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“Your king lives,” Renly declared, “and we will find victory today!”
Cheers rose up amongst the crowd, but to Renly’s ears, they sounded muffled and distant. There was blood rushing through his ears, and an ache throbbing behind his eyes, but he stood proudly regardless of his discomfort, even stripped down to a thin shirt and a pair of trousers. Crown of antlers atop his head, knees wobbly and hands trembling from exhaustion, only his determination to address his men was keeping him standing.
Loras slipped a hand underneath his arm, and Renly waved to the crowd as his lover gently guided him through the flap of his tent. As soon as they were in private, Renly allowed himself to lean fully on the knight, eyes slipping shut. “I have never felt quite so exhausted,” he confessed as Loras helped him lay down on his pallet, removing his heavy crown.
“You nearly died last night,” Loras reminded him, unamused. He removed Renly’s boots, setting them aside, then kneeled at his bedside, leaning forwards to press their brows together. “The Maester isn’t quite sure how you’re even alive, much less how you’re awake.”
“Baratheon stubbornness,” Renly breathed, “or my own luck, I suppose.”
“Perhaps the Gods favor you,” Loras said wryly.
Renly chuckled. “I doubt the Seven hold me in high regard.”
Pulling away and standing, Loras poured him a glass of water from a jug, bringing it to him. He accepted the offering gratefully, throat sore and dry, and drank it quickly. When he was finished, Loras took it, setting it down at the table next to them, and reached forwards to clasp his hands tightly across his chest, rubbing his thumbs across his palms.
“After snubbing my attentions for four days,” Renly quipped, “you seem awfully keen to be close to me.”
“I thought that you were dead,” Loras scoffed, releasing his hands abruptly. The absence of his touch felt like a wound had been torn open again, and Renly regretted provoking him. Loras, for all his passion and honor, was always quick to be offended. “You were stabbed, and you collapsed, and, Seven help me, I thought that you were dead.”
Renly rolled his eyes, huffing. “But I’m not.”
“Whatever that shadow was, it almost killed you!” Loras exclaimed, turning around. Cheeks reddened with anger, brow furrowed, he paced across the tent, holding his head in his hands. “Why must I be the only one constantly worrying over your wellbeing? If you could have your way, you would be riding out to battle today, wounds be damned.”
“Brienne and Margaery care for me.”
“You’re an ass,” Loras spat.
“But I’m a wounded ass,” Renly said, gesturing towards the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, just visible under his shirt. The Maester had stitched his stab wound closed, but it still was bleeding sluggishly through his bandages. “And besides, I refuse to shoulder the responsibility for assuaging your enduring insecurities regarding our relationship.”
“I’m not insecure,” Loras said indignantly, “and if I am, it’s because of your tendency to indulge everyone who gives you even a second of the attention you were sorely lacking as a child.”
That one hurt, but Renly would be loathe to admit it. “They’re a means to an end, Loras.”
“Oh,” he scoffed, “so you admit that my sister is a ‘means to an end’ to you, then?”
“You were the one who suggested that I marry her,” Renly pointed out.
“Again,” Loras hissed, “it’s because I care about you. And I care about this war, and your claim to the throne—“
“That you told me that I should compete for,” Renly reminded him.
“And maybe I’m regretting that,” Loras said wetly, and—
He was crying. Honey brown eyes were sparkling in the dim light of the candles around them, gathering in his lashes and spilling over his pink cheeks. He released a hiccupy sob, combing a hand roughly through his brown curls, and Renly felt his stomach twist in what might’ve been guilt. He and Loras were prone to bickering, but he’d never made him cry before.
“Do you even love me?” Loras asked through his sobs.
Renly pushed himself up from his bed, despite the sharp pain in his chest, and swallowed tightly, reaching out for him. In a heartbeat, Loras was coming to sit on the edge of his bed, allowing him to gather him into his arms. “Loras,” he murmured into his ear, “I’m a fool, but even I know that I’m lucky to have your love.”
“But that’s just it,” Loras choked out weakly, pushing his forehead farther into Renly’s shoulder. He was upset, but he still sought comfort in Renly’s arms, even though he was the source of his misery. “Do you love me, or do you love me for what I can give you? Because it seems you’ll take love from whoever is willing to give it to you.”
“But I wouldn’t die for Brienne,” Renly said, pulling away from him. Brushing the tears from Loras’ cheek, he framed his face with his hands, a lump forming in his throat. He wished that his honeyed words would come easier when talking to Loras, but Gods, he’d always been different from everyone else, from the moment they’d met. “I would die for Margaery, but only because she’s your sister. I can be a selfish, arrogant prick, sometimes—”
“Most of the time,” Loras corrected.
Renly huffed, although a smile curled at his lips, “—most of the time,” he agreed, chest tightening when Loras smiled thinly at him, “but Loras, I do love you.”
“Your silvered tongue never worked on me.”
“Loras,” Renly said, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back when he tried to pull away, “I went to war for you, and I would sacrifice the crown for you just as quickly. Whatever you want from me, I’m willing to give.”
Loras allowed him to take his hand, and place it over his heart. Beneath his fingertips, it fluttered nervously, and Loras’ teary, solemn expression turning thoughtful. He splayed his fingers, palm just barely brushing over the wound from the dagger that nearly took his life, and his golden eyes softened.
“If you’d died,” Loras said weakly, “nothing could’ve replaced you. I would’ve blamed myself, for encouraging you to go to war.”
Renly swallowed tightly around the lump in his throat. “I wouldn’t leave you behind like that.”
“Prince Daeron and Ser Jeremy,” Loras said, laughing wetly.
Renly smiled. “Exactly.”
He could hear muffled orders being shouted outside the tent, and Loras’ head tilted up so he could listen. When he turned back at Renly, he clasped his hands, and wiped the tears from his eyes. They were still rimmed with red, but although he looked like he’d been crying, his helmet would cover the evidence. “We’re leaving soon,” Loras said stiffly, “and you should try to get some rest. For your recovery.”
“Remember,” Renly breathed as Loras pressed a kiss against his lips, “we die in one another’s arms, or not at all.”
“Of course, my king,” Loras said, standing to leave.