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.

Loras strode towards Renly's tent, his jaw clenched. The guards stepped back from the door. One of them, with long red hair, smiled at him knowingly; a bit too knowingly, in Loras's estimation. He would have to see they were rotated to a different assignment. After making sure they moved themselves away, even further then usual, he stepped inside the tent.

There lay Renly Baratheon the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, face-down on his bed, moaning. Loras fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Loras was not built equipped to deal with misery. The War of the Usurper had happened in the first two years of his life; and, though House Tyrell had fought for the losing side, and had even kept Stannis Baratheon at bay for months, they had been treated well. Loras's childhood was filled with balls and feasts and parties. Certainly the world was not a perfect place, but it was not a particularly dismal one, either. So Loras had discovered he was quite unprepared for Renly's grief about his upcoming nuptials. In the few situations where he had to deal with such situations in the past, Loras had often said what he imagined Willas would have said, were Willas in Loras's shoes. But Willas had likely never had to comfort a grieving male lover about that lover's wedding.

In public, Renly was still his bright self, but in private, the times that were supposed to be Loras's times, he was completely different. Just a couple days prior, Loras had come into his room only to discover Renly attempting to balance accounts. Renly. Balancing accounts. When Loras had attempted to disrupt Renly, Renly had just shrugged him off and said he had "very important work to do".

This time, at least, he wasn't doing that. And so Loras sat down on the bed next to him, dangling his feet off the bed, waiting for Renly to say something. Fortunately, it didn't take long.

"I'm getting married tomorrow," said Renly, gloomily, to his pillow. "I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Yes, my king," said Loras. "That is usually what is expected of you at your wedding. Not that I'm an expert on such matters."

"Tomorrow," said Renly, turning his head around dramatically to look at Loras. His eyes were slightly pink and a bit puffy. "I'm getting married."

"…yes," said Loras. "And you're looking scruffy. You need to trim up your beard. My sweet sister would never marry someone looking as savage as you." When Loras had proposed making Renly look more presentable, Renly had acquiesced mildly, but he had been nigh apoplectic when Loras told him that meant the beard should go, too, so it stayed and the rest went.

"Married to your sister," said Renly. "Will you ever forgive me for doing this to you, Loras? Will you ever forgive me?"

"Yes, married to my sister," said Loras, surprised to find that his voice was becoming a bit more heated. The days of complaining were starting to get to him. "Married to my sister, like we agreed should be done. Like we agreed to have happen, after I helped think of the idea. We'll be bound by blood. Think of it, Renly. We agreed to this."

"I… I… it's just…" said Renly, hesitantly, "it just feels like I'm betraying you. With your own sister! Your sister!"

Loras sighed, and looked Renly straight on. "Renly, look. We came up with this plan together, she and I. You know that. And you know that we won't hold anything against each other." Anything. They had talked about it and agreed. Renly needed an heir, Renly needed Loras, and that was that. That had probably been one of the hardest things for Renly to understand, the fact that he and Margaery had thought about it and talked about it together and agreed it was for the best. If only he had had better brothers than he did, thought Loras, he might be a bit more tractable.

"But, I could stay unmarried!" said Renly. "Look at Brynden Tully!"

"Brynden Tully is the brother of a Lord," said Loras, "and you are a King. So act like it. You need an heir, that much is clear. You don't want the throne going to Joffrey, do you?"

At the mention of his nephew, Renly's face lost a bit of its stubborn cast, but he still seemed morose. "But… but… I could… I could name someone else my heir. Like, like…"

"…who?" said Loras, mockingly. "Stannis? If he's to be believed, Joffrey's not even your nephew at all. Perhaps he would be your rightful heir."

Renly looked hurt, and Loras immediately regretted his words. "I could name someone else my heir," repeated Renly. "I could."

Loras sighed again, taking his lover's hand in his. "You will marry my sister tomorrow. You will produce an heir. And I will make you forget all of that tonight."

Renly attempted to lift an eyebrow at him while still pouting, making him look like he had some odd variety of greyscale. "How could you think I'm in the mood for prayer, with, with, this hanging over our heads?"

"Oh, I don't think you're in the mood for prayer," said Loras, leaning in towards Renly and putting his lips next to Renly's ear. "I think you're in the mood for a nice, good fuck," whispered Loras.

Renly jerked back, his eyes widening. "L- Loras!" he sputtered. "You can't- you shouldn't- I'm, I'm getting-"

"Yes, yes," said Loras. "You're getting married tomorrow. I heard you. And, if you're worried about what I just said, don't be. Let them hear." Loras was a man of action. He took off his pants in a couple of swift motions.

For a moment, a brief moment that gave Loras a bit of hope, Renly seemed to reconsider his previous bad mood. Then his face returned to its previous sulk. "No. Don't you think I'll just go and pray with you now, Ser Loras Tyrell."

The things I do for love, thought Loras. He put a hand lightly on Renly's chest and restrained himself from sighing. "What if we got this shirt off you and put you in that… pink cloak?"

He had really meant to have stopped suggesting they use the thing. He hadn't even meant to make it last beyond its unveiling; his plan was to bring it out, suggest Renly try it on, get a laugh out of him, and move on. But Renly had played along with it so well—or, at least, Loras had thought Renly was playing along with it—that he kept it going. The second time Loras had brought it out, Renly's had reacted so positively that Loras figured he couldn't've been joking. The third time, Renly himself had been the one to bring out the cloak, claiming that he was only wearing it for Loras's sake. At that point, Loras was seriously considering laughing in Renly's face and informing Renly he had only bought it as a lark to see Renly's reaction, but imagining the hurt look that Renly would give him prevented him from doing so.

That left this time. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The wedding of one's lover to one's sister definitely counted as a desperate time, and the wearing of an absurdly pink cloak-that-covers-ones-feet—does such a thing have a word?—was certainly a desperate measure, and there was nothing more to it.

Renly gave him a flat stare, but Loras kept looking at him, attempting to look patiently hopeful. The "patient" part was the challenging bit of it. Finally, Renly relented. "If you insist."

It wasn't much to go on, of course, but it was more than nothing. Loras's hand dropped to his side before he turned around and went to one of the trunks stuffed with clothes by Renly's bed. There, in one of them, buried a bit under some shirts—but not too buried, mind you, because Loras sincerely hoped some washerwoman would find it and discard it—was the pink cloak. Loras brought it over to Renly. The two of them stared at it for a moment.

"Oh, Loras, are you sure you don't want to wear it yourself?" said Renly. "You would look so… splendid."

"No, no," said Loras. "It's yours, please." ...so you put it away and never look at it again, he thought to himself.

"Oh, good," said Renly. "I was hoping I'd… get another crack at it."

The two of them took off Renly's shirt, Loras helping Renly free Renly's arms from his sleeves. He took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from Renly, which elicited a wan smile. At least this pink cloak has done that to him, thought Loras. Then, more quickly, Renly's pants slid off, and he was soon in the pink cloak. Sitting there, Loras thought Renly looked a bit like a newly-hatched chick, admittedly a chick of a startlingly vivid coloration.

"I… I… gods, Loras, look at me," said Renly, smiling.

"Yes," said Loras, trying to smile back. "Renly, by the gods. I have never… never seen you… more radiant."

Renly just nodded, apparently caught up in the moment. The two of them sat there for a moment, before Loras pressed another kiss to Renly's lips. The kiss went on for longer than Loras expected, before Renly broke it. "Let's… let's get me out of this cloak, shall we?"

"Yes," said Loras. "Yes! It's gotten me so worked up. Wonderful idea!"

"Great!" said Renly.

Loras practically ripped the cloak off of Renly's back, leaving the older man lying there in his underclothes. Loras was about to take those off, too, when Renly put a hand on Loras's forearm.

"Loras…" said Renly, tentatively. He was still smiling, which Loras supposed was an improvement, but his voice sounded hesitant. "Loras, can we… can… uh…"

Loras looked up at him. "Yes, Renly?"

"Can we just lie here, for a while? You and I?" said Renly.

"Without… prayer?" said Loras. Gods, perhaps I was wrong about him, thought Loras, but I need a good fuck right about now.

"Please?" asked Renly. "Just, just for a bit. I… I'm worried, Loras. I'm just, worried."

"Alright then," said Loras. "Let's do that." And so he did, until Renly fell asleep in his arms.