Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this

Warning: None

Authors Note: Once again, thank you for the support, peaches! It's all very much appreciated and cherished.

"He's going to be the one to knock me off of my horse."

Raising an eyebrow, Loras peered across the way to stare at a white tent with a prancing golden lion embroidered on the side, crimson tassels swaying in the gentle breeze. Outside of the tent sat a man, honey blonde hair that shone in the setting sun covering his eyes as he fiddled with a blade, arrogance and cool confidence in every flick of his wrist as the steel slid across the wet stone. The flap to the tent stood ajar, letting in light and air, and one could make out a pure white cloak resting beside tournament armour.

"Ser Jaime Lannister?" Loras asked, turning his attention back to Renly who was currently tossing an apple back and forth in his hand. "The Kingslayer?"

"The one and only. Surely you've seen him before?"

"Of course, but it has always been from afar or when he was in full suits of armour. He's a member of the Kings Guard, is he not?"

"Yes, but he's been given leave for the last few days in order to make a mockery of half the knights here." Biting into his apple, Renly gave Loras a beaming smile with apple stuffed cheeks before continuing on his way down the path lined with tents of all sorts. It was tournament season, or so King Robert liked to call it. Any excuse for a tournament was used during Robert's reign, and this time the excuse was that it was Cersei's name-day. Never mind the fact that Cersei seemed to abhor the thought of another tournament in which the people had a chance to gaze upon the strength and might of her husband. It was a well-known fact that the Queen hated attending the jousting and mock-battles, but that did not stop Robert from holding one in her 'honour'.

Renly, of course, was expected to attend and even compete, and while he would have moaned and groaned about it a lot more, he thought it a good time to bring Loras to a large, extravagant tournament for a change. Loras had told him he'd been present at a few of the tournaments at King's Landing, but never when he was squiring. He had attended to his squiring duties for Renly when tournaments were held at Storm's End or the surrounding area, but everyone knew that the revelry at the capital was the largest and most economically fruitful, and therefore it was the biggest event in all of Westeros. Subsequently Renly thought it the perfect time to bring Loras with him to soak in the atmosphere in order to prepare him for what he would experience when he became a knight.

So far it was having a rather large effect on Loras. While most people would only see confidence and that ever present haughtiness Tyrells seemed to shit, Renly knew the key to Loras was through his eyes. Masked behind the easy grace and slight indifference lay excitement and curiosity that appeared to radiate from the gold and green hues in his eyes. A small smile was always tugging at his lips, and at night he seemed to flutter about, as if he was unsure of where he wanted to be; inside with the people of Storm's End to play a few games, or out amongst the village of tents where nonstop revelry was had.

It has only been two days and yet Loras looked as if he had already reached his limit of excitement. Renly was actually afraid he might explode.

"Why do you think Ser Jaime is going to knock you off?" Loras asked as they dodged a whore who came running out of a tent, giggling and laughing as a drunken man fumbled after her, his pants half off. The sun was setting, and with it came the drunks and the prostitutes.

"Simple— it all goes back to money." Tossing the apple core off to the side he brushed his hands together. "I am being practical. I could very well say I'd win this tourney, but I know I won't because there isn't any money to be made off of my winning—it's all about bets. Whoever has the most riding on him will most likely win, either because he really is that good, or because the opposing knight may be bribed into giving it up. It just so happens that in this instance… well, the insufferable smug bastard of a Lannister is actually better than me."

"Don't you want to win, though?" Entering his tent, Renly tossed his money pouch on the desk set up directly at the entrance before turning around to look at Loras. He seemed irritated with the conversation, and he couldn't help but feel a little bad. Loras had some rather… strict views on chivalry and knighthood, and while Renly could admire that, it was hard to reason with him when it came down to it.

"Of course I'd love to win. I would also like to toss my nephew off a cliff—it doesn't mean it's going to happen."

"You could, you know."

"Toss prince Joffery off of a cliff?"

Renly heard a distinct growl rumble from the boy, and he couldn't help but smile as Loras rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Renly."

Shrugging, he wandered further into his tent, the plush carpeting softening his footsteps as he strode towards the forest green and gold couch that rested near the bed. Flopping down on to it, he relaxed in an elegant pose, one leg dangling casually from the arm rest while a hand caressed the carpeted floor. Twirling a lock of hair around his finger, he watched as Loras went to stand near the desk, his palm sliding against the smooth surface. He had never won at a tournament—not for lack of trying, of course. When he was new and eager he had wanted to win and came close numerous times, but as time progressed and interests changed Renly came to realize he wouldn't be victorious and did not really care. He had other talents such as buying clothes, indulging in fabrics that brought a little colour into his life and giving a bloody damn about the people around him. Charm, grace, and sheer charisma were his talents.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Loras, but I really don't care if I win or not."

"Why not?" Loras asked, his voice sharp and to the point. Raising an eyebrow, he watched as Loras approached and crouched down to rest on his knees so he was level with him. Gripping the armrest, his hand pressed into the plush fabric near Renly's shoulder as he leaned in close, determination in his stare. "Why don't you want to win? Why are you so willing to admit defeat? You're capable of anything, Renly. I've seen what you do and I've seen you practice; I am not saying this because you are my Lord or my friend, but because you're also a competent warrior who deserves a chance to win. Who cares about the money or the expectations; you should defy them. Make all of the smug pricks who think of you as nothing but the Kings younger brother reassess their opinions of you when they're lying in the dirt looking up at you."

Taken aback, Renly stayed still on the couch, his fingers no longer playing with his hair. Instead he couldn't take his eyes off of Loras as a hunger burned behind bright eyes. No one had ever said this to him before. No one had any reason to, after all. He was willing to go out, wear the beautiful suit of armour with its golden horns and bright green gilding, ride a few times and then sit back and take in the rest of the show. He wasn't competitive by nature and was fine with the status quo.

But Loras—Loras was hungry for the win. There was a desire that practically hummed off of his body, jolting Renly and making him pay attention to the boy who was becoming a man. Light from the candles in the room reflected off of honey brown curls while the shadows dipped and caressed the angled lines of his features, highlighting the masculine beauty that was slowly melding with handsome femininity as he grew and developed. Full lips remained parted, and high cheekbones donned a minor blush that brought youth and vigour to his cause.

Unable to stop himself, Renly moved to cup his cheek, a gesture that had become familiar to the both of them. Brushing back his hair, he tucked curls behind his ear and watched as Loras moved into the touch. Rubbing his thumb against a cheekbone, Renly shifted so he was lying on his side on the couch, cheek pressed against the armrest and lips close to calloused fingertips that continued to grip the armrest like a lifeline, their gazed locked firmly on one another. His hot breath brushed Loras' hand, but Loras did not pull away or startle.

This was dangerous—he knew this. It was dangerous and foolish and completely irresponsible. Loras was his squire and young—impressionable and easily manipulated into believing anything. He worshiped Renly, anyone could see that, and what he was doing right now was out of curiosity. The way he was leaning forward, expecting something not even he comprehended completely, reeked of inexperience and experimentation. Loras was too young, Renly told himself—he was too young to understand his emotions and his feelings, despite the fact that Renly had known he liked men, it seemed, since forever.

He'd flirt and he'd dance and he'd charm the women around him, but there was no real joy behind it. Perhaps a part of him relished in the power he had in a simple smile and an easy caress, but it was all trivial. The women were playing the game just as much as he, and while they never got what they were looking for, neither did Renly. They could never satisfy him, he knew this. He had tried but it never worked. He was bound to be different, but Renly accepted it with ease like he did most everything. Because again—what could he do?

But Loras… Loras was… Loras. He was pure and innocent, but with a wicked streak hidden behind his manners and chivalric code. He was honest and supportive and entirely too gorgeous for something like this. It wasn't easy being what many liked to call a 'cock sucker', and Renly did not want to ruin him. Loras' love deserved to be in the sun, not in the shadows and behind closed doors.

Or so Renly told himself.

Sitting up seemed to take an eternity, and Renly had to look away from Loras as he cupped his chin and applied a gentle kiss to his forehead instead of his lips. Standing, he left him sitting by the couch and attempted to distract himself by filling a glass full of wine from a jug left by the servants he had dismissed for the night. Taking a sip, he tried to calm the shake of his hands and the heavy beat of his chest before he dared to turn around and look upon what he had given up.

Blasted honour.

"You should go to sleep. I joust tomorrow and I need your assistance early."

He could hear movement and turned around just as Loras was standing up. His actions were tight and tense, fists clenched at his sides while his bottom jaw flexed back and forth, as if he were chomping at a bit like a frustrated destrier. "As my lord wishes," he said, voice even and crisp despite the frustration. Taking a long drink from his cup, Renly emptied it of the spiced wine quickly enough and had a silent moment of understanding with his King brother.

"You don't have to go to bed, I mean. You may go…" Waving his hand around, he indicated to the 'outside' where the parties had once again began. He had planned on going and joining the celebrations with a few of the other knights, but what had just happened ruined the festive spirit. Loras, however… perhaps Loras would find a woman to enjoy the night with.

The thought of those amber eyes looking at anyone else with desire made him reach for the wine jug once more. Why couldn't he long after whores and ladies in waiting like everyone else?

"No, I believe sleep is a good idea." A few shouts of excitement went up a little ways away, and Renly wondered if Loras would be getting any sleep. But before any more could be said Loras was leaving, body still tense but head held high as he pushed the tent flaps away and disappeared.

Letting out a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Renly ran a hand through his hair before turning around to kick his desk, making the candle holder rattle and threaten to knock over. Slamming his cup down, he leaned forward and stared at the grain of the wood, willing the image of Loras' dejected stance leave him.

He had done the right thing… or so he made himself believe.

XX

This wasn't normal.

What he was feeling and thinking and experiencing wasn't what a Tyrell did. He was supposed to be attracted to women; he was supposed to want to touch and caress their soft skin, to run his fingers through their hair and charm them with roses and kind words. It was all part of chivalry and it was what a knight did. He wasn't supposed to be having these feelings for another man—his Lord no less. Instead of feminine laughter and the swell of breasts under his hands, all he wanted was to feel a hard body against his own, harsh but exhilarating kisses and masculine moans. He wasn't supposed to want this. He wasn't supposed to feel this. It was all falling apart because he was going off the beat and track.

What he was meant to be was the prized son—the tournament winner and the womanizer. He was told from a young age that he would carry the Tyrell name and that he was going to make the family stronger and prouder than it had ever been before because it was expected of him. His older brothers were intelligent, capable and talented, but he was the one everyone would remember; with his pomp and bravado and ever increasing skill level he would sweep Westeros by storm. How could he begin to explain to his family?

He couldn't tell them; they wouldn't understand. He didn't understand himself. He had known there was something different about him. He'd known but he never stopped to think or ponder on it for too long because he didn't have the time or he was afraid of what he might discover. But he'd seen it, even though he refused to think about it. He always admired women but watched men with a different intensity.

It was all falling apart because he couldn't be normal. He was a Tyrell and he wasn't different. Better, but not different—not like this. Different was not the Tyrell way. Tyrells married and made names for themselves. They lorded over their land and swayed all those around them with their charm and grace; they were popular and in control at all times; admired and respected.

They did not lust after other men.

At first he thought it would go away. Whatever he felt when he looked at Renly was nothing but admiration. The increased heart beat and the desire to do better when he was around was excusable and easily explained. But that night in the tent when he looked at him that way, his deep blue eyes containing barley restrained desire sparked something in Loras. He wanted to feel the brush and warmth of his lips against his own. He wanted it so badly it physically hurt to think about it.

And that was Loras' issue. No matter how many days and nights had passed since Renly and pulled away and rejected him, Loras couldn't stop thinking about it. What could have been, what could have happened, how he was so confused and lost and angry. Angry at himself and at the seven gods for making him feel this way. Angry at Renly for leaving him like that—for pushing him away and acting as if none of it had happened and that there wasn't anything there between them.

Loras wanted desperately to just stop it all. To not feel what he was feeling and go back to when things made sense and when all he wanted was to become a knight and fulfill the expectations that had been placed upon him.

Unfortunately, what Loras wanted and what would happen were completely different things, and he was left wrestling with his thoughts and his emotions while working as a squire to the one person who made it inherently worse than it had to be. Renly behaved as if nothing had happened, his smiles still warm and his courtesy still present. He joked and laughed with Loras, and to anyone who wasn't Loras he appeared in good spirits. But the casual touches and well-meaning personal quips were less and less frequent. The kisses to the forehead had stopped, the cupping of the jaw and the subtle bump of swaying hands no longer occurred, and Renly hadn't asked to have his hair braided in months.

And it frustrated Loras. On the one hand he missed it all—he missed it desperately and it worried him. It worried him because he wanted it back and more. But he wasn't supposed to want it back. He wasn't allowed to feel this way because it wasn't what a knight did. All he had wanted in life was to be a knight and to have songs written about it. And now that things weren't working out like he thought they would he began to panic.

He was scared.

Scared of what could happen. Scared of what his feelings and desires would mean if anyone ever found out. He wanted Renly and he wanted normalcy. He wanted to be what his father told him would be and he wanted to be with another man. He wanted it all and at the same time began to wonder what 'all' was.

Mostly, though, Loras just wanted to understand.

"I think that pile of hay is dead."

Spinning around, Loras almost dropped the practice sword in his hand, his frustrations and confusion having gotten the better of him. Brushing a mass of curls away from his sweat slicked forehead, he glared at his weapons master, annoyed he had been caught off guard. "There is nothing against using the practice dummy."

"I'm not saying there is." Spitting out a wad of saliva, the master brushed a hand under his nose before hooking his fingers under his belt. Stepping back from the spit, Loras did not try to hide his disgust. The man was brilliant with a sword, but he lacked an inordinate amount of manners. Loras wondered if as soon as you had won a few battles and killed a few men you suddenly lost all desire to adhere to simple public decency practices.

"Then why did you stop me?" Growing impatient already, Loras bounced the sword in his hand, deciding that he couldn't be bothered with being socially acceptable, either. Usually he was polite and courteous to those around him, but today was just not a good day.

"Just wanting to make sure I have this right—you're leaving for Highgarden tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, my brother is getting married and I was given permission to leave in order to attend it. Besides, our Lord is gone for some time and I feel… strange being a squire in a place with no lord."

Humming, the weapons master looked out across the yard, eying the other boys who were practicing. "Dorne, right?"

"Pardon?"

"He went to Dorne, did he not? Something about keeping good relations on the King's behalf or some other bullshit?"

Sighing, Loras nodded, silently agreeing with the last part of the man's statement. Two weeks ago Renly had been asked to visit Dorne and left Loras back at Storm's End to train further. Under normal circumstances he would have been more than happy to stay behind, his attitudes and impression of the Martell family less than flattering given the status of his brother. While Willas seemed more than willing to move on from the dangerous joust that had cost him the use of one of his legs, the rest of the Tyrell family held a very obvious and still very present grudge against the Martell family. Loras from a young age was fed the resentment and animosity, and had found it hard to push back his feelings on the family when they were mentioned.

But he would have been more than willing to 'play nice' if it meant he would get to speak to Renly. The more and more he sat on what was going on between them (or the lack thereof) the more and more frustrated he got. The sudden distance between them, coupled with the fact that Renly hadn't even wanted him to come, was making Loras especially irritable. Never mind the fact that he got to return home after being gone for so long.

"Yes, he went to Dorne," he practically growled out.

Raising a brow, the weapons master squinted at Loras from under the bright sun before waving his hand back to the practice dummy. "Go back to work, then."

Nodding, Loras turned around but stopped when the man called his name. Spinning around, Loras tried to reign in his temper and simply stood, waiting for the man to continue. "You should get angry more often."

"Pardon?"

"You should get angry more often when you train. You're a better fighter when something or someone has right bloody pissed you off."