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: It's the second last chapter! Longer than the last, and hopefully you'll all enjoy it! Thanks for your support, once more. Much appreciated.

Resting his elbows on the balcony overlooking the garden, Loras took in a deep breath and held it in. Hands clasped before him, he allowed himself a moment of calm as the warm, gentle breeze tousled his hair and caressed his cheeks, the harsh wind from the sea a distant memory as he tried to reacquaint himself with the place he used to call home.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, he sagged a little against the stone railing before breathing in the scent of roses and fruit trees once again. He missed this—more than he had let himself believe. The entire atmosphere of Highgarden was something else—something he could not rightly explain. It wasn't as if the buildings themselves were different from most keeps or castles he had been to, or that servants were more hopeful of the noblemen more courteous. It wasn't as if it was really that different, and yet… it was home.

No matter what, the smell of roses and citrus trees would ground Loras. Bring him back to a time when things were easy and simple, and everything made sense. To a time when he did not worry or stumble, fret or despair. It brought him back to a time when he did not wonder what would come next beyond the next day's adventures.

And with his eyes closed and the smell of lemons and life heavy in the air, Loras could pretend he was still the young boy who had left for Storm's End years ago.

"Loras, are you in there?" A muffled voice carried through the heavy oak door, snapping Loras from his moment of peace. Pulling away from the balcony he ran a hand through his hair, trying to make out whose voice it was that had taken him from a much needed rest.

"Come in," he finally said, deciding to let them enter. If they would be a bother he would dismiss them. But as soon as Garlan walked through, all thoughts of dismissal were gone. Unable to contain himself, he rushed forward and was immediately pulled into a hug, strong arms pulled him into an embrace he had missed terribly.

It wasn't the same, of course. Loras was taller than when he had last seen Garlan, and instead of being able to tuck his head under his brother's bearded chin he was left resting it on his shoulder. His arms, too, found themselves wrapped around his waist and up his back, fingers touching—a feat he had never been able to achieve when he was eleven.

He had missed Garlan terribly. More than he thought he ever could, really. He had always admired Garlan, of course, and had been distraught when he had to leave without saying his proper goodbyes with Garlan having left to serve at another lord's court. He admired his entire family, but Garlan, Garlan had always been special—he was like the knights in the stories; strong and powerful; kind and intelligent; brave and daring and with a strong sense of right and wrong. When he was little, Loras believed Garlan could do nothing wrong.

He had wanted to be just like him for a time, deciding that he would become a powerful warrior just like his brother. He would spend hours attempting to imitate Garlan's fighting technique, despite the fact that his movements were meant for someone stronger and larger. Loras was soon broken from that, though, and told to use his slim build and speed as an advantage, but that still did not stop him admiring his older, wiser, more chivalric brother.

Garlan the Gallant.

"Thought you could hide in your room for the rest of the night without saying hello?" Garlan asked, ruffling Loras' hair as he pulled away to hold him out at arm's length. Squeezing his biceps, Garlan gave him an appraising look, wide mouth open in a brilliant grin. "By the seven how you've grown! You're fifteen now, and when I last saw you I could pick you up with one arm!"

Laughing, Loras resisted the urge to reach up and fix his hair, and instead took the time to look at Garlan. He was taller and older, his chest broad and his face matured. The plump cheeks that had haunted him through his childhood had all but gone, replaced with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that was covered by dark brown hairs that formed a bushy, well groomed beard. Green eyes that were so like their mother's stood out beneath his heavy brow, admiration shining through.

For a second Loras felt as if he were looking at a painting of his father when he was that age. It was striking the similarities.

"You look well, brother," he said, pulling away. Fiddling with his hair, he ignored Garlan's snort and walked over to the balcony to sit down on one of the chairs. Taking the seat opposite him, Garlan stretched his legs out and loosely grasped the arm rests, sighing happily as he did so. Letting him spread out, Loras crossed his own legs and rested his hands on his lap.

"I look well, but I'm a nervous wreck," he said, knocking his feet together gently. "Who thought getting married could be so stressful"

"Most everyone, actually."

Grinning, Garlan winked. "I see you haven't lost that smart arse tongue of yours up in Storm's End. Not surprising given the tales I hear of lord Renly."

Smirking, Loras shrugged. Renly certainly… fostered an environment where verbal quips were accepted. "I think it will only get worse as time goes on. As you age isn't is customary for a Tyrell to become a little less courteous and a little more willing to say what needs to be said?"

"I wouldn't disagree with that statement; do you know what grandmother said to me when I came back? First thing she said was: 'Garlan, what is that on your face? It looks as if you've decided to become a bear while you were away. Tell me, is it fashionable to be a bear in the courts now, and if it is, do the women have to dress as honeycombs in order to attract you?'" Shaking his head, Garlan laughed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough about that, though! How have you been?"

"I have been well," he began, unable to lose the grin on his face. "I have been training every day, learning how the courts worked and who I should please and who I should avoid. Jousting seems to agree with me, as does sword fighting and using the morning-star. I've heard the word 'prodigy' uttered about Storm's End. So I suppose you could say things are going well."

Laughing, Garlan pressed a hand against his eyes before sliding a palm down his face. Groaning, he finished his dramatic display with a loud snort. "I see you have not lost that arrogance."

"Well you asked how it was going and I told you—it is not as if I am the one saying all of the praise. Besides, is it really arrogance when it's true?"

That caused Garlan to laugh even harder, and Loras couldn't help but join in. It was good to hear that low baritone of a laugh once more—rich and deep as it washed over you like warm water. When Garlan was happy, everyone knew. "You may look different, but you're the same Loras I grew up with."

"And you're the same Garlan I grew up with, only with a little more hair on your face."

"You're just jealous you can't grow anything." Rubbing his chin, Garlan sent Loras a cheeky grin.

"Yes, I am terribly jealous I cannot look like a bear."

"It is a good thing my bride to be is a honeycomb."

Snorting, Loras rolled his eyes and hid a smile. "I have not seen Lady Leonetta before. Is she as small as they say she is?"

Nodding, Garlan pursed his lips. "She's only a little taller than Margaery, but she has some fire in her. She plays the harp, actually, and is polite and… kind."

"You haven't talked to her much, have you?" Garlan shook his head. Nodding, Loras cracked a finger and looked out at the garden. The price of being noble born—arranged marriages, a fate they all had to accept, ladies and lords alike.

Including him.

Soon, he too would be expected to marry. He was a man after all—or almost one. No longer under the care of his family…

Suddenly Loras felt ill, his hands beginning to shake and his breathing becoming frantic as reality set in. Swallowing a thick wad of spit, he looked out at the garden and stared at the sky as the walls around him felt like they were closing in; trapping him and pushing him out into a direction he did not want to go.

He knew he would have to get married eventually. It's what was expected of him and he could see no possible way out of it. His father would eventually find him a lady to marry and she would be a 'good match for the family'. A lady who he would have to court and smile and kiss and fuck and pretend to be in love with, all while wishing she weren't a woman but a man. A horrible, treacherous thought that made Loras want to scream. She would not deserve that, and he did not want to have to be the one to give her such treatment. But he knew that no matter how he tried that love would never come. He could hear his father tell him it would happen eventually—that such marriages take time and soon he would love his wife just as his father loved his mother—but Loras knew it would never come. It could never come. He would have to look upon her with affection and kindness and he would do his best, but it would never be enough…

Would he even get to know if she played the harp and was polite and kind before he was expected to wed her? Would he even get to see her before their wedding day? Would he even get a say? And would she? Would she know as soon as they consummated their marriage that he wasn't there with her? That it was a duty and a requirement but one he took no pleasure in? How could someone do that? How could they pretend to love someone when all they could think about was black hair and laughing blue eyes, a masculine body and a rich, deep voice that made him laugh and smile and love?

How was he expected? How could he—

"Are you alright?"

Opening his eyes, Loras looked over at Garlan, his brother's eyebrows furrowed as he studied him with concern. "I am fine," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. Removing his hand from his chin, Loras smiled amiably and took a few steady breaths, hands still shaking but the nausea relenting. "I was just thinking."

"You look pale."

"I am fine, brother. You should be concerned with yourself—after all, you are getting married in two days. It's a big step for you."

"I suppose…" Loras could see he was not convinced, and tried to smile just a little brighter in order to appease him. It did not. "Tell me your worries, Loras."

"I-I'm not worried," he retorted, and looked away quickly, hating that intense stare of pity he was receiving.

"Then why won't you look at me? Something is troubling you, Loras—I can see it written all over you." Leaning forward, Garlan clasped his hands together and rested his arms on his knees.

"You should not concern yourself with my troubles on a day like today. We haven't seen each other for years and you're getting married," he said, trying to be reasonable. He knew that if he said anything to anyone, it could mean the end of his career as a knight before it even started. Family or not, he had no idea how Garlan would react knowing he was having these feelings for his lord.

"Tell me."

The tone in which he said it made Loras turn his attention back to him in an instant. It wasn't threatening or menacing, nor demanding despite the use of words. It was open and honest, and Loras found himself unable to refuse such a request.

"I am… worried about marriage for myself," he stated carefully, voice wavering only slightly. He had to be cautious about this.

"Everyone is, Loras. You shouldn't have to worry about that, though. You're still young—it will be years until father even mentions marriage."

"But I don't want to get married."

Garlan simply smiled. "You're young yet. Give it time and you'll want to—"

"No," Loras cut in, his eyes locking with Garlan's. "I don't want to marry ever, because I will never be able to love my wife."

"Some marriages don't start with love but eventually—"

"It will never happen with me, Garlan." He was getting desperate, his voice tight and his nostrils flared as he frantically tried to make Garlan see without saying it. He wouldn't say it out-loud—he couldn't voice his worries so directly. He was supposed to be a grown man and he wasn't supposed to be so afraid of this. Of what these feelings could mean. "Don't make me say it, Garlan."

"Say what?" The intensity in Garlan's gaze did not make Loras shy away, despite the tremble of his hands and the rattle of his breathing. No matter how many times he breathed it never seemed enough.

"I can't marry anyone— ever. I just can't, Garlan," he said, hating how much he was shaking.

"Is it because you're in love with another person?"

Swallowing, Loras nodded slowly and looked at Garlan for answers that he did not even know the questions to. "I am."

"And you can never marry them, because…?"

"Because…" Because he is your lord? Because he's Renly Baratheon, younger brother to King Robert Baratheon and Minister of Laws. Because he's everything you want and nothing you can have. "Because he is a man."

The words fell from his lips in a rush, heavy and solid and deafening to his ears despite the hushed tone. As soon as he said it he broke their gaze, his eyes flicking down to his hands that were gripped together, fingers slipping apart as they shook and trembled. He had said it, and yet there was no relief.

Nothing was said for what felt like an eternity, the rustle of the leaves on the vines that trailed up the pillars the only sound as judgement weighed heavily on Loras' shoulders. Nothing was said, until...

Laugher broke out.

Hard, loud, 'toss your head back and let it out' hooting burst forth from in front of Loras. Snapping his head up, he watched in wonder as Garlan sat back in his chair, hands on his stomach as he cackled and rolled around, his breathing becoming laboured as the laugher got in the way of his breathing. And still he laughed, body shaking and eyes squeezed shut, cheeks pink with merriment. Watching him, Loras did not know what to do, his entire mind blank as he tried to process what had just happened. Garlan was laughing as if what he had said held no bearing at all. As if falling in love with a man was simple and easy and to be accepted.

"You're a prick," Loras ground out, and moved to stand up before Garlan sat up and grasped his arm and tugged him back down. He was still smiling, and the occasional chuckle came forth, but his eyes were serious and his expression still as warm and caring as ever. That alone made Loras relax a bit, his mind having conjured visions of Garlan's face a contorted mask of resentment and disgust.

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," he said before he began to chuckle again, short little bursts of amusement.

"What do you mean?" Loras snapped, eyebrows furrowed as Garlan tried to calm himself—a feat he was finding difficult to achieve. Loras' perception that Garlan could do no wrong was quickly becoming false in his eyes.

"Loras, my dear little brother—it's been obvious for years," Garlan explained, his larger hand closing around Loras' smaller one. "You always looked at the other boys you sparred with, with certain… intensity, shall we say? I thought it was jealousy but I soon realized you would be more interested in your own kind than any of the ladies around."

"J-Just because I look at other men did not mean I liked them," Loras said, trying to defend himself when he had no reason to. He wanted acceptance and he was receiving it, but for some reason it was making him uncomfortable. How come Garlan got to know before he did? How was that fair at all? This was his mind and his attraction, and yet those close to him had figured it out before he had?

"No, it doesn't, but clearly it does in your case." Smiling, Garlan let out another soft laughed and moved to ruffle Loras' hair. "Don't look so dejected, Loras."

"Why shouldn't I?" Shoving Garlan's hand away, Loras pulled back, eyes narrowed. "How am I supposed to deal with this, Garlan? How am I supposed to j-just marry and move on and pretend I love breasts and cunts instead of cocks and bollocks?"

"How charming—did they teach you those words in Storm's End? I should speak to lord Renly about your dislike of cunts and your love of cocks—see what he says about that uncouth language." Garlan was teasing, of course, but the mention of Renly made Loras even more frantic.

"D-Don't tell me what I can and cannot say, Garlan! The point remains. I cannot possibly marry a woman—I just cannot do it. It would be unfair and terrible to take a lady whom I will never be able to love in the way a husband and a knight should!" Running a hand through his hair, he stood up and began to pace, his anxiety coming out in full. He had never had the chance to voice his concerns like this before, and now that he did it was coming out like puss from an old wound— more than a little messy and entirely off putting, but needed none-the-less.

"Loras, calm down!" Ignoring his brother's pleas, Loras continued to pace, his fingers getting stuck in his curls. "Loras!"

Feeling a hand on his arm, Loras spun around and stumbled slightly as Garlan pulled him into a hug. It was awkward and uncomfortable the position they were in. One of Loras' arms was pinned against his brother's chest while the other dangled uselessly at his side. Garlan did not seem to mind, however, and wrapped his arms around him and kept him close, his steady, even heartbeat the complete opposite of Loras' own. He struggled for a moment, finding the sudden stillness tight, but soon enough the calm aura that Garlan exuded began to have an effect on Loras' own frantic one. Trying to steady his breathing, Loras gazed over Garlan's shoulder and into his room, the setting sun casting the walls and furniture in soft pinks, oranges and yellows. Staring at one of the pillows on the bed, he concentrated on calming himself as the 'thud' of Garlan's heart hit the side of his clenched fist, the rhythm steady, even and mundane.

"I don't think I can do this," Loras whispered after a time, his body relaxing in Garlan's arms. "I don't know how I can live with these feelings."

"I know this is… strange for you. It's something you're not used to, and it's something you cannot perfect. You're used to being good at everything and knowing your way with everything—struggle and confusion has never been a concept for you. You walked through life knowing yourself up until this point, and now that you've been confronted with something you can't just practice to get better, you worry. You worry and you pace and you almost kill yourself by breathing so heavy. I swear, you're little attack there is worse than when mother would find us playing in the mud in our best clothes," That, at least, made Loras smile. "It's not hard to live with this, Loras. Do you honestly believe you're the first boy to feel something for another man?"

"No," he mumbled. He had not really thought about it at all, actually. He was so caught up with the worst scenario possible that the idea that other people, including Renly, went through the same thing he did made it a little easier to bare. If Renly could come to terms with the fact that he would marry, why couldn't he?

"You'll live with them because you're strong, Loras. You're a Tyrell and you were born brave and powerful, and something like this is not going to keep you down." Pulling away, Garlan rested one hand on Loras' shoulder. Slowly, Loras looked away from the pillows on the bed and stared at Garlan, those familiar green eyes holding an inner strength Loras desperately needed.

"I still don't want to marry," he finally whispered, and smiled a little as Garlan rolled his eyes. Squeezing his shoulder, his brother shoved him gently before smiling.

"Have you never heard of the Kingsguard?"