Renly snuck up next to the already-open door and listened in on whatever was going on.

He heard Ser Arys Oakheart first. "…folly, Your Grace. We need to leave now; the traitors are on their way here, now."

"You don't tell me what is happening now, ser; don't forget your betters like they have." Cersei sounded half-mad. More thumping and stomping and…

Renly recognized the other noise as crying. Tommen… or Myrcella. Joffrey wouldn't cry, he knew; he might have been a little shit, but he wouldn't be crying over something such as this. Damn us all…

Renly heard the enamored armor Ser Arys wore shake and shimmer audibly as he stomped somewhere. He heard a yelp. Joffrey, he's got Joffrey.

Cersei let out a loud gasp. "What do you think you're doing, Oakheart?"

"The king must be kept safe," Ser Arys replied, and Renly heard another yelp, and one whimper. Myrcella, Tommen. "As does his heir. If you refuse to come, Your Grace, so be it. But I must do my duty –"

Suddenly, Renly heard Cersei almost growl, and he heard a crash, a loud crash. She's tackled him. Now was his chance; he could kick the Lannister woman off of the knight, then finish him off. But as soon as he was about to whirl around the door, he hesitated. Gods damn it all… bastards or not, the children don't need to see their 'uncle' slaughter a man trying to protect them. Fuck me.

Cersei seemed to be wailing into him; he could hear flesh hitting flesh, armor clanking and banging. She had to have some sort of dull weapon, the armor like a drum in his ears. The children were yelling incoherently, and Ser Arys cursed in anger at one point. If he had been avoiding hurting Cersei, he stopped a few moments later, as Renly saw from the corner of his vision the woman was thrown against the wall, her hair a mess and a small cut bleeding lightly on her left cheek.

Cersei shook her head slowly, looking exhausted. "My children… don't take them, my children, please… ser…"

"Damn…" the knight cursed again. "Seven hells…"

If Renly was to move, he had to move now. Joffrey could not leave the city. He slowly came around the door, sword in both hands, and raised it at Ser Arys, who was standing across the room in between Myrcella and Tommen(on Robert and Cersei's bed) and Joffrey and Cersei(the boy standing in shock, the woman slumped against the corner to Renly's right). "Drop your blade, ser. No more blood need be spilled."

Ser Arys Oakheart was a comely man, and Renly would not deny his bed to him, that was for sure. His face was clean shaven, his hair kept long. His enameled chestplate was dented in several areas, his helm lying on the royal bed. Fresh scratches were all over his face, most likely from Cersei's clawing. Animalistic, Renly thought humorously. No wonder everyone wants her in their beds.

Ser Arys looked to Renly, sizing him up and down. "Lord Renly. Among the traitors I had not assumed you would be in their ranks."

"We are not traitors," Renly stated, his sword wavering. "We are merely attempting to wrest Joffrey away from her hands." He snapped his head in Cersei's direction, who was still dazed from being thrown against the stone. "We only want what's best for the king."

Ser Arys spit onto the Myrish carpet that led from the door to the dining table on the other side of the room. "Folly, this is all folly. I'll show you what's best for the king." The white knight drew his blade, pointing it directly at Renly.

His brow began to sweat nervously. "Ser, I beg of you, do not make me do this."

"If it's dying you speak of, I have no quarrel with it," Ser Arys Oakheart proclaimed. Then he lunged.

Renly parried the first swing, aimed for his legs, but could not stand against the white knight's full weight being thrown at him, shoulder first. Arys' right pauldron slammed into his face, and the world went white with pain.

He regained his sight perhaps a few moments later – it felt like hours – and felt liquid running from his nose, and could barely breathe through his nostrils. Renly raised his hand to feel his nose, but was soon aware of a plated boot slamming into his chest, knocking the breath right out of him. Struggling for air, crawling away, searching for safety, Renly Baratheon knew this was the end. He would die for this damnable power struggle.

He would die for the sake of crowning a boy whose throne was not even rightfully his.

Suddenly, the ringing of his ears stopped, and he could hear a clashing of steel, armor clanking and banging. The others, he thought. They've come. But when he looked on the two fighters, his vision adjusting, he recognized the silvery armor of his lover, a golden rose decorating his green-linen tabard.

Slash after slash, parry after parry, swing after swing, punch after punch, the two knights fought in the narrow highway, cursing eachother as they moved further away from the king's apartments. Renly slowly began crawling towards his sword, it being kicked away a few feet away from him.

As his hand lay itself on the hilt of the blade, Renly was once again kicked, this time in the face, and not by a man's boot. Cersei Lannister took advantage of Renly's deliriousness and began scratching and smacking and slamming her fists down on his face, neck, chest, whatever she could scratch or smack or hit. She roared like a lion, he swore he heard it, before he finally pushed her off with all his strength, and grabbed his sword.

Swinging the blade in all directions, not hitting anything but stone wall, Renly yelled in defiance. If he was to die, he would take the evil Lannister bitch with him, at least. He rose from the ground as best he could and swung around, sword clenched in both hands, his hair a mess. Renly knew how wild he must have looked, as Cersei looked genuinely afraid of him as he moved closer, placing the tip of the sword near her face as she slumped against the wall just beside the door to the room she had been in.

Renly Baratheon cocked his head at her, and chuckled a bit. "You're as wild as Robert said you are."

She hissed at him; literally hissed at him. Gods, animal to the bone. He felt no regret, surprisingly; he had wanted to put Cersei in her place for some time, after all. At least he didn't have to kill anyone in front of the children. At least he didn't have to kill anyone at all. Renly laughed again, blowing his hair out of his face briefly as he looked down the hall. Ser Arys and Loras were now so far down the hall that he could only hear the clashing of steel.

"Your little toy will be meeting the end of a sword, soon, my lord," Cersei said savagely. "His flowery head will make a fine decoration on the battlements."

Renly glared at the Lannister woman, angered. "Do you ever learn when to shut your damnable mouth, Cersei?"

"Do you ever learn when to close yours to Loras' cock, I wonder?"

"Shut your mouth, you golden-haired bitch!" Renly would suffer the jests no more; they ended today. Renly raised his boot and kicked her square in the nose… something he thought he would never do. To anyone, for that matter, let alone Cersei; either way, her nose burst just like Renly's had when he made contact with Arys' shoulder. She went silent. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. She lives, Renly knew. He lowered his sword, and backed up, looking up at the ceiling, and began to laugh. Loudly.

He laughed for what seemed like an eternity. But when he was done, he had to wipe his eyes of the tears, and his nose of the blood. Then, Renly turned to enter the royal apartments.

Myrcella held Tommen on the bed, both of them sobbing and glaring at Renly Baratheon in fear. They had moved up to the pillows. Joffrey was sitting in a chair, holding his head in his hands, muttering angrily. Renly regarded all three of them, his smile quickly fading. He put his hand on the bed and Myrcella kicked it away with a yelp.

He was heartbroken; Myrcella had always loved him. Tommen never had that look when he looked to Renly; the young prince had always looked up to his 'uncle', admired him. Renly dropped the sword to the ground, the steel clashing against the stone. "Myrcella, sweetheart… and Tommen, my golden knight… there's no need…"

Suddenly, Renly realized that the fighting down the hall had ceased. Loras, he thought. Twirling around, however, Renly almost ran into the victor, standing in the doorway.

He wanted to smile, he wanted to cry, he wanted to embrace him so much… but the children were here. Cersei could awake. He had to refrain. "Ser Loras… where is Ser…" Renly studied his face, cocked his head, puzzled. It was the same comely face he had fallen in love with… but dots and streams of crimson now made their home on it; and on his silvery armor, and his Tyrell tabard; and his whole sword was just covered in it. Red, red, red…

"Oh." Renly Baratheon did not know whether he said it as a question, statement, or something else. "Oh…"

It seemed like an eternity before the children realized what had happened.

And then they wailed.