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[thirdrose]

thesummerstag‌:  

It wasn’t a surprise that no greeting was uttered, no glance spared as he finally found him in one of the gazebos, staring out into the darkened sky. Not an inch moved from his spot even when he sat next to him. He did not know how to start, after everything, what to say that could possibly make him feel any better about the situation, but that burden was lifted from his shoulders, as Loras broke the lingering silence, still not looking up at him. His tone made it clear the moments alone had done nothing to help, and Renly let out a small sigh, eyes trained on his golden curls, wanting nothing more than to touch him, but holding back, at least for now.

“No, not stupid. Hopeful, as was I,” he corrected, voice low but even. “We were thinking of the grand plan, of what must be done, we had no time to consider what would come with it. I did not realize, either. Or, if I did somewhere in the back of my mind, I ignored it, hoping it might be something else. I should’ve known that would be the price of your father’s aid, though. But…there are worse fates than this, for all of us, are there not?”

There were few instances in which he truly felt at a loss for words, his skill in being able to weave sentences into magic one of the things he always prided himself on, to ease any situation, to charm even the coldest hearts. But just now, he felt lost. He did not want to lie to Loras, to tell him that perhaps there was another way, but he was certain that there was very little he could say that could give him comfort, the news so fresh and surprising. They both should’ve anticipated this, and yet it had been impossible to think of what might be asked of him as they fled the city, as they both grappled with what needed to be done in an attempt to protect the realm. Now, it was much too late to think of the what ifs, and what they might’ve come to if either of them had thought hard enough on this possibility before making it to Highgarden. 

Now, there was only figuring out how to grapple with what was to come, and for once Renly wasn’t certain how to do so without making the matter worse. He wanted to assure Loras that he would be good to Margaery, that she would have a life far better than with some lords, but he knew Loras well enough to realize that that wasn’t the problem with the arrangement. Part of it was being blindsided, his own sister used as a bargaining chip of sorts in what was a very serious political move. But he had a feeling more of it had to do with what the marriage would mean for all of them, and Renly had to admit that he was just as worried, in his own way, about finally having to take a wife. 

The silence felt oppressive, though, and so he tried despite himself, hating the feeling of helplessness, even as the gravity of the entire situation, the potential war he would be starting with his claim, seemed to begin settling on his shoulders.

“She will be a good queen, and you will be fantastic lord commander. And I will do all that I can to make certain it is all worth it, for both of you. I swear it, my knight,” he said, tentatively reaching over to put a gentle hand on his knee.

Loras was silent as Renly spoke. Though he did not relent the childish glare he settled onto the empty middle-distance, he did listen. Renly was the more level-headed of the two of them, even if he was not rational in all matters -- and the fact remained that the personal nature of this development meant that Loras was parted from rationality, and fully entrenched in a far more emotional processing of events. Renly’s words were able to crack through his thickheadedness when he spoke of having hoped for something different -- or having not thought of the reality they were faced with amongst the excitement of making claims and starting wars. 

“A King needs a Queen,” Loras replied after a lengthy pause, though his words were soft and muttered. “That will never change.” People would not follow after a King who could not produce a trueborn dynasty. It was one of the reasons that Stannis would not appeal to the masses -- he was a Baratheon through and through, but his only heir was his sickly, ugly daughter. (It had occurred to him that Stannis might name his brother as heir in an effort to compensate for this failing, but even that would not be enough: Stannis was still young, and a lifetime of his rule would be insufferable for a Westeros that had already suffered the brunt of Robert.) Loras knew that fact, understood the sense behind it, but could still not bring himself to swallow it as reality.

He knew just the same that his father would not provided the needed funds and men to win the war without a crown for Margaery. The logic of it did not settle his gut any.

“She will be a great queen,” Loras amended, righting himself at last to turn and look at Renly as his hand settled onto his knee. “The two of you, together...you’ll be the very image of King and Queen.” The both of them were talented at winning the hearts of the smallfolk, and had the beauty and poise that kept the appreciation of the noblemen. The match made sense across all reason, though it was so wrong to him. “I know already -- I know that you will be kind to her. What pains me is that she will be happy, or will say that she is happy -- just as she would’ve been happy to go to Robert, or even to Joffrey. She is so unselfish, so disinterested in anything outside family and duty...it makes me feel all the more selfish to be so tormented by the thought of you and her. I cannot be like her. I cannot feel happy for it.”

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

matthew clavane photographed by nicola collins for boys by girls

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

There was clear tension in his voice, clear anger in the quick glance he gave him as he responded, and it made his heart sink even further. He wished more than anything that he could go back and think a little harder about what the consequences of their plans would’ve been, in less of a selfish or grand way. That was part of his problem, though, was it not? He was able to focus on himself while also looking at the big picture, the consequences of every action in the grand scheme of things, but it left the smaller, more personal aspects to fall by the wayside. This wasn’t the first time he had failed to see how his actions might effect those close to him; he had done the same many times over with Cortnay and even his brothers. But never with such real consequences. 

This was more than just accidentally causing someone he cared about a small amount of annoyance or stress, this was somehow making all of their fears come true at once, unable to say no given what stood to be gained from doing so. If, perhaps, either of them had slowed their thoughts for a moment on the road to Highgarden, if they had considered all that they had implied between each other, Renly would have been able to see this coming. There was always a price, after all, and he knew full well what sort of man Mace Tyrell was, he wanted power for his children and his family. Still, they had been too distracted by seeking refuge, by coming to terms with all that it meant to even think of staking a claim to consider all that it would mean. A wife, of course, had always been something lingering over his head, a duty he knew he would one day have to fulfill, but somehow he still had not seen this coming.

Any hope he had had in the moment Mace told him the terms of his support that Margaery as his wife might be less of a blow to Loras, knowing how close the siblings were, had now vanished given the way Loras all but refused to look at him for longer than a second. He wanted to reach out to him, to run his fingers over his cheek, promise him that it would all work out, but he stopped the urge.

“I shall take only a few minutes, and then I shall find you in the gardens,” he responded, voice quiet. He allowed himself a brief squeeze of Loras’ arm, before turning and all but running off to his quarters.

The letter was quickly written, with little embellishment, calling Penrose to raise the banners of the Stormlands and ride for the Reach with the necessary things as soon as possible for the wedding. There was no need to play coy now that it had been decided. Once it was signed and sealed, he passed it off, the fastest raven waiting for him already, and the letter was gone, the decision made. His heart beat a nearly frantic rhythm against his chest, the reality of it all washing over him as he turned to find Loras. He couldn’t let that feeling take over, though, not yet, not until he had a chance to speak with Loras. A king did not break over the stresses that came with the title, and neither could he. Renly found the other man easily in the darkened gardens, and silently took a place at his side.

A knowledge of the twists and turns of Highgarden had all come back to Loras from the very moment their party had descended upon the keep – the mastery was an imprint on his heart that could not be undone, no matter how much time would elapse in between his time spent at his family home and his time spent away at the Red Keep. He could speed through the castle’s inner walls with his eyes closed; and he very nearly did so as a result of the darkness brought on by the late hour combined with his far-off mind. It was as though he had been in one moment -- Renly running away from him, off to write his letter to Penrose -- only to suddenly fly headlong into the next, where he found himself greeted by the evening air, made cool and slightly humid by the nearby Mander. The fresh air helped to calm some of the emotions that boiled just beneath the surface, and Loras’ golden eyes fell shut as he released a deep sigh into the empty night. As had always been the case in his home, the long inhalation left a notable floral taste lingering in his throat.

He was unsure of the hour, but he had a mind to take off to the training yard, and found that his feet carried him willfully in that direction. Loras was certain he’d find it abandoned, but that fact alone was more of an encouragement than a reason to stay away -- had it been filled with those actively training, he might’ve taken out his hurt onto whichever soul had offered to spar with him. (It would not have been the first time he’d engaged in such a practice -- in the days following the melee in which The Mountain had almost killed him before the crowd, he’d bullied his way around the yard with a morningstar in hand, and had sent several boys off to see a maester.) He was confident that there would be some manner of pleasure in swinging a sword into something, even if it was just a dummy set up for the still-green boys to swing their wooden swords at.

He held onto this thought -- to the anticipation of steel in hand -- while his emotions ran hot, though as the distance grew he found his anger settling out into some heavy combination of exhaustion, sadness, and fear that hung menacingly over his shoulders. Loras’ hands rested on the wooden stakes that fenced off the yard, and he hung his head as he wallowed in that feeling. He had been fatigued already from their long journey and from the wine he’d taken through the long supper, and the energy that his anger and despair manifested had only served to drain him further. Loras looked sullenly out over the empty dirt square, and hissed a short fuck that left him feeling no better. His hands reached out and shoved at the wooden stake, and his face contorted into an irate scowl as he observed the small damage his efforts had caused.

Turning abruptly, he raked his hands through his curls and stalked off again to find some hidden corner of the gardens where he could languish over his self-pity in peace. He settled into an emptied gazebo amongst hedges of yellow roses, and noted with some dark humor that the landing he’d chosen was in all likelihood one of the places from which his Grandmother conducted her plotting. He huffed a sigh at this realization, and allowed his posture to slack until he was bent against the table before him, with his chin propped childishly into his hands as he glared into the middle-distance. He did not relent this stance even when Renly arrived, or even when the elder man took the seat beside him.

“I know that I was stupid to not realize it,” Loras commented, his tone gruff and his eyes still unwavering from their focus on the empty space before him. “I should have expected it.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

Loras Tyrell

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

At least there was time. From now on, nothing was going to be simple. He had known full well as they rode towards the Reach that everything was going to be different, one way or another, but somehow he hadn’t thought about all of this. Not that it was unexpected. In fact, it was something they all should have been expecting. And yet it was managing to rattle him more than he wanted to admit, but a lot of that had to do with the reaction the realization had garnered from Loras. More than writing a raven to Cortnay, more than a good night’s rest finally in a bed again, more than considering what it might be like to be King, he wanted to talk to Loras.

The one consolation seemed to be their location. He could barely even fathom how meaningful it was to be home again for Loras, surrounded by his family,  their concern, their love. It wasn’t a feeling he could remember having, but because of Loras, he felt some of that as well, being among his family, no matter the opinions much of Loras’ family seemed to hold on the plan he had tied their father into. “Thank you, Lord Tyrell. I cannot say how grateful I am to be in Highgarden now, safe and determined,” Renly nodded graciously.

The temptation to bolt out after Loras, as he exited without waiting for him, was strong, but he managed to resist it, already feeling some of his resolve crumble, though, knowing now there were even greater tasks ahead. He gave Mace another grateful nod, a gentle smile on his lips, before turning to follow Loras out of the room. It took a bit to catch up to him, but luckily he stopped in his place after a while, and Renly came to him. It hurt that he couldn’t even bring himself to fully look at him, but he understood. He could only imagine all that Loras was feeling, even more than himself, given the unexpected inclusion of his own sister in something that had always been a source of worry for the two of them.

“May I join you? It won’t take more than a few moments to craft my letter. I… I want to be with you,” Renly said, voice barely more than a whisper. There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, something rare to hear, but genuine now. Now that they were alone, all of the thoughts he had had seemed to be magnified tenfold; thoughts about marriage, and what it meant for them, just how ill-prepared he was to tackle all of this now, when there was too much to think of, but wanting nothing more than to do just that. He needed Loras more than he needed anyone else, more than he wanted to aid the realm, to take the kingship, and just now what he needed was to make certain Loras knew that they would make all of it work, not just for themselves, but for Margaery, too.

He wasn’t sure Loras would want to be with him just now, after such an enormous change. Given the way he kept his eyes from meeting his, refusing to look at him at all, Renly had to guess he wanted nothing more than a moment of peace alone. Or perhaps to go to Margaery himself to discuss all of the happenings. This was his compromise. There was no way he could delay writing the letter, not when everything was already moving along without him, but he also knew that he needed to speak with Loras privately. In the same way he knew that Loras would be desperate in that moment to strike something, he was desperate to talk everything out. Such were their ways. He only hoped that Loras would allow that, knowing how much all of this hurt, the strange mix of emotions becoming easily jumbled and confused, happiness, excitement, fear, pain. He wanted to try to soothe those worries, just as he always did.

A part of him wanted to charge right for Margaery’s chambers. He did not know if he wanted to divulge the contents of the meeting to her so much as he simply sought the comfort her rooms would bring him. Her intelligent, benevolent presence had a way of calming him; of making him feel grounded in the moment when impulsivity demanded he act. When they were children and pretended that they were in fact the twins many incorrectly assumed them to be (perhaps in a not-so-subtle effort to play the parts of the Lannister knight and queen, or the Targaryen queen and her dragonknight brother), Margaery had suggested that they were made to balance one another out, and he had agreed. (He thought the same of he and Renly, but it was a different sort of balance.) 

They’d spent nights as children whispering secrets to one another in that room, of comforting one another in that room. In the wake of Willas’ injury, he remembered how they’d stayed there together and huddled more closely each time the agonized whines of the eldest Tyrell drifted through the keep. He remembered sleeping there the night before he was set to depart for Storm’s End, when Loras had been confident that he would squire for a tyrant who would hold his childhood starvation over Loras’ head. 

He was terrified now that he would go there and find that she’d known all along what he’d been too thick to expect. Or perhaps he’d find Olenna there, and have to take in her disapproving sneer once more. It was better to go out to the gardens -- or maybe to take to the hedge maze, where he could truly avoid most anyone who looked to find him. 

Loras’ jaw clenched at Renly’s request. He struggled with his response. He did not want Renly to think that he was angry with him; but at the same time, he wasn’t so sure that he wasn’t. It was an irrational anger, and Loras knew it. He knew that Renly hadn’t known that making the claim would come with this sort of price -- but he nonetheless couldn’t see past the image of Margaery cloaked in the Baratheon sigil. He felt guilty for feeling any measure of anger towards Renly, when he had been the one to repeatedly encourage by words and implication that he wanted to see Renly as King -- and when he still felt that way now. 

He was confused and angry and struggled, as ever, to find reason to deny Renly. 

“Fine,” he allowed lowly, his golden eyes flickering once to find the other man’s gaze before diverting. “Do not take long,” he added quietly. “The hour is late already.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

He nodded alone with Mace’s words, but was distracted, eyes unable to keep from flickering to Loras every so often, in an attempt to read any of his thoughts on his face. It was easy to guess what he would be feeling now, with all of this coming up as it was, a strange mix of exactly what they had been hoping for and the less than ideal. It felt perhaps worse, too, as for him it felt more ideal than perhaps any other marital situation he might be otherwise forced into. He had hoped, as Mace had made the request that he had known somewhere in the back of his mind was coming, that perhaps it might be that way for Loras, too, but now it was easy to see just in the way that he stood, more stiffly than before, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs, that it wasn’t. He wanted to assure Loras, just as he planned to assure Margaery the next day when he spoke to her, that he was going to do everything he could to be a good husband for her, despite his own lack of desire for a wife at all. She would be queen, and she would be loved and adored and cared for better than she might’ve been with someone else; and Loras would still be by her side. But Renly wasn’t certain that was enough to make either of them any more comfortable with a marriage.

It was strange but satisfying to hear king before his name, something he had always played at as a child, but something that felt in no real way attainable. It wasn’t that he was glad of what they were doing, of all but declaring a war against his own brother, all for the good of the Seven Kingdoms, but if the attempt to take the realm back from Lannister control gave him the chance to have something he had long wanted, then it was just one more reason to do so. The satisfaction feel, though, as talk of the wedding was brought up. A wedding that he knew would be sooner rather than later. But he had long perfected the art of the gracious and charming smile that he gave Mace now with a nod as he went on, turning back to him as Willas took his leave.

Not even the thought of becoming king could distract from Loras’ reaction at the mention of the wedding cloak. He could feel his own stomach drop at the thought, almost as if it had not been quite as real before Mace reminded him of that great detail. There would be no denying it, he knew, it was something that would have to be done as soon as Cortnay made it to Highgarden, as one of the most important steps in their whole plan. But that didn’t make the thought any easier to bare, especially with Loras standing right there, no way to speak to him with any amount of comfort at the moment.

“Loras is correct, our journey was a long one, and it seems enough has been decided for the night, if it pleases you,” he said, inclining his head towards Mace. There was no need to make it any harder tonight than it needed to be, after all. He was certain tomorrow there would be dozens of things to start planning, but he had other things on the mind tonight. “I will write my letter to Cortnay immediately and tell him to call the banners of the Stormlands, and to start for Highgarden as soon he has done so. Hopefully we can have them here before the month is out.”

That wasn’t what he was thinking about, though, not really. More than anything, he was thinking of writing the letter as swiftly as he could, seeing it sent off, and finding Loras so that they could speak freely on everything that had come to pass in this gathering. He was afraid, in a way, of that conversation, knowing what Loras likely thought of the sudden marriage, and knowing that even so there was no way around it, that it was necessary to stand a chance at what they had spoken about even before this night. He was afraid of hurting him, when he meant more to him than anyone else in the world, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried, it was inevitable. It had always been inevitable in this case, there was never a way that he could get around one day having to take a wife, but he knew that to Loras this might feel worse, in some way, considering who it was. He wanted the chance to try to offer some comfort before Loras was allowed too much time to stew with his thoughts, to remind him just how much he loved him, as if that might help in some small way.

“I daresay the real planning can begin on the morrow, once we’ve rested well and have had time to think of our next steps,” Renly said after a slight pause in his thoughts, tone making it clear that he was finished speaking on it for the night.

“Yes, I understand -- pardon my urgency. We are well aware of how long and tiresome your journey was. As you’ve said, we’ll have plenty of time to start anew with our planning on the morrow. It won’t do well to speak on what might be before we’ve so much as sent a single raven.” Looking between the two, he offered with a smile: “sleep easy tonight, without fear of Lannister men on your tails.” 

Loras forced himself to meet his father’s eyes then, and to match the smile the older man wore with one of his own. Though the man was insatiable for upward momentum -- to the detriment of his own son’s relationship -- he knew that his father meant what he said. There was no doubt that as word had reached Highgarden of Joffrey’s call for Loras and Renly’s pledges of loyalty -- lest they be named traitors of the crown -- his family had been made to worry for him. He did his best to push away the irritation and pain that plagued him (if only for a moment), and tried to muster a genuine care when he spoke: “thank you, father. It gives me great comfort to be home on this night, and in the nights that will follow.” 

His efforts seemed to be fruitful: Mace’s expression softened with fatherly fondness, and as he stood to bid the two a good evening he reached out a hand and squeezed Loras’ shoulders. “It gives us comfort as well, son.” Flashing a smile between the two, he waved them off. “Go on, be off to write your letters and be off to bed.”

With his permission granted, Loras nodded and turned -- his leave abrupt, and without a pause to wait for Renly. He walked briskly out of the room and down the hall that led out of the apartments, and did not allow himself to turn his head over his shoulder or to wait for Renly behind him. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, and he thought that nothing would feel so good as to hold his sword between them at that moment. It was a late hour to go to the training yard, but Loras thought that no one would question it if they saw him there. They would all know -- because they weren’t the stupid ones, he was. 

As he exited his father’s solar and entered a main twist of hallways to lead down a variety of apartments for both family and guests, a small tug of guilt caused him to stop in place. It wasn’t Renly’s fault -- and he knew that he wanted him to be King as much as Renly might want it for himself -- but it didn’t alleviate the heaviness of his heart much. He turned his head halfway towards the other, and muttered: “I’m going to wander the gardens a while.”

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

There was no choice in the matter, really, even if it seemed as if there was. If he wanted to stand a chance of fighting for the throne, and delivering the realm from the hands of the Lannisters and his brother, there was little else he could do. He was well aware that without the strength of the Reach, there was no way that they could dream of putting up a fight against the Lannisters. And there was no way that Mace would have agreed to giving him that without receiving something in return. He should’ve known that it was going to be this, it only made sense, given the whispers he had heard from Loras of the former plan. That didn’t make it any easier, though, when he looked at Loras and saw the little quirk at the corner of his mouth, the telltale sign that his smile was not quite as sincere as he was attempting to show.

What he wanted to do more than anything in that moment was to take Loras’ hands in his own, to promise him that he would stay by his side always, that he would treat his sister well, despite the less than ideal circumstances for any of them. He knew that it would be difficult, but not nearly as difficult as it could have with anyone else. He may not have been able to offer Margaery everything another lord may have in marriage, but he could offer her more. A crown. And he had a feeling that even Margaery herself might be taken by that prospect.

The urge to try to refute Lady Olenna’s look, the very clear disapproval as she rose from her seat and spoke about going to give Margaery the news, was strong, but he bit his tongue. There was no use in any of that, but to stir more tensions than were already clear in the room. It would have been easier, of course, if they were all of a similar mind, if any of the other Tyrells seemed half as keen on the decision as Mace, but he wasn’t surprised, and he was also well aware that any attempt in that moment to defend the matter would do more harm than the good he had already managed with his previous words. All he could do was attempt to offer some comfort by being the best that he could, to prove to them all that this was no mistake.

(To do that, though, he first needed to remind himself that it was no mistake, that of all the possible asks, this was not the worst. That having Margaery, of all ladies, as wife was a mercy, considering what he might’ve faced. And that he could give him a good life, despite the personal difficulties they would face.)

Renly merely nodded, a good approximation of graciousness on his face as he tried to push past the obvious disparate feelings in the room. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Loras again. “It is decided, then. You all have my thanks for your faith in me,” he said, whether it was true or not. “I should send a raven on to Courtnay before it grows much later… And I should like to speak with Margaery myself tomorrow, if it is fit. I want to make certain she knows that I will give her all that I can as my Queen.”

Olenna Tyrell left the room with nothing more than a huff of air, and with a quick bark of Left! Right! her twin guards appeared from where they’d been making themselves scarce against the wall. Loras watched as she disappeared with the two men, no doubt to be on her way, as she’d said, to Margaery’s chambers. He had the distinct feeling that Margaery was not asleep at all, and was instead waiting up for that exact meeting. 

Though he would not yet allow himself to recognize such a thought, Loras knew that Margaery would in all likelihood accept the marriage with all the grace he currently lacked. She’d never once faltered when she’d been positioned to marry Robert: while he’d ranted and raved about how ill-deserving the eldest Baratheon would’ve been of her, Margaery had only laughed and passed along a miniature portrait of herself. Give this to Renly, she’d instructed, let him show it to the King. She’d been almost disappointed to hear of Sansa Stark’s engagement to Joffrey, even with Loras having thoroughly informed her of what a cunt the boy was. At least we would’ve been of a closer age, she’d remarked with a shrug, oh well. Robert it is. It would be a surprise to no one at all if she met this fate in the same way, and married Renly with a smile and laugh on her lips despite the knowledge of his relationship with the would-be King. 

Where they were almost identical in features, this ability to toss aside emotion and carry through with duty alone was where he and his sister differed immensely. Margaery had allowed herself to embody the grooming set forth by their father and grandmother alike: she knew only that she would be queen, that she would advance their family in the only way she could as their sole Tyrell daughter, and that she would do it well. She allowed nothing more to surface, and suppressed all other desires so well that it was a wonder to anyone as to what they were, or if they existed at all. Sometimes, it seemed likely that all she did want was to be a queen. To make princes and princesses, and to embrace the ready adoration of the realm. Loras, contrarily, could never smother his emotions so well, even if he tried at it with all his might. And beyond that, he didn’t want to. 

Even despite his knowledge of the likely ease with which Margaery would accept her fate, it was easier still for Loras to push his despair and vexation over the matter into the realm of brotherhood. He was upset and angry because Margaery did not deserve to be married to someone who would not desire her. She’d not been made in the image of the maiden -- a fine compliment to his warrior -- to live as a septa. There was far more comfort to be had in aligning his emotions with that track of thinking, rather than acknowledging his own jealousy and anger that Renly should be married to anyone at all. (Kings need Queens, a voice told him in his mind, and you’re a cunt for letting yourself forget it.) At least Robert would’ve been enthusiastic for the chance to fuck her. 

Loras was dragged away from his thoughts when his father spoke up once more, declaring: “write your letter to Penrose calling for your banners, and we’ll have it sent tonight. If we’ve any luck, even those who may have declared for Stannis will pack their things and turn towards Highgarden when word reaches their ears that their favored Lord has declared.” Stroking his triangular beard, Mace nodded. “Of course. No doubt Margaery will be eager to speak with you, as well.” 

Turning towards Willas, he added with a gleeful grin: “write to our bannermen, and relay our newfound alliance. Order the old man at the tower to prepare his fleet, and do the same for Paxter. We will be fighting for King Renly -- ” pausing, his expression seemed to visibly brighten “ -- and Queen Margaery. No time to delay. Those who gather quickly will have a seat at the wedding.” This word seemed to spur extreme delight in Mace, just as it did sickness in Loras. His attention shifted once more to Renly, leaving him to pay little mind as Willas dismissed himself quietly. “We will have to begin planning the ceremony swiftly, and tend to the fetching of a Septon. Be sure to tell Penrose that he ought to travel on his fastest horse with the Baratheon wedding cloak in tow.” 

The image of Penrose riding to Highgarden with a wedding cloak in tow was enough to break the tight smile on Loras’ lips, and tension was held throughout his rigid form as he spoke at last: “father, forgive me, but the ride was long, and the strongwine has done no favors in allowing me to evade exhaustion. If it should please you, I think I would retire for the evening -- it seems as though you may very well be able to carry on tomorrow, or without me if you should care to go on tonight.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

He could see the skepticism in the eyes of the other Tyrell brothers, in the eyes of Lady Olenna, and he understood it well, no matter how much he wished that they would all see the situation exactly as him. What he was proposing, after all, would change everything. Essentially, he was asking them to start a war for him, abandon the peace and prosperity that House Tyrell was experiencing, all for the sake of the realm. The price would be great, but Renly was convinced that this was the only solution.

Renly was more than ready to go on, try to offer some comfort, however false it might be, to soothe the frown lines that he faced, to make the decision seem even slightly beneficial to their house as a whole. He felt wholeheartedly that this was a decision that was crucial to preserving the future of the entire realm, but he understood what the Tyrells stood to lose by supporting him in this matter. He did not have so much to lose; or perhaps, he did not have a family’s well being to think of, more concerned with his own future, perhaps, than his house as a whole. Still, it was more than self-indulgence, and that was why he felt so strongly on the matter, that this was what it had all been leading to. He had been a leader to the people of the Stormlands, earning their trust and their love and giving them the best that he could. Then he had tried to do some of the same on the Small Council, especially while Robert was traveling North to seek out Eddard. Now it felt like his duty, in a strange way, to try to offer the same to the realm as a whole, especially considering who held the power as it was, the dire state of things.

Before he could continue, though, Loras went on, now turning his attention to his father, a strategic move that might’ve been considered manipulative, given the look in Mace’s eye, compared to the others in the room. Loras knew how to get what he wanted from his father, that had been certain for years; it was normally merely amusing to see just how much he would do for the young Tyrell, but now Renly had to wonder how far he might go. But his speech was full of such eloquence, appealing not only to the sense of duty, but the glory of the future, to his position as lord of the house, that made it easy to believe all that he said.

Renly could not help but look on Loras with pride, a look of confidence that only strengthened as Mace turned back to him, thoughtful but pleased look on his face from his son’s words. Between the smile he gave him, and his words of repairing their houses history together, he knew that Loras had convinced him of the decision already. Still, he had not been expecting more news of Stannis that he hadn’t heard, more reason for him to lay claim before his brother moved too far.

His own smile fell as they went on about a witch. That news made him frown. Stannis had never been a particularly religious man, but it seemed out of character for him to be using sorcery and magic to try to claim the realm. It had been so long since he had seen him, though, perhaps more had changed than he believed was possible. The thought had a strange effect on him, a touch of worry for what was becoming of him, for what he was willing to do for this, as they sat here and planned to oppose him opening; but more than that, it was sadness for his brother, for the desperation and bitterness that had driven him so far from himself.

He was so preoccupied with that news, that he scarcely heard what they were saying until Loras said his name again, asking if Mace was agreeing to fighting for him. The grins shared between Loras and Mace it slightly easier for him to follow suit, despite the talk of Stannis, the tension he hadn’t realized he had been holding in his shoulders falling as he agreed.

And then he went on.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that this was the ultimatum of sorts. In all honesty, it was something that, in the back of his mind, Renly supposed he had been expecting, even if not consciously. It only made sense, that Mace would want something in return, that he would ask for his daughter to be Queen. It was, after all, something of a surprise to most that he had not yet married, considering his age, and it was perhaps only due to the lack of true parental guidance that he had avoided it thus far, governing his own life without the scrutiny of anyone more than Ser Courtnay, whose suggestions he easily bypassed. But he was well aware that it wasn’t something he could avoid forever, especially if he wished to do this. A king needed a queen, a king needed an heir. Still, there was a part of him that had hoped he might somehow avoid it a while longer, perhaps until he managed to take the throne, that he could continue to live his private life as he wished, no one but Loras, and his love for him.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes travelled from Mace to Loras, the split second of honesty on his face, before it was tempered. If the situation had been different, he would have insisted on time, he would have spoken privately to Loras about it, would have taken the time to come to terms with what it would mean for them, what they would do. But they had no time now. He would need to send a raven to Courtnay tonight to begin raising the Stormlands in his favor, and that could only happen if he had the support of the Reach. Considering the matter, there was no choice. 

No matter how unappealing the thought of having to take any woman’s hand in marriage was, he did have to think that of all the outcomes, this was a small mercy. Margaery and Loras were close in a way he scarcely understood, giving the perfect excuse to keep Loras close by his side still, for her protection. She had always struck him as sweet and kind, but unflinchingly intelligent in a way much less biting than Olenna, and compared to any other lady he might find, he knew that Loras’ love for her would only serve to make the inevitable easier. On a purely selfish note, he couldn’t help but think that her own genuine charm and grace matched his splendidly; the picture of King and Queen.

For now, he swallowed the desire to ask for time, swallowed the nerves, the frustration that the thought of marriage always brought forth, and gave Mace a gracious smile. “And so it shall be. It would be an honor to have Margaery’s hand. She would make a beautiful Queen, and such a union will only serve to solidify our houses’ alliance,” he nodded. “I shall raven Ser Courtnay tonight, and give him the orders.”

And in turn, he will make our Margaery a Queen.

The words caused something in Loras’ stomach to suddenly lurch, and the pleased smile fell from his lips. Suddenly, the evasive gazes of his brothers and the irate scowl worn by his grandmother made perfect sense. How had he been so foolish as to not see it? To not expect it? He’d thought -- idiotically, it now seemed -- that with the death of Robert, all talk of wedging Margaery into the queenship had been put to bed. Even that plan had rubbed him the wrong way -- the thought of his sweet sister being pawed at by Robert was nothing if not disgusting -- but it felt almost worse now. Perhaps it was because he’d been so foolish as to not anticipate something so obvious. 

Olenna’s annoyance with the plot made perfect sense now: she’d known all along that Mace would acquiesce so long as he got what he wanted, and she’d known what that would be. Her precious Margaery being turned into a price for what she no-doubt honestly believed to be a foolhardy war would be no less than a personal nightmare for the woman who’d poured so much into her grandchild. As he met her gaze with hard, angry golden eyes, he found another truth there: she knew what sort of marital bliss Margaery could find in a marriage to Renly. He had a mind to think that Mace knew as well -- but then again, Mace cared nothing for any extraneous factors so long as his daughter had a crown. 

Despite the way his heart thrummed in his chest -- despite how strongly he desired to do little more than swing an axe into something -- he forced the smile to return to his lips. He dared not look at Renly beside him, even as he felt the other man’s eyes briefly rest on him. 

“Long live our King and Queen,” he declared instead, earning the delighted laughter of his father, who echoed the words with an exuberant hear, hear!

Olenna tutted once, and with a shake of her head she rose unaided from her seat. “I’ll leave the boys to their games,” she announced, casting a withering gaze over the lot of them. “Someone had ought to let Margaery know that the deed has been done,” she went on, “our lucky girl.”

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

It was no surprise that Willas seemed to oppose the plan; from the moment they had arrived in Highgarden, he had known that not everyone was going to be so keen on the idea, especially, it seemed, Loras’ brothers. Part of him wanted to be bothered by the dissent, even as gently as Willas presented it. But that wasn’t going to help his case at all, that wasn’t going to get the Tyrells to agree to back his claim, and without there power there was no point in even dreaming of trying to claim the throne over his elder brother. 

And he had to admit that it was with good reason that they were skeptical. Of course, it was. There was no way to deny that Stannis was the eldest son, the most appropriate choice for a rightful claim at the throne, if that sort of hierarchy was what should be followed. He wasn’t convinced that it should be, though, and not just because he wished himself king. No, it was for the sake of the people. Stannis had no real love in his heart for the well being of anyone; cold and unfeeling, detached at best, Renly could not recall anyone ever suggesting that he was loved by the people. And yet the opposite could be said for him. It wasn’t a boastful thought, but a true one. He was well loved in the Stormlands, and the capital. Why not use that to steer the realm into peace and good fortune?

But Willas was right, they needed a reason not to follow Stannis, to break and make his own claim. And it was difficult to present anything stronger than exactly what Loras said, which felt a little self-indulgent, he was well aware.

He put a hand on Loras’ shoulder, firm but grateful, to still the argument. He was flattered by Loras’ words, his utter and undying confidence in him. It made his heart swell with something unspeakable. But he knew that it wouldn’t convince the doubters.

“I know how preposterous it sounds,” Renly said with a diplomatic nod, to Lady Olenna, to Willas. “I do not doubt that Stannis is doing just that as we speak, but can you except the whole realm to follow him loyally? He does not inspire loyalty; he possesses little more than a soldier’s disposition. His skill is survival, my skill is to thrive. I am well aware how uncommon it is for the youngest son to claim so much, but this is not for my ego. This is for the sake of the realm. We cannot allow the Lannisters to control the Seven Kingdoms, and we cannot allow Stannis to have that chance either, for the future of Westeros. It is a gamble, yes, but I believe it is worth the risk, if it means we might change the course of things.”

He wasn’t certain how convincing that sounded, but he felt confident in his words, that feeling clear in his voice as he spoke.

“Even without the North, we alone are enough to make a difference in the Crownlands. But alongside them? My brother and Lord Eddard were the closest of friends; I daresay I could get along just as well with Robb Stark,” he said, the hint of that charming smile on his lips. “With the strength of the Stormlands and the Reach combined, we would be a desirable ally to the North.”

The flustered, agitated sensation that coursed through Loras was a feeling he’d not properly experienced since Ned Stark had denied his request to lead the charge in arresting Gregor Clegane for favor of the lightning lord, Beric Dondarrion. (If rumors on the road were to be believed, the lord and his party had pitifully failed.) He had journeyed south primarily due to the reality that they would be safer in the southron keep as compared to Storm’s End, but he was unwilling to deny that a part of him had known it would come to this -- just as he thought Renly had known. Renly was a born king, and in those weeks when he’d effectively ruled amidst other councilors whilst Robert and his party journeyed North, Loras had been stricken by the reality of how well the crown would suit him. 

The Tyrell son could not claim to be taken by religious fanaticism, but it seemed to be divine fate. Perhaps Renly had taken on Robert’s features so well because he was meant to be the second coming -- the stag king that should have been. How could his own family not see it, and not stand by him? Did they not know that the wars to come would need their gold, their wheat, and their men? Did they truly believe that Stannis ought to rule, with his unsmiling features and unrelenting iciness? 

Loras could be prickly even at the best of times, and when amongst family, his chivalrous countenance could slip with the greatest ease. As boys, Garlan would sometimes compare him to a cat, spitting and swiping in one moment, and curled on a lap in the next. Loras was soothed from any spontaneous angry outburst from the comforting hand that rested on his shoulder -- but even so, his jaw worked to a clench and his golden eyes set in an irate glare on his own family. He forced silence upon himself as Renly spoke, and felt some of his anger crack from the words. What argument could his family present against such truths? What more did they need?  Biased as he was, even Loras thought it made sense. And yet, he could see it in almost all of their eyes: uncertainty and discomfort. It was in his father’s eyes alone that he saw a gleam of something promising -- glory. 

“Father,” Loras spoke once more, though his voice had warmed, and taken on the tone he used when asking for newly-made suits of armor, “the decision made by House Tyrell will play the heaviest hand in the battles to come. Why should we not make history -- a break in tradition in the name of the greater good? We will be looked on kindly by our descendants.” A tut from Olenna stilled him for but a moment, and he added more purposefully: “you are Lord, father. Renly has laid down the good sense of his claim. The choice rests with you.” 

Drawing his hand over his beard, Mace reclined in his seat and passed a golden gaze over the room. Try as he may to look the part of a Lord akin to Eddard Stark, the man was tickled with his son’s reinforcement of his role as head of house, and wore a bright smile as he looked on Renly. “Houses Baratheon and Tyrell have no rich history of camaraderie, but it is one we hoped to repair with this generation, in an effort to show respect to this dynasty -- which we have done well with, as the friendship between you and my son displays. We are not the sort to show disrespect, or to break with tradition so easily...but there is some sense in what you say. Though he may be second-born, Stannis has never seemed the kingly sort. Willas,” Mace paused, turning to pay mind to his eldest, “what did we hear of him, since he took leave of the capital?”

“We have heard rumors of Stannis building ships and hiring sellswords,” Willas commented, “so as to suggest his intentions. But these come from spies in the capital, who have heard from other spies planted in Dragonstone. The information is not entirely --”

Pinching his brow, Mace waved at his son, beckoning him on, “ -- no! The witch! Tell them about the witch!” 

With a soft sigh, Willas finished quickly: “there are whispers that Stannis has brought a shadowbinder from Asshai to Dragonstone. The purpose of her arrival -- if it is true at all -- is utterly unknown.”

“Whatever his reason may be, it is clear that he intends to use her to some degree,” Mace finished. “It’s one thing to think we allowed a Hand who prayed to bleeding trees -- another entirely to throw our resources behind a man who plays with magic and demons. There is scarcely a noble house in the realm that would happily stand behind a man who does such things.” A pleased expression came over Mace’s face. “Were we to stake the claim behind you, we would preserve the Baratheon lineage while disavowing such deplorable tactics.” 

“So you agree to it?” Loras asked, a smile quickly reclaiming his features. “We will fight for Renly?”

“We will make Renly King,” Mace announced -- his glee diminishing the tension that otherwise filled the room -- “and in turn, he will make our Margaery a Queen.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

The feast was utterly fantastic, as was to be expected of any feast at Highgarden, especially one in celebration of the homecoming of the Reach’s favorite son. Renly found himself nearly relaxing, despite the news that hung over their heads, the threats from King’s Landing. And the toasts only helped to stroke his ego further, making him even more certain that what he had spoken to Loras in the safety of the gardens was exactly the next step that would be helpful for all of the realm.

But eventually, the feast did end, and Renly was more than ready for the serious conversations to begin, already eager to begin moving forward as quickly as possible. Still, it was impossible not to notice the mood of the other Tyrell brothers as they followed Mace to his chambers. It was to be expected, at least from some, although Renly did not feel that it boded well. However, Mace himself seemed of a better mood, at least.

Upon entering the room, it was difficult to say if he was surprised or not at Olenna Tyrell’s presence. He knew as well as anyone that the Queen of Thorns was a presence to be respected and listened to, and so hearing her take the lead was not so much of a concern to Renly, especially given the information that she was bringing to their attention. This was the sort of information that they needed to know if they were even going to dream of doing what he had suggested to Loras in the gardens, what they had been quietly implying to each other since they had fled from King’s Landing.

Robb Stark, King in the North, a title, he knew, that had not been in use for some time, which was a fortuitous sign to him. If the Starks and their allies were willing to break so willingly from the rule of the Crownlands over everything that had happened, it seemed to Renly that that mean they were prepared for other allies. He, of course, appreciated Loras’ excitement, had to smile a little at his eagerness even, but he wasn’t certain that a strike now was the proper plan of action. Uniting a strong front seemed like the first order of business. 

Uniting a strong front, staking his own claim in the South, perhaps with the North as allies.

But that had to be a part of their long term goals. There could be no allies without a declaration first. 

“The Lannisters cannot be left in control of the capital, and if the North has already risen behind a new King in the North, then I see it only as a call to action,” Renly said, voice as certain and strong as ever. “However vulnerable the Crownlands are with the Lannister forces at Riverrun, though, there are other steps that must be taken before an all out war can be waged.”

“I believe the only solution is seating a true Baratheon on the Iron Throne. And I do not think that Baratheon should be my brother.”

The Tyrells turned silent as they regarded Renly; each pair of golden eyes watchful and inquisitive as he spoke. Loras was unable to smother the smile that claimed his lips as Renly proudly waged his claim -- even in spite of the dismissal to his desire to attack. All he could see was the image of Renly atop the throne, and a sort of peace and happiness for the capital that the stupid and brutish Robert had been utterly unable to bring. Selfishly, his mind wandered similarly to the image of the white cloak that would sit upon his shoulders -- the one he’d dreamed of wearing since a sword had first been put to his hand.

Unfazed by the mood was Willas, who stood with his weight leaned upon his cane as he looked on the others. “The realm should not be left to the Lannisters. Cersei’s boys are too young to rule themselves for years yet, leaving us to their mother or Tywin Lannister,” he allowed -- his tone gentle and reflective, as compared to the strong and proud voices of the others. “From what we have learned, Robb Stark only fights for the North and the Riverlands. He could be counted on as an ally.” He paused, and a frown sat on his lips. “But if we must look to the main branch of the Baratheon family once more to lead the realm, we need a reason to not unite behind Stannis. Renly, you must expect that your brother is writing to his bannermen as we speak -- you may be the Lord of Storm’s End, but the Stormlands might yet rally behind the eldest son. And why shouldn’t they? Stannis has been a soldier --” 

“ -- They do not love Stannis.” Loras interrupted, the smile on his face twisted to a scowl as he looked to his eldest brother. “No tears were shed for him when he was sent to Dragonstone. We can send a letter this evening on our fastest raven to Cortnay Penrose, and he can raise bannermen on Renly’s behalf. In a few short weeks, we could amass an army.”

“And all of you would have us raise some hundred thousand men in the south to fight alongside them,” Olenna tutted, turning an unamused expression onto her youngest grandson. Loras met the elder woman’s expression openly with a glower. Though he certainly respected the woman, he’d always been of the opinion that she considered him to be a fool. It contrasted brilliantly with her assessment of Margaery. 

“The realm deserves a worthy King,” he answered sharply. His eyes drifted back to Renly, and Loras affirmed: “that King stands here, with the same Baratheon blood that ran through Robert. If we call our bannermen and match them with the men of the Stormlands, we will outnumber any army the Lannisters call. We will be the saviors of the realm.”

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

It was odd how simple of a choice it felt. Such an enormous decision with such potentially deadly consequences for all of them, and yet one that seemed obvious, given what they had already seen, and what they knew was to come if they did nothing. He had never considered this as a possibility; him, king. Saying the words out loud just made it that much more certain. It was the only thing to be done if they did not wish the realm to be destroyed from the inside out. He had never truly considered himself noble in that sort of sense, but he had always had a great care for the people, in a way that he thought many lords did not. In a way that Stannis certainly did not, Onion Knight at his side or not.

There was no possible outcome in which Stannis would both be able to take on the Lannisters successfully and rule the realm with the people on his side. No amount of military strength could make up for the fact that he had the personality of dried meat, and about as much heart.

With the Stormlands and the Reach on his side, Renly could, though. And so it seemed that it was settled, as Loras agreed.

“I have a feeling that your family already has an inkling of all of this? They know that we must move quickly, and I only assume that it will be the topic of discussion at dinner. As soon as I know that I have your family’s support, we’ll send word to Courtnay. We must move quickly, if we want any chance of getting to my bannermen before Stannis. As you said, we must give them the choice. As soon as we have word from them, we’ll have to begin moving, and in the meantime there will be much strategizing to do.” he said words coming out fast, thoughts barely able to keep up. Loras’ hand on his knee, though, slowed him down for a moment, and his words made his heart swell.

“Your words mean more to me than anything the realm could give me,” he said softly, hand covering Loras’ for a brief moment. “For you, I will be the best that I can; we won’t sit by while the commonfolk suffer at the hands of the Lannisters. And I will be proud to have you by my side…perhaps as the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard? But I suppose that’s a conversation for another time.”

Loras’ face took on a look of genuine surprise at Renly’s words--an expression he rarely wore. The young knight had wanted only to be the best at what he did for as long as he could remember--when he had come to Renly as a squire, he had used to speak about becoming a knight and joining the kingsguard at fourteen, if only to outdo Jaime Lannister and attain the glory that came with changing history. When he was knighted instead at fifteen, he stopped speaking about his one-time goal altogether--he no longer saw the use in it when he could not be the greatest. But with this, he would be the youngest Lord Commander of them all. He could hear a song that would be sung for centuries to come of the knight of flowers who took the white--just as he could hear the weeping of girls from Sunspear to Winterfell who would never marry him after he swore his vows. It was a sweet sound, made only sweeter with the notion that it would be Renly who he would serve, protect, and rightfully stay close to for all his days. The idea of it was so overwhelming, truthfully, that when Renly suggested it was a conversation for another time Loras could only nod in agreement. 

The meal was long and as many-coursed as the great feasts Robert had thrown before his death at his innumerable tourneys, but Loras had not expected much less upon his homecoming. He knew well that he was his father’s favored son, and they were indeed celebrating that they’d not yet all lost their titles and heads. Though not a word was yet spoken, it seemed that they were celebrating the wars to come as well--Mace toasted to the fortune and good health of the youngest Baratheon brother, and all those who’d dined in the great hall similarly cried out to Renly’s good health and against the Lannister-ruled capital. 

They’d gone on long into the evening when the hall had finally cleared enough for Mace to bid a goodnight--but not before requesting the presence of his sons and Renly in his private chambers. The four men then made their way together to Mace’s chambers, though Loras took note of his elder brothers as he walked. Though Garlan’s expression seemed to betray little more than exhaustion, Willas was stony-faced--almost angry--as they walked. Loras wanted to inquire as to why, but he felt wrong doing it out int he open, and so he said nothing.

When they reached Mace’s rooms, Loras was surprised to find his Grandmother sat in the chair opposite his father. The old woman had gone off to bed hours earlier, and had taken Margaery with her when she’d left--but here she sat, still dressed and without a sign of having slept. She huffed impatiently at the brood, and waved her cane in their direction. “I won’t be kept up any later than I already have been,” she said peevishly. “Come, sit.” 

Mace’s cheeks were flushed, though Loras could not tell if it was from the wine, or from embarrassment at having his mother so quickly take the lead in their talks. Nonetheless, he said nothing, and so the men all took seats around the table. Quickly, the patriarch spoke: “there was news out of King’s Landing,” he explained swiftly. “The Northern army has amassed behind Robb Stark. Already they’ve marched south to the Riverlands, where--”

“The Young Wolf, as they call them, freed Riverrun from a Lannister siege,” Olenna finished succinctly. Scowling at her son, she commented, “no need to add drama to the story, Mace. It’s already happened. The Lannister forces are at war with the combined forces of the North and Riverlands. If rumors are to be believed, Robb Stark has taken Jaime Lannister captive, and--” 

“--Then if the Lannister host marches in the Riverlands, the capital is defended only by the army the Crownlands can muster,” Loras exclaimed. “They are weak, and would be unable to defend themselves against a siege. We need to strike quickly! If we call our bannermen--”

 “You interrupted me,” Olenna cut in sharply. “Shut your mouth now and listen. If we are to believe this letter, there are now two boy-Kings in Westeros. With his father’s head taken, Robb Stark has been crowned in the Riverlands.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

Renly nodded his assent. That much was certain; the North would not easily accept any of the wrongs Joffrey has already committed, yet alone leave the poor girl to marry him. It was just another piece of the puzzle to figure out. Now washed and at least somewhat refreshed from the journey, it felt as if things were becoming clearer by the moment. It was hard to believe that any of the great houses, besides those already loyal to the Lannisters, would stand for what was done, and the implication that more of the same was to come to those who refused to bend a knee. Joffrey could not rule, the North would certainly attempt some sort of retribution and rescue, and the whole of the realm was teetering on chaos. If they were going to move forward with the idea that he and Loras had been skirting around, and he knew that they had no choice, then perhaps looking to the North would be beneficial for everyone.

“No, neither of us will be bending a knee. And for the record, I would not allow anyone to even attempt to touch a hair on your head. That privilege is reserved for me,” he said, with a slight grin, even despite the grim subjects that they were discussing. He reached out and ran a hand through Loras’ hair fondly, letting his hand trail down to rest on Loras’ neck briefly, something of a reassurance, although it seemed that he might’ve needed it more than the knight.  

“I would be shocked if Stannis has not already done so; and it is safe to assume what his intentions will be…” Renly muttered, pulling his hand away and looking out over the waterfall. He was silent for a moment. There was no point in beating around the bush any longer, no reason to act like they weren’t all thinking of the same solution to the problems that were brewing. He knew that Mace was certainly already thinking along similar lines, especially since there didn’t seem to be any other viable options. It was a little bit terrifying, but a little bit exciting, when he thought of it. When he spoke again, his voice was confident. “But I wholeheartedly believe that the storm lords would support the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands over the Lord of Dragonstone… if given the choice, of course.”

Perhaps there was something verging on haughty in his tone, but he thought that, given the challenges that they would face even suggesting that course of action, he would have to show all of the confidence that he could in the idea. It wasn’t a stretch, really. Since he had been given Storm’s End as a boy, he had always felt that he would be the best ruler of all of the Baratheons, whether it was as lord or something greater. He had played at king then, ruling his halls with a grin and a laugh, but it seemed now that his true skills would be needed.

“If the realm needs me, then who I am to refuse the call?” he said with a decisive nod. 

Loras had been doing the math in his head since they had fled the Crownlands. There were few certainties to be had: the North would not bend, and the Riverlands would in all likelihood stand alongside the Northerners at the behest of Catelyn Stark. He could not imagine a Dorne motivated to fight against the capital whilst under the leadership of Prince Doran--but their well-known hatred of the Lannisters would hopefully keep them from supporting the Lannister-bred prince. The Iron Islands, too, seemed an afterthought in such a skirmish--their battles could easily be land-locked, therefore eliminating the threat the islanders might’ve posed. It left two clear uncertainties: the Vale of Arryn, and Stannis Baratheon.

The recent history of the Vale suggested a leaning away from King’s Landing, but the Tully woman who now reigned at the Eyrie was infamously unpredictable. The knights of the Vale were said to be amongst the most fearsome in the realm, and their interjection into a battle would make a difference--and so it agitated Loras to be able to come to no clear conclusion about where Lysa might move her pieces. It was equally frustrating to be wary of Stannis’ next move. Stannis had no love for his niece and nephews--and Loras doubted he had love for anything at all--but he was an adamant follower of rules and law. His gut told him that Stannis would make a grab for the crown, but he could not be certain. There existed a possibility that the elder Baratheon would grit his teeth and bend the knee, as he had done for Robert. 

Even so, the fact remained: Stannis would either try for the crown, or he would try and retain Storm’s End after Renly was publicly labeled traitor. Loras would not allow either. The power of Highgarden would be able to bend the realm to their pleasure. 

Renly’s belief in Stannis’ intentions only served to solidify Loras’ feeling. A warm smile had appeared on his lips as the other man’s hand had gone to his hair. Though he did not expect Highgarden to be sanitized of spies, it was home nonetheless--and it felt infinitely safer. The one regret he might’ve had in riding south was that he would surely be leaving it again soon. 

“Then they must be given that choice,” he replied with a nod. “Willas’ birds fly faster and farther than the piss-poor crows they kept at the capital. If you were to send the letter to Penrose, and have him sound the call...” it would take a few weeks, he thought, to bring the lords of the Stormlands and their men to the Reach. “...The Reach and the Stormlands could be mounted and united together in a month’s time. Highgarden alone can call some 100,000 men from our bannermen. More than any of the remaining lands could muster--and more than they could muster even if some joined together.”

The decisiveness to Renly’s words brought about a wide grin to the Tyrell son’s face. He had thirsted for war ever since he had been old enough to dream of the knighthood--which seemed to be for as long as he could dream. To fight for Renly was another thing entirely. Loras’ hand dropped to Renly’s knee a moment, and squeezed. “You will make for a great king. When we raise your banners, and the wind carries word of your issue throughout the realm--the people will cry out for you. I will fight to see that you sit the throne.” 

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

It was strange how easily he had taken to King’s Landing. Or perhaps it was not strange at all, considering it was the sort of thing he had practically been working towards for his entire life. The work on the small council was boring most days, as he still had no interest in the law that he was now in charge of, but entertainment was easy enough to find when you were a lord in the capital. It came in the form of the bickering between the various members of the council, the intricate web of relationships to be formed and maintained with both nobles and smallfolk, watching Loras best even Jaime Lannister in tourneys. Mostly, though, every moment that he was able to spend in private with Loras. Life was busy, but happy.

Things could not be so simple in the snake pit that was King’s Landing, though, and try as he might to keep himself separate from any drama, instead garnering the love and support of both big and small alike, it was impossible to do so. The fact became even clearer upon the sudden and drastic change that came all because of an ill-fated hunting trip. Ill-fated, and perhaps planned, Renly had to consider, as he took store of the way things were falling. In the time he had been in King’s Landing, it had become more and more clear by the day that the Robert he had once looked up to was no longer there; still, he loved his brother, there was no joy in seeing his death knowing what it would cause. More than that, though, as soon as he had seen the wounds, smelled death in the air, he had known that there was only one course of action.

A course of action he had believed, perhaps foolishly, that Ned Stark would share. It was apparent, though, that that was not the case, and any chance of heading off the disaster that he knew would come from a Lannister controlled throne was fading quickly, as well as his own safety. So he had gone to Loras without so much as changing, gathered all they could and left the same night, knowing full well that he was leaving Ned to his fate, one way or another.

The ride was slow and Renly found himself unable to think of much else but what needed to be done for the kingdom. It seemed obvious, knowing the little that they knew; somehow, any way they could, separate the Lannisters from the throne. Even the choice to ride to the Reach and not Storm’s End seemed to whisper that they were both considering the same way to make that happen. It had never seemed like an option before, unthinkable, really, considering his birth. Third born, destined to be a well-loved lord of a keep, and not much more than that. But King’s Landing had given him a taste of opportunity, and things were vastly changed from what they ever had been before.

And it was nearly impossible not to agree with Loras’ sentiment, as much for the good of the realm as for his own selfish reasoning.

But first to Highgarden.

Renly loved Highgarden in a way that it was impossible to love Storm’s End. The expansive gardens full of thousands of roses, beautiful waterfalls, mild weather with no storms in sight. He wished that they had been riding into the Reach under better circumstances, but Loras’ own obvious happiness at returning home, seeing his family was enough to make Renly’s heart swell with a joy he had not felt since before the fatal hunting trip. It was unfortunate that this was not a casual visit, that as soon as they had been greeted, Loras’ happy reunions had, and Garlan had laid eyes on him, that joy had been sapped away. Still, he wore his lordly smile as he greeted them. Perhaps it was not returned quite as brightly, given the circumstances of their arrival, but he knew exactly the sort of thing that need be discussed, and there was no need to hide the direness of the situation. Their conversations on the road to Highgarden had hinted at a plan, one that neither he nor Loras had fully spoken outright yet, but one that seemed the only course of action the more he thought on it.

Renly had taken his time in bathing, enjoying the luxury that he had sorely missed on the road from King’s Landing. Perhaps also as a way to give himself more time to think before having to go before all they Tyrells. He was eager to hear the news, though, and so he had not dallied after he finished bathing, changing into the brilliantly green silks of the Reach that had been left for him kindly, and asking to be pointed in the direction of Loras.

It hadn’t taken long to find him in the gardens, thanks to the attentive servants, but it was almost intimidating to walk into the scene, really, Loras and Margaery sitting at the edge of one of the several waterfalls around the immense gardens, huddled together, looking even more strikingly similar than Renly had remembered. For a moment, he was tempted not to interrupt, to stand by and watch, enjoying the sight of Loras so thoroughly engrossed in conversation, but Margaery noticed his presence before he could make the decision, standing to greet him with as charming a smile as he would have expected from her. He returned the smile with his own grin, slipping easily into the courtesies, knowing full well that this feast would likely lead into much more serious discussions. “Arbor strongwine, it seems as though we are in for quite a night indeed. We will be along shortly. I would hate to keep a feast waiting. My lady,” he nodded as she excused herself and headed back down the path, disappearing behind the hundreds of roses quickly. Margaery’s words only confirmed the suspicions that the Tyrells were thinking along the same lines as he was already.

Renly accepted the letter from Loras and moved to sit next to him. He wasn’t surprised to hear the news; given everything that had led to their sudden departure, the foolhardiness of Ned Stark’s own plan, he could have guessed at what had been coming. Still, it was impossible to ignore the way his pulse sped at the knowledge that they had, for all intents and purposes, already been labelled as traitors, since there was no possible situation in which they would do what Joffrey asked.

“Lord Stark was an honorable man, but he was too honorable to survive the Lannisters,” Renly said, half a sigh to his voice. It was the truth, from what he had known. It was only unfortunate that he had not agreed to Renly’s plan, then perhaps he could have kept his head, and they would not have been in the position to follow him. Still, the knowledge that they were already on Joffrey’s list lit a strange fire in him, as if that news was enough to make him more resolved in the path to take. “We are not going to make the same mistakes, so I suppose traitors we are. And I suppose all of our worst thoughts have been confirmed.”

He was silent for a moment, looking down over the edge of the waterfall, at the gently flowing water, illuminated nearly pink in the waning light of the late afternoon. There only seemed to be one viable option.

“Stannis cannot solve this,” Renly muttered, half to himself, really, as if saying it any louder would be a commitment to the implication behind the words.

Loras was thankful for the privacy his sister so willingly offered, but he nonetheless turned to watch her go as she disappeared behind the thicket of high rose bushes. He thought that Margaery might have been disheartened by the loss of Robert--and perhaps she was, though masking it artfully--but Loras was glad to have one plan done with. He had hated the plot concocted between Mace, Renly, and himself concerning his younger sister. While it had always been apparent that removing Cersei and the Lannister stain from King’s Landing would be best for the realm--and that Margaery would make a far better Queen--he had hated the idea of tossing her to Robert’s pawing hands. That stag, eager to rut as he might have been, had never deserved a rose--whether it was of Highgarden, or the blue rose from Winterfell. He would have been disgusted to see his sweet sister cloaked in Baratheon black-and-gold. 

“He was doomed the moment he left his northern perch,” Loras agreed somberly, his gaze lingering on the dirt beneath his feet for a moment. “Only a fool would’ve followed Jon Arryn’s trail so whole-heartedly. But, still,” he continued with a shake of his head, “a beheading? When they have both Stark girls already at the capital to serve as hostages? If this is the punishment we should come to expect, they will need more spikes soon surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast.” Loras was not certain whose idea it must have been. Joffrey was volatile and stupid, his mother equally inflammatory but certainly more calculating. It was too foolhardy of a decision to take Stark’s head--but he had been so certain Cersei would rule through her child.  “When news of this reaches the North, they will do something. What is it that they always say of betrayals--the north remembers? They’ve taken their honorable Lord Stark and his two daughters. No doubt the Riverlands will rise with them, should they decide to do something.” Gesturing to the letter he had handed off to Renly, he commented: “there is no mention here that Sansa’s engagement has been broken. They’ll make her Joffrey’s queen still once she’s bled if her family does not first intervene...poor, pitiful thing.” He remembered the pretty waif from court and from the Hand’s tourney--he could recall finding her adoration endearing, and had given her a red victory rose.  He hummed at Renly’s words--traitors they were. It seemed too abstract a concept. As he listened to Renly’s talk of Stannis, his expression hardened. “My lord father is holding a feast tonight to honor the men who aided in bringing us here, but he will not delay in speaking of what comes next for long. He is searching for a solution. He will not entertain the thought of my traveling to King’s Landing to bend the knee.” He sniffed haughtily, and added: “--nor would I ever consider it. Let them come and drag me out by the hair, if they must. I will not suffer Joffrey as my King.” He paused, and then spoke firmly, “...and the realm should not suffer Stannis, either. My father has spies who move information quickly from the capital, but I do not doubt Stannis has similar resources. He will be plotting his move--writing letters to bannermen in your lands--you know what he will intend to do.”

homecoming.

[thirdrose]

Henry Turner  in “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales”

From this moment on, we are to be allies.

[thirdrose]

homecoming.

Their time at King’s Landing had seemed an eon and a moment all at once. There were instances where Loras had felt time whizzing past him: the grand tourneys where his name had become commonplace, the grander feasts where his victories had occasionally earned him a place of honor near the King’s table and near Renly (most notably after he had unseated Jaime Lannister, much to the delight of Robert and chagrin of Cersei). Even the plotting--disagreeable to him as it may have been--caused time to speed forward. Hours spent pondering how best to unseat Cersei for favor of Margaery had sped by like minutes, and each stolen moment he’d found with Renly had seemed to be only a few precious seconds.  In contrast, all the time Loras had to himself seemed to drag on. When he was not in the training yard or wandering aimlessly through the lackluster gardens (prettier than Storm’s End, perhaps, but filled with too many spies for his liking), he felt himself growing fidgety and irate with boredom. It grew worse when Renly was not even so much as in the keep--such as when he was made to meet Robert on the escort down from Winterfell, or on the plentiful hunts the King seemed so fond of. Loras could only spend so much time indulging the ladies of the court before the game grew tiresome. Time had been lost to him entirely during Robert’s final hunt. Half-mad with rage and embarrassment after being almost slain during the Hand’s tourney, Loras thought of nothing but Gregor bloody Clegane. It was not more than a half-day after Renly had left for the hunt that Loras had appeared at court and asked Ned Stark to be sent after the Mountain. (It was a purposeful move: he would not endure Renly’s opinion on the matter by bypassing both the Master of Laws himself and his brother the King; and when he returned victorious with Clegane’s head, how could Renly have been anything but impressed?) Unfortunately, the honorable Lord of Winterfell had denied him that right on the principle of not allowing vengeance to supersede justice, and Loras had sulked from that moment until the hunting party had arrived back at King’s Landing.

It had been the middle of the night when he saw Renly again--still dressed in blood-splattered hunting greens, much to the dismay of the Tyrell son--and learned the fate of the Baratheon King. A small handful of facts were known: Ned Stark would be Lord Protector, Joffrey would be King, and the Lannisters would control everything. With Cersei at the helm, yet another truth was unavoidable: Ned Stark would be dealt with one way or another, and all other threats to the Lannisters would follow suit. Having learnt of Stark’s refusal to seize the children and thus seize the power, little options were left--and before the sun rose, the two rode south with fifty retainers.  Well-near a month elapsed in the time it took to reach Highgarden. At first they moved slowly so as to leave the Crownlands without issue, but upon entering the Reach Loras’ Tyrell blood ensured safety. Nonetheless, their horses could only carry them so far each day--and they required food and rest, and what little news they could find of the capital. While Storm’s End had surely been closer, the distance between King’s Landing and Highgarden added a sense of safety: time to prepare, though they did not yet know what they prepared for. 

They considered their options, but all paths seemed to lead to the same unavoidable truth: even if Joffrey ruled, the Lannisters had to be separated entirely from the throne. With rumors of Ned Stark’s imprisonment, it seemed any chance of Cersei’s removal without interference had faded. As the nights dragged on during the ride to Highgarden, Loras returned to the same point: “a true Baratheon ought to be King. I only know of one.” 

Weary from the long journey, energy seemed to refill the youngest Tyrell boy when he could see the white pillars and golden roses of Highgarden at a distance--the glittering dot atop a far-off hill had filled him with a previously smothered mirth that had him spurring on the party to reach Highgarden by nightfall. Though they did not reach the southron keep until the late afternoon of the following day, Loras’ happiness over his return home had not dampened--and as they entered the walls of Highgarden, he wore a bright and genuine smile. 

That happiness swelled further when their retinue was greeted by a small party at the middle-walls of the three-tiered keep: led at the forefront by Garlan and Margaery Tyrell. Loras dismounted from his horse in an instant, and with an exhausted bark of thankful laughter he greeted his siblings. It was Margaery that he held first: the lady came down from her horse quickly--but with no small amount of grace--and was spun round by Loras as he embraced her. Her tinkling, musical laugh was filled with similar fondness, and the near-identical siblings were pulled apart only when Garlan clasped a hand onto Loras’ shoulder. The second Tyrell son was also eerily similar in appearance to his two younger siblings, though he was broader than the two, and sported a mustache and stood a head taller than Loras. He pulled his younger brother into a tight hug, made a jeer at the sparse facial hair Loras had grown over the month’s journey, and then hugged him again. It was also Garlan who ended the reunion abruptly, bidding the party to journey the rest of the way into the castle’s walls and find readied chambers with prepared baths. His smile faded some when he looked to Renly and the other men, adding grimly: “there is much to discuss.” 

Sheared smooth and scrubbed clean, Loras had found himself outfitted in light silks conducive to the waning days of summer in the Reach. He’d quickly found his sister once more--his curly locks still dripped from the bath he’d taken, a sign of what little time he’d wasted--and had her indulge him in a month of lost news. He sat at the base of a large manmade waterfall, and in the distance instruments and singers could be heard in the surrounding gardens. With Margaery stuck to his side, he paid his surroundings little mind as he read over the letter his sister had produced. With the letter’s contents sticking in his mind, the two Tyrells had hunched closely, whispering conspiratorially to one another when Margaery had stood suddenly--a polite and polished smile on her lips. 

“Lord Renly,” she chirped, though her large doe-eyes wandered from the Baratheon lord to Loras. She appeared to think for a split moment, and then added: “I ought to find father and tell him you’ve finished bathing. He’ll want to gather us shortly.” Her gaze moved back to Renly. “A feast has been prepared, and father has had Arbor strongwine brought up for the occasion.” She proffered another sweet smile, tossed a meaningful glance Loras’ way, and excused herself down a rose-filled path.  Loras watched her go a moment, and then held up the letter she had given him. “Ned Stark is dead,” he said. “Joffrey had his head.” Loras could not have confessed any liking for the Lord of Winterfell, but he had admired him and his well-known honor all the same. “King Joffrey,” he continued, his lips curling with distaste, “has prepared a list of nobles who are to appear at King’s Landing and swear fealty to him. We have both been put there--and should we not answer the call, we are to be labeled traitors and charged with treason. He’d put our heads on spikes beside Ned Stark.” 

[thirdrose]

thesummerstag:

“They very thought of you is temptation enough. All the eyes in King’s Landing will not stop me from having you in my grand chambers as often as not,” Renly said, voice a low purr, though still full of amusement at Loras’ insistence. He was only disappointed for a moment as Loras pulled away from him, as he quickly realized where the other was heading. 

Perhaps if it had been another time, not one of their last nights in Storm’s End, with all the privacy they wished, perhaps he would have spent the first half of the night worrying over the dozen bruises that covered Loras’ chest, back, and arms. Perhaps, he would have taken the time to tend to any soreness that he knew Loras must have been feeling and hiding. After all, Renly did enjoy tending to him in that way, forcing him to rest his body and recover. But tonight was not that night. And instead of fretting over the bruises, he admired Loras’ form, his cut muscles, his lean body, as he sauntered over to the bed and took a seat.

The grin on Renly’s face turned into something of a satisfied smirk as Loras stripped himself of his boots and trousers, and then laid back on the bed, inviting him to take in every inch, which he gladly did. He let out a breath of laughter at the reminder. “Of course, there will be book-learning. There’s much to learn before our journey begins, and I do think there are a few images you’ll find just as intriguing as I. So much so I think you will find yourself infinitely grateful for my books,” Renly said, going to the dresser in the corner and pulling said book from the bottom drawer. He left it on top of the dresser, though, in favor of approaching the bed, stopping just shy to pull his own boots off. “First, though, that token of my esteem, I mentioned…” he smirked. There was only a second’s pause before he climbed atop of Loras, kissing him deeply on his lips before starting a trail of kisses leading down his chest to the top of his braies.

Preening himself on the compliment, Loras rested his hands behind his head and smirked at the ceiling above him. “I suspect I will have to come very frequently, if only for the reprieve...after all, I’ll no doubt be thrown into some hidden hovel in the corner of the keep with the other tourney knights, far from befitting a man of my breeding and skill.” He’d have one room to himself, perhaps--or maybe he’d have to share with another. The thought made Loras’ brow furrow. If they tried to put his squire into his room with him, the knight of flowers would be as red as the roses he tossed to ladies at the crowd. “Then again, perhaps once I’ve disgraced the Kingslayer at the lists, your brother will be so amused that he’ll give me something as grand as yours.”  

Loras hoped for such a development, in any case. He meant what he said when he claimed that he would have followed Renly everywhere, but he was not short on lusts for glory, fame, and the admiration of the highborn and lowborn alike. “Or, even better still...if I cannot have something suitable, I do not doubt my lord father would see fit to outfit me with befitting lodgings in the capital. And then it would be you who would come and see me.” His last words were nothing more than that--words. He knew his place would be at court. Falling into the King’s favor would put him into a position to play the games his father looked to orchestrate--or rather, the games his grandmother would put into Mace’s head. He knew most would involve Margaery--and the thought of his sweet sister brought into the fold of plotting was enough to cement his desire to be fully enthralled with plans. He was best suited to protect her. 

His brows quirked as Renly spoke of the books that belonged to his collection, and his eyes dragged away from the ceiling above to watch intently as the Baratheon lord moved to his dresser. “Willas is grateful for books and scholars,” he retorted. Shrugging a shoulder, he feigned consideration and added: “...though perhaps nothing so lecherous.” Loras’ words were halted with Renly’s kiss, and as the other man moved down his torso Loras propped himself up on his elbows. He watched with a half-lidded gaze, and finished, “--I, on the other hand, have always preferred learning by example.”

summer’s end.