In the verdant reaches of Highgarden, where the honeyed scents of blooming roses typically waft through the air, a rather different fragrance would be detected by any would-be passersby this particular day. Loras Tyrell, Knight of Flowers, and Lancel Lannister, newly devoted to the Faith, emerged from the seclusion of a majestic wood, their skin still flushed with exertions not generally sanctioned by the Seven. The two men, shed of their garments like snakes do their skin, sauntered towards a nearby pond which shimmered beneath the radiance of the midday sun. Their bodies, dappled with the golden kiss of light filtering through the swaying leaves, bore the evidence of their forbidden rendezvous - tousled hair, lingering flush, and the silliness of lovers written across their expressions. As they approached the water's edge, Lancel, his once well-muscled form now possessed of a certain gauntness in devotion to his faith, gingerly stepped into the pond. He shivered as the cool water lapped at his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth he'd just experienced in Loras's arms. Meanwhile, Loras, his athletic frame adorned with the scars of past tourneys, slid into the water with a playful splash, causing ripples to dance across the mirrored surface of the pond. The two men set to bathing each other with a mix of care and playful jest. Soapy suds glided over their skin as they shared tales of courtly intrigue and reminisced over past conquests of the martial and amorous varieties. The chuckles and splashing could be heard by the reeds that swayed secretly alongside the water's edge. As the laughter continued and Lancel reached for a floating water lily to present to Loras, a warning grumble issued forth from his innards. The sparrows might have sung of devotion and chastity, but they'd neglected to mention the gastrointestinal ramifications of a monastic diet rich in beans and legumes. Before he could utter even a chaste apology, Lancel felt the inevitable build-up to a release that matched the thunderous roar of any battlefield he'd faced. With his eyes widening in equal measure of surprise and mortification, Lancel bore a look upon his face that displayed his inner conflict; the desire to maintain a shred of dignity warring with an instinctive need for relief. As his cheeks puffed out in mirrored response to those further south, the serene atmosphere was rent asunder by a long, sonorous fart that rippled both through the air and through the pondwater. The dire natural consequences of this flatulence were immediate. A few unfortunate fish, which until now had contentedly darted about their aquatic realm, floated lifelessly to the surface, victims of the noxious fumes that had so swiftly and savagely invaded their watery abode. Loras, ever the pragmatist, eyed the defenceless fish and clapped Lancel on the back, nearly causing another bout of bubbles to escape his fellow-bather. His laughter trilled like chimes in the wind, and he announced with a roguish gleam in his eye, "Well, Lancel, it seems your rear has done us quite the service! Why, we shan't have to rely on the castle cooks for tonight's feast!" Crafting a makeshift spear from a nearby branch, Loras demonstrated the skills that made him one of the most revered knights in all of Westeros, swiftly skewering the fish much to Lancel's awe (and relief that the focus had shifted away from his embarrassing incident). They gathered their unfortunate harvest, readying themselves for an impromptu feast all their own, one that would no doubt become the stuff of private legend. As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, casting the sky in brilliant hues, Loras and Lancel, refreshed and conveniently fed through the accident of flatulence, dressed themselves and returned to the castle, companions in mischief and in unexpected culinary fortune. And so, they pledged, this chapter of their tale would remain their secret; save for the fish, of course, whose woeful fate would be concealed forever more beneath a crispy, golden-browned exterior.