Chapter Text
Fifteen Years Later...
It was bloody freezing in his living room and although Brienne protested about the cost of putting the heating on, Renly heaved himself from the sofa to turn up the thermostat anyway. It wasn’t like he would miss much. So far the match was an incredibly uneventful one. Loras was two sets up against his opponent already and even Jaime seemed bored when the camera cut to him in the stands. Instead of actually watching the much anticipated final of the Australian Open, he seemed to be scrolling through his phone half the time.
It was cold in the hall where the thermostat was and Renly wished he’d bothered to install the app on his phone that allowed him to control it remotely. Now that he was up though, he figured he may as well go the full mile and so he shoved the kettle on as well, pouring two mugs of steaming coffee when it boiled. There was hot water left over and so he filled a hot water bottle as well, making sure to screw the cap back on tightly when he was done so that Brienne wouldn’t burn herself.
Renly grimaced at the television screen when he came back in. In Australia, it was hot and sunny, with not a cloud in the sky. Loras and Jaime certainly wouldn’t need coffee and a hot water bottle when they returned to their hotel rooms at the end of the match. They'd probably have to put the air conditioning on and sip glasses full of ice just to stay cool.
“Why didn’t we go with them again?” Renly asked as he climbed under the duvet they’d dragged from his and Loras’ bed to keep warm. He passed Brienne a mug a little miserably.
Brienne looked up at him solemnly. “Because I had to be around for the children and you had to work?” she said.
“Oh yes. That.” Renly put the hot water bottle down by their feet under the blankets. “It’s our fault then. You should never have had kids and I should have taken Loras up on his offer and become a house husband.”
“A house husband?” Brienne looked in horror around his living room. It was as it usually was when Loras was away at a tournament. There was stuff everywhere and clutter on every available surface. Empty pizza boxes were stacked up on the table, most of Renly’s work jackets were slung over various chairs and there was glitter all over the carpet from an ill-advised impulse buy of luxury wrapping paper in Marks and Spencers last week.
“I’ll clean up before he gets back,” Renly insisted.
“I lived with you at university,” Brienne said bluntly. “So we both know that’s not true.”
She was right. It wasn’t true. But Renly knew Loras wouldn’t care. He was always so pleased to see him when he got back from his various trips abroad that he’d turn a blind eye to the state of the house for at least a couple of days. He’d accepted the good and the bad when he’d married him, much as he had done when they’d officially started dating all those years ago. He certainly hadn't married him for his cooking skills or his cleaning skills after all. Which was a good thing really because they both knew that they were virtually non-existent. Even as a fifteen-year-old, Loras had been able to see that Renly was domestically challenged to say the least.
“You know,” Brienne sighed as she spotted the glitter on the carpet. “I don’t know how you actually manage to hold down a full time job when you can’t even keep your house tidy. Are you this disorganised at work?”
Renly shrugged. “Probably," he admitted. "Speaking of work though, I better actually pretend I’m doing some.” He picked up his laptop from where it was balanced precariously on the end of the sofa. “Technically I’m working from home today.”
Brienne shook her head fondly, as if she thought Renly was pushing his luck by so obviously requesting to work from home whenever there was a final on but she let him get on with it, turning her attention back to the tv screen silently to watch by herself.
It took Renly only a quarter of an hour to read through his emails and respond to the very urgent ones and he was pleased when he was able to put his laptop back down and continue his viewing. He’d expected not to have missed much but he had to do a double take when he glanced at the score.
“What happened?” Renly asked in disbelief. When he’d last looked, Loras had been winning in straight sets. Now, he wasn’t even winning his serve. It was thirty love to his opponent and Renly watched as it quickly became forty love.
Brienne said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on the screen. Renly knew that she was no doubt picking up the details that he wasn’t. She’d never played more than semi-professionally herself, but that was certainly not because she lacked the talent. Rather, it was because she’d lacked the inclination to play in the spotlight or to face the media attention that success brought. Even now though, as a mum of almost forty, her expert eyes were flicking between Loras and his opponent as if she were a sports journalist at the top of her game.
Eventually, Brienne tore her eyes off the screen to look at Renly. "He's injured," she said simply.
Renly frowned. Loras wasn't limping nor did he appear to be in pain. "How can you tell?” he asked.
Brienne sighed. “It’s obvious,” she said. “He’s done something to his knee.”
Indeed, moments after Brienne had spoken, the commentator came to the same conclusion and Renly watched as they replayed the last point in slow motion. With everything slowed down, Renly could see what Brienne had seen at full speed. Loras was putting all his weight on one leg wherever possible and he was conserving his energy in a way that he almost never did. Loras was known for his agility and speed, and usually he played wide, dashing across the court with ease even though he had the technique to stand his ground and force his opponent to chase the ball. Now though, he was playing almost at the baseline.
“Shouldn't he stop playing if he's injured?” Renly asked. He brought his legs up onto the sofa and hugged his knees. He was glad that he wasn’t there now, despite the freezing weather outside. It was hard enough to watch on the screen and he knew that he’d have had to watch through his fingers if he’d actually been in the stands.
Brienne sighed. “You know what he's like.” She pushed her blond hair off her face. “And he's so close to winning. He only needs another three games to take the title.”
The camera cut to Jaime again. He was certainly not looking at his phone now. He was on his feet and his eyes were fixed on Loras. He knew Loras’ play better than anyone and he clearly didn’t like what he saw. His expression was hard and his lips were pursed. Whether he thought Loras could push through and win another three games though was anybody’s guess.
It was clear even to the uneducated though that Loras was injured by the end of the next game. He was limping obviously in between points and mid-way through the final game of the set, the knee gave out entirely, sending Loras crashing to the ground. He went down with some force, for the Australian Open was played on a hard surface rather than on clay or on grass like at Wimbledon.
Renly winced. He didn’t like seeing Loras in pain and he was quite clearly in pain now. He hadn’t got back up for once and instead he’d remained on his front, head rested on his arms. He stayed there for a few moments before he called the physicians over. They came running with their trusty box of supplies and Renly watched as they bent his knee first this way and that, prodding and poking.
“He’ll be allowed three minutes probably,” Brienne said. “And after that he’ll have to decide whether he wants to play on or not.”
Loras clearly did want to play on. He took his three minutes and then he hauled himself to his feet with obvious effort. Even Renly could see that it was a bad decision though. He was visibly in agony and he could barely even limp to the baseline to start his serve.
"Get off the fucking court, Loras." Jaime's voice was loud as it came across the stands. The BBC was not quick enough to bleep out Jaime’s language though and Brienne winced on his behalf as he swore.
“Will he get fined?” Renly asked.
“Probably,” Brienne said. She looked weary. “And he’ll get a violation too.”
Indeed, the umpire’s megaphone rang out almost instantaneously. “Warning,” he said sternly. “Coaching violation. Loras Tyrell. First warning.”
Loras scowled and he shot Jaime a look of pure venom before turning his back on him.
“He’ll lose points if he does it again,” Brienne said quietly. “And a whole game if he does it a third time.”
Renly sighed. He’d never really understood the coaching rules. Female players were allowed on court coaching, except in grand slams, but men never seemed to be. It was why Jaime and Loras spent the whole morning arguing before a game, because they both knew that they wouldn’t be able to communicate when they were on the court. There had been a brief period a few years ago though where they'd trialled coaching even for men in some of the competitions but that hadn't worked well for them at all. They'd been at each other's throats all throughout each match and Loras had broken more rackets on the ground that year than he had in his entire career combined.
Needless to say, Loras did not take Jaime’s advice despite it costing a violation. He pushed himself through another hour of pointless play and it was only when his opponent eventually won two sets of his own without Loras winning more than a handful of games that Loras seemed to accept the writing on the wall. He must have known best of all that it was never going to happen now despite having initially been on track to win in straight sets.
With a face like thunder, he dropped his racket at the side of the court and limped to the net to shake his opponent’s hand.
“I’d better tidy after all,” Renly murmured as he watched. “He is not going to be in a good mood when he comes home.”
Brienne said nothing. She merely rose to her feet and started piling up the used plates and cups into a wobbly tower as if they were back in that grotty university house again and she was still Renly's flatmate.