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A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 52 (The Calm)
🕑 Added 2023-02-10 20:40:53 +0000 UTCTywin Lannister - After The Trial by Combat
Dipping the top end of the quill in ink, he blew a little on it before he started writing.
To think that his daughter could be so foolish was something that had taken by surprise, even someone like Tywin. He had fought hard his whole life to get where they were, to see House Lannister at the peak of power; Cersei was supposed to marry Rhaegar. Instead, his old friend had deemed him unworthy and saw him nothing but a servant, not realizing that he had been the one who ruled the Realm, not him, and instead married his son to a viper who was weak and, in a way a miracle she wasn't already deep in the ground.
For a moment, Tywin wondered who had implanted that idea in Aerys's head; shaking his head, he tried to get rid of thoughts about him. His mind goes back to his children. He wondered what had possessed Cersei to go through with this, and he knew full well it was Cersei's fault.
Joffrey was too stupid to think of harming himself just to have proof against the Stark boy. He was someone who thought that by threatening and screaming, things would go his way.
Hearing the door open, Tywin kept writing in the letter his "friend" needed to be informed of the prince's plans. Stannis Baratheon was hot on his tail. A man like him couldn't be underestimated. Even Tywin knew that, from all the people of Westeros, Stannis, Lord Randyll Tarly, Lady Olenna, Prince Doran, and Queen Rhaella were the only people Tywin truly was wary of. They held power, armies and were smart and cunning enough to do certain things to achieve victory. History doesn't remember how you achieved victory, only that you were the victor, Tywin thought as he wrote the last part.
After he finished the letter, Tywin rolled it, making it a scroll, putting hot wax on top of it before sealing it with the symbol of House Lannister.
The maester beside him was waiting until Tywin was done writing his letter, once he finished. "To the Lord of Cheese," Tywin ordered the old rat, who nodded without saying a word, leaving the chamber; Tywin only then noticed that Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion were in his chamber just as he had requested. For a moment, there was silence as Tywin eyed each of them carefully.
"You requested us, father?" Jaime asked respectfully after a minute of silence in the room.
Tywin surpassed a look of pride to show on his face. His golden lion had become what he had always wanted, a lord worthy of the name Lannister, while still foolish in certain aspects, especially when it came to his sister and the little demon. Jaime at least did his job, and his son would continue to do so. But when his eyes landed on Cersei and Tyrion, he wasn't sure which was more disappointing.
The creature who killed his dearest Joanna, and dared to insult the name Lannister, every day he existed in this world, or the daughter who thought she was smarter than she actually was.
"I did. We need to discuss what happened today." Tywin reaffirmed with a tone that could make the South freeze over. Cersei gulped, knowing her father was addressing her; Tyrion had the audacity to sit back with a tiny hidden smirk on his face, enjoying the show.
"Father-" "Not another word. My daughter." Tywin interrupted with a loud tap on the table's surface, the nail of his index finger dragging across the surface as he looked down on Cersei.
"Because of the stunt you pulled, I lost one of my most important vassals, someone of good use, someone to remind man not to disobey an order, but because of your...own foolishness, we lost a feared man, and the lords of Westeros are mocking our House," Tywin spoke with contempt.
Cersei opened her mouth to speak, but the look Tywin gave her made her stop. Her mouth left open before slowly closing it, eventually looking down on her lap, her hands clutched together near her thighs, feeling like a kid, powerless and worthless. She had promised herself that people would never dare to look at her that way ever again.
"He harmed my Son!" She all but screamed.
Slam
Nothing could be heard but the sound of breathing; Cersei's breath was stuck in her throat, and she did not dare to look at her father, her face pale, no longer beautiful. As her hands started shaking, she felt her heart almost bursting from her chest, the only sound she could hear.
"Do not think of me a fool? Your maester told me that your son's wound was made by a knife, so whose idea was to scar him so you could win that Trial?" Tywin spoke slowly; Jaime's eyes almost fell off, looking at his sister, speechless. Even Tyrion looked shocked by what their father was insinuating with his words and the way Cersei was silent.
"House Tully was already on the brink of falling from his place. Count yourself lucky that the King thought a fine was punishment enough, but your action today proved that you're not fit to rule there. The majority of Houses in Riverrun would much rather stand by House Darry." Tywin spoke, before standing up from his chair, his shadow engulfing his children, his eyes looking down on Cersei, who avoided his gaze like the plague.
Slowly he walked around the desk, his movement echoing in the room like an army in an open field, his hand resting on the head of her chair. He saw her hands shaking. Her face had gone pale, almost like a ghost, her lips trembling, her teeth chattering.
"You will put your son in his place. His servant hunts need to stop." Tywin spoke slowly, making Cersei stiff. "You have two boys, and I heard the servants love Tommen, and he's still young. Despite being the youngest, people in Riverlands won't mind." His words made Cersei gasp. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
The silence that followed his words was suffocating his children. He eyed each of them before walking back to his chair. His chair moving as he readjusted its position was the only sound heard in the big chamber, that and Cersei's breathing heavily; Tywin could swear he could hear her heart beating on her chest from where he was.
"Now. Whatever plan you have to take out, the bastard should stop. People would know who was behind it. Just because Lord Stark is married to a Tully, that doesn't mean he won't go to war for his bastard." Tywin said slowly with a calm tone, his index finger tapping the table's surface.
"Are you saying we should let him walk freely?" Cersei found her voice to speak, her green eyes looking back at Tywin's pale green eyes.
"Is a Tourney, an arrow flying in the wrong direction, a horse tripping. Everything could happen." Tyrion added instead, with Tywin giving a slight nod before his attention turned to Jaime.
Ser Lewyn Martell
The sound of clanking metal rang across the courtyard. The sun had risen some time ago, and much of the Harrenhal lifeblood had already begun running through its many veins. Guards were on patrol, servants were performing their duties, and courtiers were attending to the many happenings of the castle. Yet right now, the main attraction to Ser Martell was his nephew training with Ser Barristan. Prince Oberyn and Lord Loren Lannister were standing nearby. Well, his nephew was; Lord Loren was sitting away from them, cleaning his sword.
"Incorrect. Do it again." Barristan spoke with authority, leading the boy a few steps back with carefully placed sword maneuvers.
The prince grunted in frustration, yet his protests ceased after the last dozen times Barristan insisted he repeats the maneuver he was trying to teach him.
Since seeing Jon Snow fight, his nephew had wanted to learn more. Ser Lewyn Martell always took pride in the fact that his nephew was someone who loved to read and become a good enough warrior, but his will to become the best was a little concerning. Barristan was trying to teach him a new move. It wasn't a really dangerous move. Yet, if delivered with correct swiftness and unpredictability, it could be deadly, as could all motions delivered during an actual sword fight. Ser Martell himself never bothered to learn any fancy tricks when fighting. His combat style was plain and simple, kill the bastard in front of you, and anyone else trying to kill you doesn't matter how you do it.
"Incorrect!" a shout from Barristan shook him from his daydreaming of a dead fool. The prince was on his knees, clutching a red-skinned palm with his free hand. Surprisingly, the prince seemed to have held on to his blade despite Barristan's strike. "Again."
Gritting his teeth, Aegon got back up with calm filling his eyes. He had to hand it to his nephew, though. Any other lordling like him would have most likely quit at this point and sent the knight off to the dungeons for the beating they received. Aegon wasn't like that, thank the Seven, he loved to prove that he could be as good as his father, but he wasn't someone to allow himself to fall into a rage. Ser Lewyn Martell knew full well why the Prince was doing this, he wanted to impress his father, and that want had only grown ever since the Stark bastard had entered into the mix. No doubt Aegon had heard all the praises people were giving him, many calling him names and titles.
Aegon desperately wanted to prove that he could be just like them.
More time passed in the training session with nothing for Ser Lewyn to do but stand and watch, so eventually, he decided it might be good to break the ice with his nephew.
"So..." he broke the silence, soliciting no reaction from him. He didn't really have any plan of what to talk about in the blue of the moment, so in times like this, it was best just to wing it in his experience. "Did you fuck that Lady yet?"
"What?" that got a reaction out of him, but not one he was aiming for. Where he wanted a confused fluster, Ser Lewyn only received a droul raise of a brow and a monotone question.
"Sorry, just... trying to make small talk." he tried to salvage the bad introduction, but from the look on his nephew's face, it did not work.
"That's your attempt at making Smalltalk?"
"What's wrong with it, nephew? We are family. After all, family members should hold no secrets between each other, so tell me have you fucked her yet?" Ser Lewyn prompted, nudging his shoulder slightly. His nephew looked at him as if he had suddenly gone mad.
His nephew continued to look at the Kingsguard knight, staring at him with none of the irreverence or disgust he was so used to with boys his age. Or maybe I'm just getting old, Ser Lewyn thought, feeling that his bones weren't as strong as they used to be.
Oberyn stared at him with unfiltered confusion about how to respond. He was glad they were on the same page on that one, at least. For a moment, it seemed the boy was even seriously considering the question he had posed to him, looking at the sky in a brief swing of the head.
"No." His nephew answered simply.
"Was that a No to my question or a No to the notion there shouldn't be secrets between us?" finally, something to work with, or at least an inkling of a tease.
Yet to his dismay Oberyn did not react, simply looking at him again with a dumbfounded look. "Are you still trying to make small talk?"
'Like talking to a wall...' he recalled Doran's words when asked about Oberyn when his nephew had been five name days. He always knew the man to speak very on the nose, but he should have known how literal that damn bastard always was. "Nevermind." Ser Lewyn knew when to admit defeat in the face of an immovable object. "Just forget I said anything."
"Alright."
'What does Ellaria see in this idiot?'
The training between Barristan and Aegon continued for some more time before an end was called by the Lord Commander. Sweat-ridden and exhausted, Aegon went down on the ground in an attempt to spend less energy trying to stand, focusing all his effort on getting air into his lungs.
"That was very good, Prince Aegon," Ser Barristan said, impressed at the Prince whose jaw tightened.
"But it wasn't Perfect," Aegon murmured to himself. My father would have won the Fight, Aegon thought but kept those thoughts to himself.
"Very well, that is all for you today, Prince Aegon. If you have any duties to attend to, you are free to leave after you've sufficiently gathered yourself. Take your time. There's no use in forcing your body past its limits at this point." Barristan had replaced his authoritative and firm tone with a much softer and mentorly one when speaking to the Prince now, yet the words he said confused everyone present.
Ser Lewyn kept his protests to himself, knowing better than to question Barristan's ways. Though he had thought he would be teaching the two lordlings, it seems the Lord Commander had different plans for him and the young Lannister boy. Loren seemed to be of the same mindset, clearly being surprised by what Barristan was saying but choosing not to question it until he elaborated further.
Aegon let out one last large gasp of breath before getting back to his feet in an attempt to bring himself to somewhat of a dignified stance. "Very well," he said, whatever energy in his voice fading quickly with another draw of breath. "Thank you for training me, Ser Barristan."
"If you have no other duties, I suggest you rest for now. Tomorrow we meet here at the same time." Barristan advised, with Aegon nodding before walking off. Lewyn wasn't sure his nephew had even heard Ser Barristan's advice.
Before leaving the courtyard, he approached the Lannister boy. "Do try not to hurt yourself too much, Loren. Ser Barristan doesn't hold back." He said, and promptly left, receiving no reply from Loren.
Once Aegon was fully out of the courtyard, the Lord Commander spoke. "Very well then, come Loren. It's your turn."
"You'll have to forgive me if I am incorrect here, Ser Barristan." Loren got up from his seat, the wooden blade still in hand. "But I thought his Grace had put myself and Prince Aegon under your tutelage so we could spar together, not apart like this."
"You are correct, Loren," Barristan replied. "But I think you'll agree with me when I say that Aegon is not ready yet for such an experience yet." he approached Loren casually, one hand behind his back and the other holding the dull blade. Once close, Barristan rested the blade on the boy's shoulder gently. "And neither are you."
He would rarely see the Lord Commander like this, yet Ser Lewyn could not deny Barristan embodied the wise mentor role quite well. Had he been taught by someone like him, Ser Lewyn might have been a better man growing up, taught honor and discipline. 'And then I'd most likely get killed by a stray lance to the neck in a tourney.'
Loren took a quick glance at the blade resting upon his shoulder, then at the knowing smile, Barristan had on his face. "Very well." Without a hint of hesitation afterward, the Lannister then went along over to the middle of the courtyard. "Shall we begin then?"
"Yes, however, it will not be me you are training with today," Barristan said, gripping the dull sword by its blade and pointing it to Ser Lewyn. "Think you can do it, Ser?"
The realization soon came to him, "Ah, so that's it then, eh?" he grabbed the blade with his non-injured hand and proceeded to the center of the courtyard. 'He didn't want me here to beat my nephew. He wanted me to train Kingslayer's boy.'
Standing opposite the boy and a good few feet away, he didn't know whether to be intimidated or feel sorry for the child. Just because Barristan asked him didn't mean he would go easy on the Lannister like the Lord Commander did with Aegon. From the look of him, it seemed Loren understood that but faced off against him without protest. He was either stubborn as all Seven Hells or extremely stupid.
"It'll be a free spar. Train as much as you can for however long you like. If I find the need to intervene, I shall. Otherwise, there are no rules." Barristan explained.
"You sure you don't want to at least change to a metal blade boy? I've no issue switching to wood either to keep it fair." Ser Lewyn asked him more out of a genuine want to keep the whole affair balanced as much as possible.
"No." was all that came from the Lannister boys' mouths.
"As you wish. Come on then, I'll let you make the first move as a show of good sport." just because they got off on the wrong foot... or whatever that conversation was... didn't mean he couldn't at least be cordial with him. So in the name of a good match, he was willing to go as easy on the boy as he could without making it seem that way. Jaime wouldn't care if his son had a few new bruises on his face, but he wasn't sure if the other Lannisters in Harrenhal would be the same.
As soon as he finished with his offer, however, the Lannister was already on the move, charging at Ser Lewyn in full force. He had managed to close the distance between them while his guard was down, clever boy. With an overhead strike being signaled by his opponent, he went in to block it. It was still rather strange to use his right hand for swordfighting, it wasn't his main sword arm, yet there were many times in his past where he was forced to use his off hand for combat purposes, so he had experience with it at least. The blades collided with a crashing sound, wood against metal, no matter how dull. He could see small bits of wood off of the boy's sword being chipped off with the strike.
At first, Ser Lewyn thought the boy was trying to imitate what Selmy was teaching Aegon. After the initial strike, Loren continued with another strike, overhead once more, slamming down at Ser Lewyns own sword. Again and again, he beat down his defense in an attempt to get through. There was no skill, no finesse, only pure brute strength. He was getting flashbacks to the tourney. In any other situation, he would have simply deflected or parried one of the blows, but that simply wasn't possible without the use of his sword arm, which was currently wrapped in too many bandages to be wieldy of anything other than a mug of ale, if even that. Even then, Loren's assault was relentless, giving Ser Lewyn not even a second to breathe in-between strikes.
Once more, he saw the small chips of wood fly off with each hit. The boy's blade was slowly being whittled down, yet that did not mean Ser Lewyn wasn't losing his own strength either. Thinking quickly, he looked for as minuscule of an opening as he could and found it between yet another flurry of hits. Using the pommel of his sword, he struck the boy across the face, pausing the relentless onslaught for only a moment, giving him just enough time to press the advantage.
To his further surprise, however, Loren did not press on. The blow did little more than graze him; it seemed like he was back to his stance quicker than he was out of it. Yet instead of continuing to attack, giving Ser Lewyn now room to parry and maneuver, he quickly gained distance between them.
Seeing no intent to repeat his little trump card again, Ser Lewyn lowered his stance temporarily.
"Do you mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked, more out of genuine curiosity at what he was hoping to achieve. Did he seriously think he could overpower him? The boy was tall, just a few inches under him, he could give him that, but in terms of build and muscle, they were still worlds apart.
"No," Loren responded, never taking his eyes off the Kingsguard and readying his sword in both hands. It seemed the Lannister boy at least knew a proper stance upon which to take when caught up in a duel. That still didn't forgive his blatant tests of Ser Lewyn's nerves, but he was trying to be fair here.
'Alright then, be that way.' he thought. He was going to make this fair alright.
Loren Lannister
The bruises were finally starting to form around his arms, at least the ones he could see right now. He hadn't expected such a thorough trouncing. Not since his time in Highgarden did he feel such pain on his skin. Thankfully, none of the hits he received drew blood, so for now, he would have to be content with being sore all over for the next few days.
Still, he had duties to attend to, and the first matter of business should be switching out into something more presentable.
The rest of his walk was a blur, or rather not worth recollecting. Once he was at the doors of his chambers, Loren could only breathe a sigh of relief and exhaustion at the rest of the days' activities. The last thing he expected to happen, however, was for the doors of his chambers to be slammed back into his face from the other side. Stunned and confused, he couldn't even utter a word of surprise before the person on the other end spoke.
"It is common courtesy to knock before entering someone's personal chambers!" that person being the very recognizable voice of Myrcella.
"You'll forgive me then, as I wasn't aware the requirements for entering one's own room was knocking first," he replied, the sudden jolt of movement reigniting his headache.
"What..." he could hear Myrcella mutter for a moment before opening the doors slightly. Through them, he could see half a face marred with golden locks and a green eye staring back at him in disbelief. "Loren? What are you doing here?"
"Why shouldn't I be here? It's my room, after all."
"What are you talking about? This is clearly-" yet after turning around for a moment, he noticed that this, in fact, was not the way to his own chambers. The realization of his actions soon caught on, and he straightened both his posture and his attitude. "You must forgive me. It seems I stumbled around the Castle in a stupor. Must have hit my head harder than I thought..."
"Hit your head? What are you on about? And where did you get those bruises?! Don't tell me Ser Barristan has been-" he interrupted the Lady.
"No, I trained with Ser Martell today. It was... an experience."
"Yes, I can bloody well see that, and so can half of Harrenhal if you keep walking around like that." The tone in which she was speaking reminded him all too much of his father. Myrcella sighed and spoke once more. "Well, we can't have you walking around looking like you came out of a dog canal. Come inside."
Loren smiled upon hearing that.
Arya Stark - Now
She was with Sansa and her mother; Sansa was wearing a dress and looking like a chicken in the market, ready to sell to the highest bidder. The only thing missing were the feathers and her making Chicken noises.
"I'm not wearing any dress," she shouted with annoyance, especially at her mother, who kept telling her that she needed to wear a dress.
"You're wearing a dress, today is The Melee, and you need to look like a lady," her mother chided, holding her arm, not letting her run away. Again.
"That's true. How do you think a lord will choose you if you look like that." Sansa said mockingly, looking at herself in the mirror with a proud face, looking at her long auburn hair.
"I don't care about lords or their stupid Sons," she yelled at Sansa, who rolled her eyes, making a face as if she was a child.
Her mother sighed and looked tired, "You need to wear a dress and stop refusing." her patient running thin before forcing her to wear a dress.
Later
"I hate you," Arya told her mother, who sighed. Because of being from House Stark, their seats in the tourney were one of the best, same for every Paramour Lord. She was sitting beside Bran, and Rickon was sitting on their mother's lap.
"Who do you think will win?" Arya heard Jeyne ask her sister, who had a thoughtful look on her face before answering.
"I heard Lord Loren is quite good with a sword. They said he has taken after Ser Jaime Lannister." Sansa suggested with a little shrug.
"Are you stupid? Jon will win this tourney. He killed that big pig. None of them stands a chance." Arya shouted at her stupid sister, who looked insulted, but before Sansa could counter Arya.
All of them heard the cheering and the King standing up.
"It has started," Arya shouted with excitement, jumping in her seat, forgetting that she was wearing a stupid dress.
