Renly and Dyana had separate tents. Dyana didn't mind; she liked being by herself. But that meant making a trek across camp whenever she had to see Renly. And this night, she had to see Renly.

Their marriage had not been consummated. As far as the people were concerned, Dyana was still a virgin. That fact needed to be changed. If Dyana never gave Renly children, people would talk. They'd figure out their king's tastes for men, and he wouldn't be a king for much longer. So Dyana needed to have a child, and fast.

She stepped into Renly's tent, finding him drinking heavily from a cup of wine. He let out a sigh, turning to look at her. "I should warn you," he said, "I've had quite a bit of wine."

"As is your right as a king," Dyana smiled.

He managed a slight smile. "You look very pretty, Dyana."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"It's a lovely dress."

Dyana took a few steps forward. "Is it? I can't quite decide which way I like it best. This way," she gestured to the top of the dress. "Or this way."

She untied the ribbons at the front of the dress, letting the fabric fall away, leaving her naked, save an underskirt. Renly took in a sharp breath, looking Dyana over. "You certainly don't need the dress," he said hesitantly.

She stepped closer, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Although..." he began, stopping when she kissed his neck, "some say that beauty most desired is the beauty conceal- -"

She cut him off, kissing his lips. Her hand started to move down toward his trousers. But everything she did received no reaction.

Dyana took a step back, smiling kindly at Renly. "Must be the wine," he said.

She chuckled. "Must be."

When she kissed him again, she felt him shudder against her chest. He stepped back. "I'm sorry."

Dyana paused, biting her lip before speaking again. "Would you like Loras to come in and help?"

Renly froze, looking at her. "What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb. He could get you started. I know that wouldn't mind. I could, oh I don't know, I could turn over and pretend that I'm him."

She didn't even know what was coming out her own mouth, she just knew that every word was making Renly much more confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Dyana couldn't help but laugh. "You do. I'm not stupid, and you're not either. I know what- -"

"I'd like you to stop talking about this," Renly cut her off.

He sat down on the bed, going quiet. Dyana sighed softly, picking up the top of her dress and putting the clothing back on. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll stop."

She sat down beside him, offering a smile. "You're enemies aren't happy about our marriage. They want to tear us apart. The very best way to stop them is for you to put your baby in my belly. We can try again whenever you like. You decide how you want to do it- - with me, with me and Loras. Whatever else you could think of. Whatever you need to do, I'll do it. You are my king, and I am your queen."

Renly nodded slowly. Dyana bit her lip once more, leaning close and kissing his cheek.

Dyana returned to her tent bored. She found a soldier on her way back, and took him to bed.

The next night, Dyana, Loras, and Margaery were walking the campsite. Dyana and Margaery's arms were linked together. Loras kissed each of his sisters on the cheek before stepping away, leaving them to walk by themselves. "Your Grace," Petyr Baelish addressed Dyana, before looking at Margaery. "Lady Margaery."

"Lord Baelish," Margaery said kindly, while Dyana didn't even give the courtesy of a reply.

He moved to Dyana's side, and she stepped further away. "All of these tents look the same to me," he said. "Would you two be so kind to- -"

"It would be our pleasure," Margaery interjected, smiling. "It took Dyana and I weeks to learn our way around the camp. Twice I walked in on officers in stages of undress, and Dyana has seen things she's been yet to tell me. The moment Dyana learns which tent is hers and I learn which one mine is, we're on the move again."

"Dyana's tent? Shouldn't it be Dyana and Renly's tent?"

Dyana shoved Margaery slightly, before she looked at Petyr, who continued speaking. "Does the king snore? Or is it that he simply prefers solitude? Pressures of command, no doubt. Four kings vying for the throne."

Margaery was the one who answered. "My sister and I are not tutored in warfare, but basic arithmetic favors the side with the greater numbers."

Petyr shrugged lightly. "If war were arithmetic, the mathematicians would rule the world. I did notice you two's brother entering His Grace's tent just now."

Dyana shot back quickly. "The place of a man of the Kingsguard is by the side of the King."

"And on the night of your wedding, who was by the king's side then?"

"You seem very interested in Renly and I's marriage."

Petyr stopped, but the Tyrell sisters continued walking. "Your marriage is very interesting..." he said. "Not only to me, but to the realm. The marriage of a wealthy girl always breeds interest, if nothing else."

Dyana and Margaery both stopped, and Dyana tried to keep her expression measured when she looked back at Petyr. "You've never been married, have you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I've been unlucky in my affections, sadly."

"That it sad. Though perhaps it is for the best. The whole notion of marriage seems to confuse you, so please, let me explain it to you. My husband is my king, my king is my husband. Your tent is right here, Littlefinger. Have a wonderful night."

She turned away from him, pulling Margaery harshly forward. They started walking once more. "I understand why you hate that man," Margaery said to her. "I could hardly even tolerate him, and he was more interested in you."

Dyana nodded stiffly. "I don't like his questions. Someone's going to have to keep an eye on him."