Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.
Hello everyone. I know I left you hanging for far too long, and I am desperately sorry about that. I got stood up twice and then was subjected to a horrible homophobic attack on the train home from London. Being verbally abused, physically attacked, and repeatedly spat on for half an hour on the train and in the station until I was able to make it home.
It shattered my confidence. It also made it impossible to write as you can't really write a machiavellian schemer battling and holding his own with the greatest in the realm when all you see in the mirror is someone who couldn't defend themselves against teenagers half their age.
My confidence has begun to trickle back again, so I've begun to write. But complex plotting and scheming has still proven beyond me this last month. As such I know I promised we'd be out of Highgarden by chapter 36. But I've just not been able to keep to that. I dragged all the character development and introductions into this new chapter as I still feel I can get those right, and left the two chapters of plotting to follow. So I am deeply sorry but we wont be leaving Highgarden until chapter 37. I just thought you guys would prefer this rather than nothing at all so here you go.
It also seems that most of my friends aren't watching HOTD so if you're in London doing a watch party with friends…is there room for one more?
Loras Tyrell
Loras awoke when the maid, well paid for her silence, entered the king's chambers to place the jug of water on the washstand. As it was still summer there was no need to light the fire, though the grey light and cool breeze flowing through the window proclaimed there would likely be no sun today.
Smiling at the warmth of the body pressed against him, Loras played with the silky black hair spilling into his face. Something he knew his lover liked immensely.
"Good morning my love."
The warm smile fell away as the other man failed to respond.
Renly Baratheon had never been one to greet the coming of the morn with joy, and that had only gotten worse since the fitting fever. But he could at least be relied on to groan and curse at the realisation that the sun had risen, even if he tried to stay abed.
"My love?" Loras questioned more urgently, shaking Renly's shoulder lightly. "You were to meet with my sister to break your fast, remember?"
"What's the point?"
The Knight of Flowers frowned harshly. "That my sister does not deserve to be kept waiting? And if that is not enough to bestir you, then the knowledge that she certainly won't be in a mood to grant you your wishes if you are late."
There was still no movement.
"Renly! Awaken!" Loras growled as he gave the still motionless body a strong shove.
Renly Baratheon flopped forward bonelessly, but he still didn't make any effort to bestir himself. Or even move at all.
"Renly!" Loras slapped his lovers exposed back hard enough to leave a red handprint on the pale skin. Fear lending force to his blow.
"No point…to any of it."
The words were so soft Loras could barely make them out, but as soon as he did he threw back the blankets and moved so he could kneel on the floor and see his lover's face.
"Renly. You're causing me great fear. Stop this and awaken." Loras spoke harshly in his voice of command has he parted the silky black hair. Keen to see the part of his lover's face that wasn't buried in the pillows.
"Doesn't matter…go away."
The words hit him like a lance to the heart. "You don't care that you cause me fear?"
"Not real…no one matters...no one…all words on a page...Tired of fighting...so tired…better to die."
Loras sank back on his heels and clenched his fists hard. At least he now knew what had happened. The black melancholy that had had been besieging his beloved's mind for so long had finally broken through the gates. Overrunning the walls as he, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, slept on, oblivious to his king's collapse.
"Renly, can you move for me? Just rise and I will do the rest?" Loras tried to imitate his mother's calm and sweet voice from when he was younger. But there was no response.
Panic began to grow in his chest, but the Knight of Flowers ruthlessly crushed it. Telling himself that this was no different than when a battle began to turn against him, just as Renly had taught him to do. Panic would not serve him now, only grit and determination.
Looking at his love's motionless form, barely able to summon the will to speak, Loras fought down his fear. The king had meetings to attend. If he wasn't able to attend himself, then one he trusted had to go in his place. The Knight of Flowers didn't want it to be him.
"Being king is not a privilege it is a duty. More, it is a duty that must be discharged above all want or need."
Renly's voice whispered in his memory, reminding Loras of his lover's answer when he'd asked why he was pushing himself so hard. If his love wasn't well enough to attend, then there were few indeed he would trust to take his place.
The memory of the disaster of his last attempt at politics threatened to make Loras' fear overwhelm him again, but he focused on his breathing till the moment passed. Renly was a compulsive note taker, treating paper as if it were common and cheap rather than keeping his thoughts in his head or on wax tablets as most did. A flaw that caused the maester of every holdfast he stayed in great grief, but one that worked to his advantage now.
Loras reached out to the necklace wrapped around his love's wrist. Kept there for the amusing fear he would choke if he wore it around his neck in the night.
The fact that Renly made no move to stop him made worry and anger both grow in his chest.
"You have meetings with my sister, my mother, my father, and Septon Humfrey of the Most Devout today. The meetings must be held. The duty must be performed." More than anything Loras wanted his love to rise and take control, he was not meant for the dance of the court, the false smiles and words that said both everything and nothing. But despite reminding Renly of his duty there was no change.
Reluctantly he pressed a kiss to his love's forehead before dressing quickly, without calling his page, and went to the locked chest. Using the key from his love's necklace to unlock it.
He ignored most of the mass of papers that were present. Renly loved boxes and piles and order. What he needed would be on the top. Flicking through the top piles he found his sister's name in the top one, as expected, and Septon Humfrey's in the second. It seemed there were no notes for the meetings with his mother and father.
Undoing the string of the first pile Loras found himself looking at the papers intended to be shown to his sister. The letters from Lord Estermont, Lord Dondarrion, and Ser Cortnay detailing how little coin remained to House Baratheon were a shock. But more so were the quickly scribbled notes in his love's hand, detailing post war plans that he intended to reveal to Margery. Many were scratched out but then rewritten, slowly, reluctantly, as a phrase was repeated over and over besides the numbers that accompanied each note.
"Payment, NOT LOAN"
The names and houses and plans swam before Loras' eyes. He had no clue what they meant, nor now they would affect the realm. But his love surely did and wanted to keep them secret despite being forced to write them out. The curses constantly written angrily at the page edges told him that.
Worry was eclipsed in his heart by anger as his fury burned hot and bright.
Renly was in trouble, but rather than come to him for help, he intended to beg for his fucking perfect sister's assistance instead.
"Do you trust me so little? Am I so worthless to you?!" The Knight of Flowers hissed at his lover in fury. The revelation paining him more than a mace strike to the face.
Renly remained silent and motionless.
Loras stormed over to the washbasin and dumped the papers in, pouring water on top and watching in vicious pleasure as the ink ran and blurred until the words were unreadable.
"I'll inform my sister you're ill and the matter was of no import." Loras stated with a calmness that belied the fury and pain burning him up from the inside.
Still his love did not stir, so Loras made to leave. But the glint of brass caught his eye before he did so.
Lightning – his love's Valyrian steel dagger – sat innocently on the table beside the bed. Easily within his love's reach.
'Tired of fighting...so tired…better to die.'
The few words his love had been able to utter filled his ears for a moment, dousing his anger and pain with fear.
Wordlessly, Loras took Lightning and removed the papers in the chest so that he could hide it at the bottom.
The sight of a wrapped sword sitting innocently beneath the many papers was simply another body blow. He picked it up to unwrap it before dropping it as soon as he realised the weight was wrong. Renly couldn't fight with a sword, so that sword, that Valyrian steel sword, was obviously for someone else. Someone that wasn't him.
Loras grimaced as he carelessly dropped Lightning into the chest and angrily threw the papers in after it. Cursing as he found himself fighting back unmanly tears.
"Do you love me at all? Or am I just a good fuck?" Loras spat at the unmoving bedclothes.
The silence that followed his question was deafening. He snorted bitterly before wiping his eyes and composing himself. Staring his reflection in the silver mirror full on despite his red rimmed eyes. "I am a knight of House Tyrell. I will not be cowed."
Gathering himself Loras strode proudly out the door of their chambers to find Ser Balon Swann on duty, Ser Corwin having been relieved at first light. The two pages present stood straight, fear growing on their faces as they realised at least one of their lords had dressed without them.
"The king is ill with stomach trouble; he will not be rising." Loras stated to them with a calmness he didn't feel.
"The maester?" Ser Balon questioned.
"Not necessary." Loras answered, shaking his head before turning to Renly's page. "You. Go and find Lady Arya and Lord Dayne, ask them to attend the king in his chambers at once. It matters not what they planned to do, they are to attend His Grace at once."
As Renly's page ran off with a quiet 'yes milord' Loras turned to his own. "Tell my sister that the king is ill and cannot attend her this morn. As the matter was of little import, she is free to go about her day as she sees fit. Then find the lord seneschal and the lord hand and ask that they attend me as soon as possible."
Loras strode away, straight backed and proud as his page ran off, heading towards his mother's solar. As he no longer needed to meet with Margaery, he skipped ahead to the second meeting of the day.
Alarie Tyrell was unnerved to hear of the king's illness, but simply asked that he be informed that her project was proving difficult but should be completed on time. Loras fumed that he hadn't been able to get his mother to tell him more, but she had just smiled and run her fingers through his curly hair when he'd pushed harder. Telling him that he'd find out soon enough.
It was honestly humiliating that she still treated him like a little boy despite him now being a Kingsguard knight, and lord commander at that!
Scowling, Loras strode towards the forge only to be intercepted by his brother and uncle.
"Lord Hand, Lord Seneschal." He greeted them formally.
"So formal today brother." Garlan greeted with an easy smile.
"The king is ill." Loras snapped back. Pain, anger, fear, humiliation, and panic all warring to be expressed.
"We've heard. What do you need of me, nephew?" Garth the Gross asked sharply.
Loras ignored his uncle's sour nature. The man didn't know how to be anything else. "How much gold is left in the treasury from my tourney wins?"
Garth pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes while Garlan's grin faded a little.
"Do you think to raise your own men with the gold from your little tourney wins? To gloriously end this war single handed?" Garth the Gross mocked bitterly.
"I won enough gold to purchase armour and horses for over 5,000 men in the Tourney of the Hand alone." Loras glowered back. "King Robert was always generous to the point of foolishness. 40,000 golden dragons was a normal sized prize for his tourneys and I won three of them."
"Every tourney he threw had to have prizes bigger than the tourney at Harrenhal to outshine the ghost of Rhaegar. And Harrenhal had prizes three times greater than any in history when it was held." Garlan interjected, his smile gone. "King Robert wasn't foolish; he was reckless, bitter and willing to beggar the realm to insult a ghost."
Loras and Garth both sucked in their breath at the insult to the king. But King Robert was dead and Garlan was free to speak his mind.
"I don't have the precise numbers to hand boy." Garth snarked, dismissing Loras entirely. He soon stuttered and returned to the question when Garlan turned his anger at King Robert's ghost on him instead. "But you won 40,000 in prizes and 20,000 in bets for unhorsing the Kingslayer and winning the tourney for Prince Joffrey's nameday. Added to your latest win, first win, other placings, and the far more modest prizes from your wins at normal tourneys, I suspect that over 200,000 of the golden dragons in your father's treasury are yours.
"In the name of all the gods…reckless isn't strong enough! The man was insane!" Garlan spat at the reminder that Loras had more gold on hand than almost any lord in the Seven Kingdoms except the lord paramounts. It was enough to raise a small army for several moons, or even hire the Golden Company itself for two. Though unlike lords his gold wouldn't be replenished at harvest time if he spent it.
Loras was nearly numb with shock. For him tourneys had always been about the glory, the acclaim, about proving himself better than those that sniggered at him behind his back. He'd never bothered to keep track of the gold, nor spent any of it.
The three men stood in silence due to shock or deep thought, the festering wound left by Renly's lack of trust in him burning in Loras' his gut even as his mind raced at a speed greater than the fastest horse.
Garth the Gross scoffed derisively at his indecision.
"Withdraw 200,000 dragons from the vaults, Lord Seneschal." Loras spoke harshly to keep his voice from shaking. If Renly didn't trust him then he'd prove him wrong. He'd prove that he was better and more useful than his fucking perfect sister. "Send 40,000 dragons to Lord Dondarrion at Blackhaven, 20,000 to Ser Cortnay Penrose at Storm's End, and make the remaining 140,000 ready to travel with the king. He will distribute them as he sees fit."
"Ser Loras." Garth the Gross smirked, obviously pleased to see his nephew wasting his gold and undermining his father's influence over the king.
It wasn't until the sour fat man had withdrawn that his brother spoke up.
"If the king is low on coin, a loan from father would be an excellent way to influence him." Garlan said mildly, his face blank.
"Even I know that the proudest horses respond better to a lighter touch, unless you intend to break them." Loras shot back.
"Maybe, but that's not your real reason is it? You're wounded brother. Don't think I cannot see it. What has Renly done to grieve you so? Why do you feel the need to prove your worth like this?"
Loras tried to remain silent, but the words blurted out anyway. "He was going to ask Margaery for help and not me."
Garlan closed his eyes and winced, gripping Loras' shoulder with his bandaged hand. "You have many talents our sister does not. I know Renly has been relying on her, on all of us, more than you of late. But you don't have to prove anything. He loves you."
"I am his and he is mine, from this day till the end of our days. What is his is mine, and what is mine is his, one soul one heart, one flesh." Loras met his brother's gaze without flinching. "With all the secret meetings and plotting with you and grandmother it seems he has forgotten that. I intend to remind him of it."
Garlan opened his mouth several times, but eventually simply decided to say nothing and simply hug his brother.
"Did you just need my support against Uncle Garth if he decided to be difficult?"
Loras shook his head. As much as it galled to go to his brother for help, he wasn't willing to cause another mess that his love would have to clean up by trying to negotiate with Septon Humfrey himself.
"Renly had arranged to meet Septon Humfrey after the midday meal. I…don't understand the notes he made. But even if I did, Septon Humfrey is both of the Most Devout and Septon of the Starry Sept. None but the High Septon outrank him. If the king cannot attend, then the only ones who can take his place without giving grievous insult are his Queen or his Hand."
Garlan let out a slow breath as he took the sheaf of papers from his little brother's fingers. "I'm glad you recognised that. And were willing to come to me given you feel we have been excluding you."
"You're not the one that will be exchanging vows with him before all the highborn of the Reach and sharing his wedding bed." Loras blurted out, turning away as his cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
"Loras…"
"I have to meet Father." The Knight of Flowers muttered, sidestepping his brother and walking quickly towards the castle forges. Hiding his face.
Only one forge was prestigious enough to be allowed inside the castle proper. The practical ones were exiled to the ring of buildings between the walls. This one, though it could serve as a military forge in times of siege, was an artisan's forge. Loras felt himself relax a little as the works of the goldsmiths, silversmiths, and others that fed his father's love of beauty and art glittered in their various stages of completion.
"Loras!" His father boomed as he entered the forge. "Garlan said I'd find you here in the king's place. Good, I can get your thoughts as well! Always best to get the thoughts of the young on art my boy."
The happy grin on his father's face was infectious and Loras felt the dark clouds clear a little.
"What sort of art Father?"
"Why the crowns of course!" Mace boomed with enthusiasm as he called for Highgarden's most skilled goldsmith. "Alric!"
"I'm sure they'll be beautiful if you designed them Father." Loras replied honestly, remembering the decorative design Mace had given to Tobho Mott to be turned into practical armour. The steel roses with sapphire cores had to be repaired after every tourney, but no one could deny that his was the most beautiful armour on the field at every event.
"That's what the king said." Mace replied with a happy smile. His face fell after a moment. "It's the reason he gave for refusing to allow me to design the court crowns. Only the crowns for hunting, feasting, and revelry."
"What?!" Loras' incredulous exclamation made the goldsmith pull up short with his cloth wrapped packages.
"Not you Alric." Mace patronised. "How did they turn out?"
"Very well my lord." The goldsmith replied unwrapping them to reveal two crowns. The large had a central band from which grew slender forking antlers, arching out then inwards. With the band sitting on his brow, the antlers would tangle in his love's hair in a wonderful artful mess. As if he had just returned from hunting.
The second was slightly smaller with a thinner band. The antlers were both slenderer and shorter, and were interspersed with small jade roses at their bases. A jade stags head with a gold rose between its antlers was placed at the front, where it would rest prominently on his sister's brow.
"They're beautiful." Loras whispered in awe.
Mace beamed. "I thought so. I know not why the king doesn't want to use them in the coronation, or when holding court. But he did insist on designing his own."
"I've been questioning several things that His Grace does and doesn't do today." Loras muttered.
"Ahhhh", Mace winked knowingly, "your first fight. I remember mine and Alerie's first fight. She threw water from a vase over me. Mother told her to put some effort into it and throw the vase."
Loras found himself smirking, no matter how many times he'd heard the story before. "Perhaps. Shall we see what our glorious king considers better to be crowned in?"
The goldsmith shifted nervously. "The king was supposed to…"
"His Grace is ill, Alric. My son is here in his place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Mace growled in one of his few bursts of temper. "I want to see what was so perfect that the king had me prise emeralds of a certain cut out of some of my most prized artworks."
What little resistance the goldsmith had melted in the face of his liege lord's annoyance and he withdrew into the forge.
"Renly had you prise emeralds out of your own artworks?" Loras whispered incredulously.
"He gave me several emeralds, rubies, and sapphires from Storm's End in recompense." Mace answered, frowning. "Apparently his design needed ten emeralds of a certain size and cut and he could only find four in all of the Baratheon vaults and treasures. I wouldn't have indulged anyone else, but this chance to see something designed by the king's own hand may never come again. Emeralds can be replaced as soon as the jewellers get to work. But art is the window to the soul my boy. I would know what sort of art our king creates."
Loras smiled at one of his father's rare moments of true insight. The goldsmith returned and handed his father a cloth covered crown.
"By the Seven! It's The Conquerors Crown!" Mace exclaimed as he unwrapped it.
It wasn't of course, Loras noted. Though he too was fooled by the first glance, the crown of Aegon I was undoubtedly still locked in a secret vault deep beneath Sunspear. A bloody token ripped from the head of Daeron I when the treacherous, honourless snakes broke both guest right and the protection of the gods. Murdering the young king beneath a peace banner after offering bread and salt.
This crown's thick band was black with only thin veins of gold shooting through it like marble. Ten large pieces of the finest Stormlands amber, larger even than the band itself, were square cut and spaced evenly around the circlet.
The marbled gold and amber may have been less impressive than the rippling Valyrian steel and rubies of the Conqueror's crown. But their shape and message were the same.
Beautiful. Heavy. Domineering. Powerful.
"I think I know why the king would wish to use this crown for court." Loras managed to choke out. His traitorous manhood growing at the thought of the powerful and dominant figure his love would cut wearing it while reclining on the Iron Throne, looking down at him. "That is gold, isn't it?"
"Yes, Ser Loras." Alric replied. "Nine tenths of it has been turned black by the Qohorik smith that has taken up residence at Storm's End. I know not how, I simply reworked the gold the king provided.
"Amber hasn't been in fashion for decades…not since the Laughing Storm fell out of favour. King Robert never cared to promote it." His father was muttering, running his fingers over the vibrant sunset-coloured jewels. "The Stormlands don't mine nearly as much as they did. They won't be able to sell to everyone who wants it once the king is crowned with this. It will soon be difficult to get again and my Amber Room will finally be rightly seen as the equal of Casterly Rock's Golden Gallery! Tywin will be green as our banners with envy! And to think he was so dismissive when I first commissioned it."
Loras smiled at his father's joy as he unwrapped the second crown. "Father!" he exclaimed in surprise as it was finally revealed.
It was the same.
Not in colour of course. The thick band was normal yellow gold, and the ten square-cut jewels were emeralds rather than amber. But it was the same domineering, powerful, manly, crown as his love's. Simply sized to fit his sister's head.
"Oh my." Mace stuttered at the sight of such a manly and powerful crown for his daughter. "That…is certainly not traditional."
"No. It isn't." Loras hissed. His father gently prising his sister's crown out of his white knuckled grip and passing it back to Alric as he led Loras outside.
"Now, my dear boy, let us not speak of that upset stomach drivel. Tell me, what truly ails our king?" Mace asked seriously.
Loras found himself spilling the entire saga of the morning to his father, who simply listened with a serious expression.
There was silence when he finished.
"An excellent idea to send the children to him. I know of few who delight in them so as young Renly Baratheon does." Mace smiled "We'll go and see how they're getting on. But first, I know something that may help."
"Father not everything broken can be repaired with food!" Loras claimed in exasperation when he realised his father was leading him towards the kitchens.
"Nonsense! Besides, wait until you see what I've managed to procure before dismissing it my boy." Mace replied, clenching his fists in victory.
Loras sighed and followed his father into the kitchens, stopping suddenly in surprise.
Ser Jon Snow was escorting three guests who he was certain none of his siblings new about or Garlan would have mentioned them. At least it seemed that Grandmother was aware of whatever Father was doing this time, since Renly's little scribe was with them and would surely have ensured word reached her. They'd taken over a quiet corner of the kitchen and been served delicacies while awaiting his father. Though their clothes were clearly made for shipwear despite being excellent quality, their cloaks were obviously kept for occasions such as these to better display their wealth. Made of brightly coloured red and green feathers and complimented with turquoise stone jewellery, they made Loras feel underdressed even in all his finery.
The visitor's skin was as black as polished jet, telling all who saw them of their origin in the Summer Isles. Though like the dark brown skinned Velaryons, the summer islanders kept their hair in a very different fashion to the royal court. The two men had twisted theirs into thick locks. The tall and muscled one kept them about his ears, while the smaller elder man allowed his to reach down his back, securing them behind him a bright red ties.
By contrast the lithe young woman's hair was braided tightly against her skull before being wrapped into two buns atop her head. She was talking seductively to a blushing Jon Snow, smirking at the possessive glare being shot her way by Renly's little scribe even as the muscled male visitor was braiding the Reachman's raven curls.
The blushing bastard looked like a drowning man being thrown a rope as he noticed their arrival.
"My Lord, the crew of the Cinnamon Wind." Jon introduced. "Captain Quhuru Mo and First Mate Xhondo Dhoru, as you requested. Captain Mo doesn't speak the common tongue, and the little Xhondo Dhoru speaks isn't fit for polite society."
The seductive smirk Xhondo Dhoru shot Loras as he was introduced left the Knight of Flowers with little doubt what situations the bits of the common tongue the Summer Islander spoke were fit for. He clamped down on his desire and focused, though he allowed himself to study the large chest and the nimble fingers skilfully braiding the hair of Renly's little scribe despite their size.
"I'm Kojja Mo, daughter of Quhuru and captain of Cinnamon Wind's archers. I translate for my father when dealing with Westerosi...my lord."
Kojja spoke with a beautiful liquid accent, as though the tongue of the Summer Isles was far faster paced than the common tongue was. The honorific was late and the bow far too shallow for that from smallfolk to lord paramount. But as they weren't subjects of the Iron Throne Loras supposed his father didn't overly care. Either that, or he was too taken with his latest idea to notice.
"Is it ready?" Mace asked excitedly.
"It is." Kojja replied, beckoning them towards a steaming jug being kept warm near one of the fires. "I warn you as I warned your cook my lord, Westerosi are known to hate this. Your gold will not be returned if you deem it foul."
"Hate it?" Loras muttered surprised. Now that Kojja had removed the lid a heavenly aroma was coming from the jug. How anyone could hate that was not something he could understand.
Father took no notice, watching eagerly as the steaming brown liquid was poured through a clean and folded cheesecloth, as tea was.
"First time drinkers should certainly add milk." Kojja noted, adding it at his father's approving nod.
The mugs were passed around and Loras took a sip of the heavenly smelling drink.
He promptly spat it out. "By the gods that's bitter!"
His father simply laughed. "You did the same the first time you drank ale! Now this…it would take some getting used to, but I could certainly learn to like this. Especially if what you say about it stirring the wits and banishing sleep are true.
"It is true." Kojja assured. "Something you will see for yourself. Now, the price, my lord, it will be high. We carry the coffee beans only for ourselves. We do not carry them for trade as you Westerosi do not usually wish to buy them. Nor do the Braavosi. If we are to part with them, we will be left bereft until we return home. So they are very valuable to us.
"Yes yes." Mace waved, taking a long draught of his coffee as he did so. "Let us talk price. But first, Loras, take that to the king, it will surely lift his mood to know that I managed to find one of his dreams at least."
"The king has risen." Renly's little scribe called out as Loras turned to leave. "Lady Arya dragged him out of bed by his ankle and threatened to do the same all the way to the godswood if he did not dress and walk there himself."
"My thanks." Loras replied, fighting down a smile as he set off for the godswood.
It was beneath the three singers that he found his love, speaking animatedly to an attentive Lady Arya and Lord Dayne. He looked exhausted, but alive in a way that Father had been when they'd all been together when they were young. Some of the festering anger and resentment dissipated as Loras walked past Ser Balon and stood behind the children.
The king finally noticed him and gave him a weak and tired smile as he stopped talking. "Well, that's enough for today. I've truly enjoyed your company, but it's time to go back to your lessons now."
"But I want to….ah!" Lady Arya attempted to protest, but Lord Dayne quickly pulled her away from the clearing and into the trees of the godswood leaving them alone. Aside for Ser Balon's silent vigil.
"I'm glad to see you more yourself." Loras broke the awkward silence.
"Don't count your chickens before they've hatched." Renly replied, exhausted. "But yes, I'm coping. Thank you, for what you did today. It couldn't have been easy for you."
"I coped." The Knight of Flowers returned with a small smile of his own. "Here, this may help with your exhaustion."
His loves face clearly lit up as he recognised the scent of the mug Loras passed to him and eagerly took a deep draught. "You found it? How?!"
"Never challenge Father when it comes to food." The Tyrell knight laughed. "He'd sent ravens to Oldtown with your descriptions of chocolate and coffee before the sun set on the day you told him. Our customs agents have been questioning every ship that docks there, when they found a swan ship from the Summer Isles that said they knew of coffee they were paid handsomely to sail for Highgarden at once."
"I need to thank him profusely." His love declared, finishing the coffee quickly despite clearly savouring it.
Loras snorted. "You already did that bringing amber back into fashion. Father is besides himself that his Amber Room will soon be seen to be the masterpiece he has always considered it."
"Now that is something I need to see." Renly declared, his smile turning wistful. "What did you think of the banner and crowns?"
"So that's what Mother was doing, creating a king's own banner for you!" Loras cried out in realisation. "She wouldn't show it to me, saying it was proving difficult, but likely would be finished on time regardless."
His love gave him a blinding smile. "I see, and the crowns?"
Loras shuddered with pleasure at the thought of his love wearing his new heavy, domineering, manly, crown. And nothing else. He leaned down to whisper in his love's ear. "I must admit…I cannot wait for you to fuck me while wearing it"
Renly pulled him down to the grass in a fierce kiss. They continued for some time before the world intruded again.
"How did the meeting with Margery go?" Renly asked nervously. "I saw that you destroyed my notes. Were you able to convince her to go to your Father and secure coin as a gift rather than a loan?"
The festering resentment at being valued so little compared to his sister returned with avengeance, so Loras took great pride in his answer. "There was no need to go to her, I saw to it myself."
His love closed his eyes as if pained. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to put that pressure on you. You've already asked your father for so much on my behalf. I didn't want to make you ask for more and run the risk of losing your place as his favourite son."
Loras frowned at the confusion. Wishing to press home clearly that he had helped his lover in a way that his sister never could have. "You misunderstand me my love. I didn't go to my father. I had over 200,000 dragons in mine own name in the treasury from my tourney wins, bets, and other prizes. I ordered Uncle Garth to withdraw 200,000 of them and to send 20,000 to Storm's End, 40,000 to Blackhaven, and to make the remaining 140,000 ready to travel with you when we march out."
Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it wasn't for his love to push him away and cry out in horror. "Why would you do that?! That was your gold! I have no right to it at all!"
"Because I love you!" Loras snarled back. "You were in trouble and it was my duty to help you. You yourself are always saying we are a team that must face things together."
"That's different!" Renly shrieked. "This isn't equitable contributions to a joint disaster based on our respective incomes. This is you using every penny you have to bail me out of a disaster of my own making that didn't affect you at all! That's textbook toxic and abusive behaviour and I won't do it to you!"
"Will you stop saying such ridiculous things!" Loras shouted fiercely. "Even if I understood a single word you just said the message would surely still be meaningless! I made vows in my heart if not before the gods. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine, from this day until the end of our days. You cannot refuse my help without both angering the gods and declaring our love worthless!"
That at least seemed to get through and make his love stop and think.
"I'm sorry, I didn't consider how you see the marriage vows would affect this." He muttered. "But…it's every coin you have Loras, how can I just accept them?"
"Would you cast me aside if I'd lost my sword arm in our escape from King's Landing, as Edric nearly did?" Loras exasperatedly tried to explain to his incredibly frustrating lover.
"Never!" Renly declared adamantly.
"Then don't act like I should cast you aside because you need coin and I have it." Loras replied sharply. "It's only gold, it can't buy love. The Lannisters are proof enough of that."
Renly repeatedly breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm himself. "You say 'it's only gold' because you have never known the lack of it. And you may well be right that it can't buy love, but surely you weren't expecting to spend it all? To sacrifice your independence?"
"I'm not Robert Baratheon." Loras roared. "I don't dream of running away to Essos to become a sellsword. And maybe I didn't expect to spend it all, but the gods are clear that the fortune of those who chose to tie their lives together is never certain. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. I made the vows in my heart, tying myself to you when I knew it may mean my head being on the spike next to yours! Compared to that this is nothing. Why can you not see that?!"
"I'm sorry." His love stammered, sinking to the ground and hiding his face as his shoulders shook. "I should have realised that you'd feel abandoned and emasculated. I'm sorry."
"Stop fucking apologising!" Loras cried in exasperation.
"I'm sorry!" Renly cried out again. Paling as soon as he realised what he'd said and curling in on himself.
Loras said nothing. Instead, he breathed deeply and sank back down to the grass, taking his lover in his arms and letting him shake.
They remained there for a while, staring up at the grey skies, the silent white sentinels of the three weirwoods and Ser Balon their only company.
It was Renly who eventually broke the silence. "I need to go and meet with Septon Humfrey."
"You have a little time yet." Loras muttered softly, playing with his love's silky black hair as his head lay in his lap. "What was the story you were telling Edric and Arya?"
"It was the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker." Renly whispered, leaning into his touch again. "The story of a handsome and powerful knight who cannot face his fears and holds too tightly to everything he fears to lose, and so destroys it all."
"Tell it too me?" Loras asked.
"Another day, we have not the time and I have not the energy to do it today. The story has many messages and most take the wrong ones from it. Casting blame on easy targets rather than looking deeper, for if we look deeply into a mirror in search of truth rather than comforting lies rarely do we find answers that we like. I am certain of my ability to convince you of my own conclusions…"
"…but not today." Loras finished as he pressed a kiss to his love's forehead. "Tis no matter. There's little power in stories anyway."
Renly abruptly sat up, leaning back on his elbows and looking directly into Loras' lively brown eyes. "My love a good story is the most powerful weapon in any lord's armoury."
Loras just snorted in amusement. "Will the paper it's written on make a good shield?"
Renly narrowed his eyes and began to sing in a low baritone. "And who, are you, the proud lord said, that I should bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's the only truth I know. A coat of gold, a coat of red, a Lion still has claws. And mine are long, and sharp, my lord. As long, and sharp, as yours. And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere. And now the Reynes, weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear. Yes now the rains, weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear."
Loras shivered, the thought of being drowned in his home that the Rains of Castamere dredged up, clawing franticly at wood and stone that refused to yield as the water got higher and higher until… "Very well, stories can make excellent shields, thank you for the reminder. But they while they may cause armies to fear they only inspire individuals. Many's the knight that went into battle thinking themselves Leo Longthorn or Daemon Targaryen and maybe they fought harder for it. But that didn't change the fact that the best weapon they had was the steel in their hands and on their backs."
"You've never faced an army of smallfolk defending their home, have you Loras?" His love asked with a grin that was anything but pleasant. "Or a mob whipped up into a zealot's purging fury. Even a dragon can be killed if enough smallfolk swarm it – The storming of the dragon pit should have made that lesson clear."
Loras snorted. "The dragons were chained in the caves, as weak and vulnerable as they could ever be. Good luck inspiring smallfolk to do anything that's actually dangerous. Even when only the battle aged men are called up, they're the first of a lord's banners to break if things even seem to be going poorly. You'd never get them to man the walls with just a story. They'd need steel at their backs to make sure they wouldn't run."
"Oh really?" Renly smirked before closing his eyes. "We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. The loss of our army, of our allies, is a blow unprecedented. There are those that call for us to ask for terms in the face of such catastrophe. To make peace rather than fight on. I name those people cowards. They would feed others to the dragon of Nazi rule, hoping only that the dragon would eat them last. We can fight on. I say we will fight on."
"I have nothing to offer you but blood, toil, tears, and a promise. A promise that we will defend our island, whatever the cost may be! Kingdoms that go down fighting rise again, those that meekly surrender are finished. So I say that if this great island story of ours is to end, it should end, only when every last one of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground! We shall fight! We shall fight on the seas, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, and in the mountains. We will never surrender! And if…and if, despite all our sacrifice and struggle, this land were to fall, to lay subjugated and starving under Nazi rule, then our Empire, beyond the seas, armed and protected by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle! Until at last, in the gods good time, the new world awakens from its slumber, and sails to the rescue and liberation of the old!"
Loras' blood was thundering in his ears and his hand was clenched over where his sword hilt would be. He was ready to run to the walls and defend Highgarden against Balerion themselves no matter what his chance of survival.
Slowly releasing his clenched fist, he looked at his lover in awe. "Very well, I admit that stories are indeed powerful."
Renly let himself fall back onto the grass, staring up at the red wierwood leaves as they swayed against the grey sky.
"A good orator is always worth more than a cart of gold my love. Sometimes they can even be worth more than an entire army. The world is made up of stories, those that tell them best are the ones who can shape the world to their will."
"I'm sure I'm about to be proven wrong again." Loras muttered darkly. "But how can the world be made up of stories?"
He could no longer see his lover's face, but in his mind he could see that unique equal parts loving and exasperated smile that Renly seemed to keep just for him.
"Oh my sweet summer child. What is the realm but the greatest story of them all? It's the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies, it's Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes flying overhead, it's all seven kingdoms willingly bending the knee to the Iron Throne. It's our successes exalted and celebrated, and our failures and shames hidden and forgotten. It's the great kings ruling wisely and well, while every tyrant dies gruesomely, and every evil advisor gets their just deserts. It's the lord's ruling with justice and care, and the smallfolk serving with skill and loyalty. It's the knights with unimpeachable honour riding to defend all against the evils of the world beyond."
Renly propped himself up on one elbow and gently ran his fingers over Loras' exposed collarbone.
"The realm is a story we agree to tell ourselves over, and over, until we forget that it's a lie. Because without it there is nothing but a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all. Chaos that devours any attempt at order, or justice, or safety, that devours any attempt at living, until the people agree on a new story. It's true for every kingdom and every republic in every world. The moment a realm's people stop believing in their realm's story, that is the moment the realm disappears. And may the gods have mercy on their souls, for the world will not."
Loras simply stared at his king as he rose from the grass. The only thought he could manage was that it was once again clear why this man deserved to ascend the Iron Throne.
"Why do you want to speak with The Faith anyway? You're not devout." Loras asked, grabbing his loves hand and being hauled to his feet.
"The septs of The Faith have almost every smallfolk in the realm within their walls at least once a week, every day in the towns. It would be a shame not to take advantage of that."
"What are you going to ask Septon Humfrey to do?" The Knight of Flowers asked, his voice shaking.
The king replied with a smile that belonged on a lizard-lion.
"I'm going to ask him to tell them a story."