Chapter Text
For the third and tenth nameday of his eldest daughter, Lord Ashford had arranged a Tourney. A tourney that cost more than most could live on for a whole year.
Valarr and Osmund sat in a carriage together, riding toward Ashford Meadow. Osmund had insisted they leave a few days earlier than the rest of the royal retinue, so that Osmund might have more time to see his uncle. Prince Baelor happily granted this request, so long as Prince Valarr promised to at least try and have a good time. He had stiffly agreed.
"You've been awfully quiet today." Valarr says, not even looking up from the book he was reading.
"I drank too much last night." Osmund responds. The cups of ale, wine and beer from last night have caught up to him, and he now feels positively disgusted.
"Disgusted with the wine or with the-" Osmund puts his hand over Valarr's mouth.
"There's no need to say it aloud. The Gods will punish me as they see fit. You don't have too."
"There's nothing to punish, Oz. You've done nothing wrong."
Osmund admires his kind words, but he knows they are wrong. Valarr does not know the Seven as Osmund does. Valarr has never been on his knees in a sept, praying to to normal. Osmund has.
But the feeling...
Nothing quite compares to that... sin.
Lost in his own thoughts, Valarr snaps him out of it. "Anyway, I'm excited, aren't you? The tourney will be great fun, surely." Valarr said, his purple eyes meeting Osmund's brown eyes. Both boys had a hint of sadness in their eyes at all time. Perhaps that is why they got along so well.
"I am not even entering the lists, Valarr. You are. It will be fun to see my uncle, of course. He's missed me very much, and he still has not forgiven you for stealing me away." Valarr laughs at Osmund's words.
"He has a new squire now, right? So all should be forgiven." Valarr says, smiling slightly.
"Yes, his son, I believe. I have been replaced so soon." Osmund said, pretending to be sad, with a dramatic sigh.
"Oh hush. You'll live."
Reggie would surely be there for the tourney, but Osmund quite doubted if Lyonel would allow his son to be up so late. Lyonel still saw him as his little boy, no matter how old he was. Osmund found his younger cousin quite amusing. When he'd last seen him, he thought himself quite the man. Reginald Baratheon was three and ten years of age.
"It will be weird to wear the favour of someone other than Kiera. Gods, I miss her."
"Why every did you agree to be champion for the Ashford girl?" Valarr was one of five champions, together with two other lordlings and two of the girl's brothers.
"My father required it of me. The lord Ashford has given him his chambers for the duration of the tourney, so it seemed only right I defend the girls honour. Anyway, I would not have crowned another anyway. My Kiera is the only queen in my eyes." Osmund smiled.
His friend was dutiful and loyal. He would be a good, kind King one day.
Valarr had short brown hair with a single streak of silver flowing through it. Even if he did not have the stereotypical Targaryen features, he was most handsome, a true Knight from the story books.
"I can feel you look at me, Oz." Valarr said, not even looking up from the book. "I know I am very handsome, but give it a rest, please."
Osmund shakes his head. "I was simply thinking. Your cousins will surely be there as well."
"Daydreaming about Daeron, are we?" Osmund blushed slightly but shook his head.
"I don't like what you're implying." Osmund said, his eyes now fixated on the trees near the road.
"I'm not implying anything, Osmund. I only mean-"
"Are we there yet? It seems to be taking an eternity." They had been riding for days, sure, but it had not taken so long.
From the Crownlands to the Reach was very close to each other, and that helps. Even if Stokeworth Castle is close to King's Landing, he hasn't been there. It's been half a year since he left Storm's End to serve Valarr instead.
"Dreading seeing Aerion is also an option." Valarr then says, and Osmund rolls his eyes at the mere thought of Aerion.
Aerion is Valarr's cousin. Though annoyingly handsome, he is also just annoying. And bratty and arrogant. He is favoured by his father Prince Maekar, despite his lack of personality, and has never had to work for anything a day in his life.
Daeron is not much of a charmer either. Called the Drunken by all those who know him, he prefers the company wine and ale over women.
Though they resided most of the time at Summerhall, the royal residence of their father Prince Maekar, they visited court frequently. Though Prince Baelor's official residence was Dragonstone, he spent most of his time in the capitol since becoming Hand of the King.
Osmund thinks for a moment on what to respond. "I hate Aerion. He always tries to be better than you."
"He thinks he is better than me, that's the problem." Valarr must not give him too much mind. He knows he is better than Aerion, surely, but that's mostly because Aerion is horrid. The most annoying thing about him, Osmund finds, is the fact that he is so good to look at.
He hates himself for it, even more than with any other man.
"Promise me you'll at least try to enjoy yourself, Ozzy. It's only a few days. You can go back to your sullen, drunken self after the tourney." Despite his better judgement, Osmund nods.
"I'll try," Osmund says sincerely. "I could ask the same of you, Your Grace." He then adds, in a faux mocking tone.
"Gods, I hate that." Valarr said, sinking into his book as Osmund stayed fixated on the trees and the bushes along the road. "I will be fine. A tourney is quite entertaining, and mayhaps I will enjoy myself tonight. Anyway, my father and Uncle will arrive in a few days time, so we will not be bored for long."
For a moment, Osmund allowed himself to wonder if his siblings mayhaps would be there.
It had been seven years since he'd seen his brother and the younger of his two sisters. He barely remembers them. His brother Edric was said to be a gallant knight, his sister Arra a charming lady with many prospects, and his sister Ella was kind and gentle.
Arra had recently been married to a Tyrell of Highgarden. As they were Wardens of the South, overlords to the Ashfords, surely she'd be here. Osmund was unsure if her husband was the Lord Tyrell or simply a relative of his. Lord Leo was much his sister's elder, so he hoped it would not be him. Perhaps his son, or a nephew, or a much younger brother.
Arra was a year Osmund's elder, and as children they had been quite close. He recalls sleeping in the same bed as her after long summer days of playing together, and how distraught she'd been when Osmund had to leave for Storm's End.
His sister Ella however, he had seen in the years since his leaving of home. Shortly after Osmund became cupbearer and companion to Lord Lyonel, Ella had been married to Baelor Swann, the heir of Lord Gawen Swann and future Lord of Stonehelm. Together with him she had three children: Felicity, Malcom, and little Arya.
Over the years they'd brought their children to the court of Lyonel's father, Lord Willem, to show them off. Osmund quite liked it, as it meant he was reunited with his sister. Lyonel even had plans of granting Felicity or Arya a permanent place at his court, as a lady to his own daughter Gia.
"We are here, then," Osmund says then, as they approach the Tourney grounds.
***
A little while after they'd settled in, Osmund went on his way alone to go and find Lyonel.
He walks over the field for a little while before he finds the tent with the Baratheon sigil adorning it: the stag. It is one of the largests tents on the entire field, rivalled only by that of House Tyrell. Osmund smiles as he walks in.
It is mostly empty, but at the table in the distance he sees his uncle Lyonel and Lyonel's son Reginald.
"Nephew!" Lyonel shouts, raising what Osmund can only presume is a cup of wine, high into the air.
"Uncle, cousin," Osmund says, smiling as he approaches them.
"Reggie, say hello to your cousin Oz." Lyonel commands his son as he brings his cup to his lips. Lyonel was getting into the spirit already.
"Hello, Cousin Osmund." Reginald said, quite softly. He was a boy, no more than three and ten, and it seemed his voice was changing and breaking in between sentances. He wore the colors of his house, and had a small dagger hanging on his belt.
"You've grown since I saw you last, Reggie. You're well on your way to becoming a man, surely." Osmund smiled as he ruffled Reggie's hair.
"Oh hush, Ozzy. He is but a boy." Lyonel says, ever protective of his boy. Reginald was his elder child, and Osmund remembered how protective Lyonel had been over his daughter Gia, who was only nine years old.
"Father, I'm almost a man!" Reggie said, raising his shoulders, trying to stand as tall as he could. "Osmund, if my father will not, will you knight me? He promised me it once I come of age, and I have, surely!" Reggie pleaded with his cousin, but Osmund merely smiled and sat down next to Lyonel.
"That is not my place, Reggie. I was not knighted until I was seven and ten. You must be patient, and learn what it means to be a true knight." Osmund was quite unsure if he himself even knew what it meant to be a true knight, but he could not let him cousin know that. Osmund must appear the perfect knight, even if he is not.
"This is so unfair. I thought you'd understand." Reggie says, frowning. "And I have to go to bed early! It's a tourney! That's so unfair."
"Alas, it is a lesson you are learning early. Life is unfair, my son." Lyonel says, as he takes another sip of wine. "Now, why don't you run along and find some other boys to play with? Osmund and I have much catching up to do."
"You're mean, father." Reggie says, sticking out his tongue as he runs out of the tent.
"He's much like you, Uncle," Osmund says, smiling. It must be the Baratheon blood flowing through his veins. They are much alike, Lyonel and his son.
"Gods help me if he's as rebellious as I was at his age." He smiles to himself. "I hope Gia will be like me, too. My children resemble my late wife in looks, so it should be nice if I am reminded of myself in them too. Now, when I look at little Gia, all I see is my darling Moira."
"I am sorry for your loss, Uncle," Moira Tyrell had died not too long ago. In the half a year Osmund had been in King's Landing. Moira and Lyonel had truly been in love, something that Osmund greatly admired. What had started as mere duty, had blossomed into so much more.
"It is alright. At least I have my children. That is some comfort to me."
"Well, what are you're plans? Surely a grand party is on the agenda." Osmund said, trying to take his uncle's mind off of all the sorrow in the world.
"Tonight, in fact. A grand feast with dancing and singing and fun. Anyone is welcome, so long as they are willing to have a good time."
"That sounds like much fun, Uncle. Anyone save Reggie, I assume?"
"I would like for him to remain innocent for a little while longer. So long as he can." Lyonel said, sheepsly. As a young man himself, he'd been allowed every freedom. That had not been the right choice, he'd decided. So he shielded his son as best he could.
But his hold on Reggie was slipping. The boy was the father to the man. and the Baratheon blood that flowed through Reginald's veins required a certain degree of foolishness.